Page 164 of This Woman Forever
“It’s logical.”
“No, it’s neurotic. Pregnant women fly all of the time, so you are taking me on a plane to somewhere hot, and you’re going to let my feast on you the whole time.” She bites at my lip, before kissing me some more. “Constant contact.” Another nibble. “I want constant contact.”
Oh, how she pleases me. Is she finally understanding what makes me tick, or is she simply accepting it? Pregnancy is bringing out the best in my wife. I might have to make sure she’s permanently pregnant.
“I can’t fucking wait,” I admit, getting up. “Come on, then. We’re wasting valuable feasting time.” I return to the dressing room and throw the rest of my things into the case, making sure Ava’s is laid out ready for her to pack. Then I head downstairs with my bag and check the calendar on my phone, just to make sure my dates are correct. Amalie’s wedding is this weekend in Seville, which means my parents are out of town. It’s safe. I scroll through the contacts to a number I haven’t called for a long, long time.
Ava wins.
The international ringing tone makes me close my eyes and inhale quietly.
“Mr. Ward?” Jose says, his Spanish accent as thick as I remember.
“Yes, Jose, how are you?”
“Very good, sir, very good. It’s good to hear from you. How can I help you?”
I walk circles around the kitchen island. “How quickly can you have Paradise ready for me?” I wince, trying to mentally calculate how long it’s been since I’ve been there. Years. For the first time, I wonder why Carmichael bought a villa in the place his brother moved to. Dad had nothing but contempt for Carmichael, and eventually me too. Was it a not-so subtle way of making sure Dad could never forget he had a brother, or how successful he was? Did Carmichael buy Paradise out of spite?
“It will need a bit of airing,” Jose says. “It’s not been rented since the renovations completed a year ago, but I stop in every few weeks to make sure everything is in order.”
“Of course,” I murmur. “So how long?”
“I will see if I can get the cleaning team there in the morning.”
“Thank you, Jose. Add it to the management bill.”
“Will you require staff?”
I look over my shoulder, smiling to myself. “No staff, but a delivery of groceries would be helpful. Some ingredients for meals, breakfast, some fruit and vegetables.”
“No problem, Mr. Ward.”
“Thank you. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” I hang up and call to arrange a flight for tomorrow, then rummage through the boxes that Ava is yet to unpack, remembering seeing her passport in one of them. I email both of our details over to the charter company, then call Peterson.
“Hello, Rococo Union, this is Sally speaking, how can I help you?” the girl in the office answers, and she sounds about ready to call it quits on life. Jesus.
“Peterson, please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Jesse Ward.”
“He’s out at meetings.”
“Can I get his mobile number?”
“I’m afraid I’m not permitted to disclose Mr. Peterson’s mobile number,” she drones, monotone.
I take a breath of patience. “Can you kindly get him to call me? It’s about Ava.”
“What about Ava?”
“She was involved in a car accident yesterday.”
“Oh my God!” That ignited a bit of passion in her voice.
“Indeed. She won’t be in work today.” Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or... ever?