Page 128 of This Woman Forever

“I’ll let her know.” I can finally show her the new bedroom too... if I get through this mess.

“Good. You need last year’s accounts and tax calculations too.”

“What do they even look like?”

“Numbers. Very big numbers.” The door closes, and I drop to the couch, exhausted by the mess. So I get up and head to our new suite to check it one last time before I show Ava.

I smile as I stand on the threshold, pleased with myself and the workmen. The lighting is moody, the soft furnishings pure luxury, the bed beautiful. I sit on the end and take a few quiet moments to myself, absorbing every detail. This room. It was the beginning of my new life.

My eyes fall to the wooden cross. Not a part of Ava’s initial design, naturally, since she had no idea what would go on in this room. But a later addition.

She wants hard. Shock and awe. She can’t have it. But there’s a way round that.

Compromise.

The key to appease my wife is to blindside her. I smile and go to the music system, loading it, ready, before brushing a hand across the bedsheets, smoothing out the crinkles I’ve made. Then I head back downstairs, texting Ava on my way.

I’m still at The Manor. Come? We’ll have steak.

She replies in a second, no argument. Because she knows Sarah isn’t here.

On my way x

I enter my office and pout at the mess of papers. One call and it would be sorted. Can’t do that.

After searching through one pile for half hour and then sifting through another for twenty minutes, finding nothing that looks like tax papers, accounts, or deeds, I’m close to losing the will to live. I need Ava. She offered to help sort this out. But will she be too tired after a day at work? Undoubtedly. I can’t ask her to do extra work while she’s carrying my baby.

I start transporting the piles to the floor—I need space to spread out.

Knock, knock.

“What?” I call, sounding irritable.

Drew’s head pokes round the door. “Where’s John?”

“Picking Ava up. Why?”

“No reason.” He grins and backs out, and I follow him, wondering if there’s some trouble I need to sort out.

“What’s going on, Drew?” I ask his back as he hurries down the corridor to the summer room. He slows. Exhales. Looks back. “Steve Cook’s here.”

The burn inside is instant and very fucking real. Cool it. I asked him to call me, not pay a visit. Have him and his missus split up again? Has he been caught whipping young, naïve women without offering a safe word? And, come to think of it, does his wife even know about that?

“Is it wise to let him pass?” Drew asks.

“Probably not.”

“Do you want me to join the meeting and hold you back if your fists decide to take off.”

“Probably should.”

“Okay.” He nods, assessing me up and down, thumbing over his shoulder. “I’ll go get him then.”

“Okay.”

“Stow those fists, Jesse.”

I clench them and tuck them behind my back. “Got any cuffs?”