After my heart attack of yesterday, I kept Ava at home today and gave her an in-depth tutorial on how to use her phone. I only let her leave the house to keep her therapy session, and I drove her, waited, and brought her home. And she didn’t argue. Fucking hell, I’ve never been so panicked. The whole time she was missing, I tried to reason with myself. Tried to keep myself calm. It didn’t work. I was terrified, and then when I found her, that terror turned into anger. I couldn’t hold back. But what was she thinking, disappearing like that? It’s taken a whole twenty-four hours to get my heartbeats back to a safe level.
Now I’m waiting for her in the hallway so we can meet the gang for dinner. I pace, back and forth, over and over. Where the hell is she? I glance down at my Rolex and sigh. Normally, I’d be up there helping her along in my own little way, but nothing about our lives feels normal any more.
Wandering over to the mirror, I take in my Wentworth grey three-piece, pulling in the jacket and straightening my blue tie. ‘Perfect, Jesse,’ I say to myself, smoothing my hair into place. My hand pauses mid-fix. My suit might be dapper, my body carrying it well, but I look tired. Exhausted, in fact. Jesus, I’ve aged ten years in two weeks. I groan and blink my green eyes, feeling at my stubbled jaw. Stress appears embedded in my skin, clouding my eyes. I actually look my age, and that fucking sucks when you’re fifty. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial my mum.
She’s quick to answer. ‘Jesse? Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, Mum. We’re getting there.’ The last thing I want to do is give her more cause for concern than there is, and there’s already a lot. ‘I need to ask you a question.’
‘What?’
‘Answer truthfully.’
‘Of course.’
‘How old do I look?’
There’s a slight pause, and then she starts chuckling. ‘Darling boy, you don’t look a day over forty.’
I catch myself in the mirror again, scoffing under my breath. ‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’
‘You’re tired, son.’
‘Fucking knackered.’
‘Jesse Ward, watch your language.’
‘Sorry,’ I grunt and continue faffing with my hair. ‘How’s Dad?’
‘Worried.’ She doesn’t beat around the bush. She doesn’t need to. Everyone is worried. ‘How is Ava? Any improvement?’
‘A little,’ I admit, wishing I could tell her there’s been a mammoth breakthrough. ‘The doctor’s been encouraged by the small signs we’ve seen so far.’
‘That’s good. You must be pleased.’
I hum half-heartedly, telling myself once again that I’m expecting too much too quickly. ‘I have to go, Mum. I’m taking Ava out for dinner.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ She sounds thrilled. ‘Bet you’re looking forward to that.’
Not really. ‘I am. It’s like we’re dating again.’
‘Then make sure you woo her.’
‘Are you giving me relationship advice?’ I ask, hitching a sardonic eyebrow. I’ve known my wife for over twelve years. I do not need tips on how to woo her.
‘Well, we’ve all heard of your persistence in the early days of your relationship.’
‘I already told you, Ava exaggerates. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ I hang up, ready to yell my impatience up the stairs, but my phone rings again. I answer without looking. ‘Hello?’
‘Jesse?’ Sarah’s voice sinks into my ear and burns my brain.
‘How did you get my number?’ I’m instantly angry. Fucking fuming. Doesn’t she know what’s good for her? I hear the bedroom door closing. ‘Don’t call me again, Sarah.’
‘But I need—’
I hang up on her, working hard to cool myself down before Ava questions my pent-up state. Be cool. Be calm. Then I catch sight of my wife. ‘What the fuck, Ava?’ It just tumbles out of my mouth but, Lord have mercy, what the fuck is she wearing? I gawk, studying the little red number, every little thread. It doesn’t take me long.
‘What?’ She brushes down the front of her dress with her palms. I’m hoping to get some kind of horrified gasp when she sees the thing that’s clinging to her lithe body, thinking maybe she missed the full-length mirror on the way out of the dressing room. But there’s no gasp. Just a questioning, curved eyebrow as she looks back up at my twitching form.
What? What? Let’s start with the length of the damn thing.
‘Where did you find that?’ I ask.
‘It was at the back of my wardrobe.’
I snort. At the back of her wardrobe hidden from me. When did she get it? When was she planning on wearing it? Shit, has she already? ‘You’re not wearing that.’
Her head tilts, making her long hair skim her half-exposed boobs on one side. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Over my dead, decomposed body, Ava. You and I have a deal,’ I tell her, marching up the stairs towards her, set on turning her right around and sending her back to the bedroom in disgrace.
Her eyes follow me all the way until I’m before her, her face plain confused. ‘What deal?’
‘You wear what I tell you to wear.’ I take her shoulders to turn her, but get shrugged off on a scoff.
She’s off down the stairs before I’ve realised she’s missing from my grasp, leaving me a big bag of incredulous man at the top. ‘I’m changing the deal,’ she calls, fixing an earring in her ear as she goes.
Excuse me? I fly off down the stairs after her. ‘You can’t change the deal.’
‘I just did.’ She disappears into the kitchen as I round the bottom of the stairs at one hundred miles an hour, skidding my way around the corner after her.
I find her collecting her bag off the island. Her face is begging me to challenge her. Oh, I challenge. Doesn’t she know me at all? My brain spasms at that thought, and I boot it away before I can spend too much time agonising over the fact that she doesn’t at the moment. Well, she soon will. ‘The dress goes.’
She lifts her dress even higher up her thigh, and I recoil at her sheer insolence. And cheek. And bravery. ‘The dress is staying.’ She looks down herself again. ‘It pulls me in at all the right places.’
She doesn’t need pulling in. What she needs is a dress at least a foot longer. Ordinarily, she knows I can’t be held responsible for my actions if some stupid prick makes an inappropriate or rude remark, and the chance of that happening when she’s wearing a dress like this is multiplied by a million.
‘What are you gonna do, anyway?’ Another challenge, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
‘You really shouldn’t ask me that question. I’m not above doing it again.’ I walk over to the drawer and pull it open, searching through the utensils. Give me strength, that dress barely covers her arse.
‘The scissors are in the other drawer,’ she says, so matter-of-factly, almost casually.
‘What?’ I nearly chop my fingers off when I slam the drawer shut, swinging around to face her. How did she know I was searching for the scissors?
Looking a little blank, she lifts her arm and points to a drawer. ‘That one.’
I’m no longer shaking with anger, I’m shaking with excitement, but I force myself into something close to nonchalance. It’s fucking hard. This is colossal. I move slowly to the drawer and place my hand on it, never removing my eyes from hers. ‘This one?’
She nods and I pull it open, blindly reaching inside for the scissors. Pulling them out, I calmly shut the drawer. And she frowns. ‘Why are you looking for the scissors, anyway?’
I refuse to let her sudden confusion beat me down. What just happened was another glimmer of hope. Lifting them, I point them at the offending red dress and snip the air. ‘Are you going to remove the dress, or am I cutting it off?’ I tilt my head, a little serious, but mostly playfully. Truth be told, I’d let her wear the dress now. My mood has changed considerably.
Comprehension slams into her, her jaw dropping. ‘Oh my God, you cut off my dress?’ Her hands come to the sides of her head and press against her temples, like she could be trying to squeeze the memory to the front. ‘What kind of unreasonable arsehole are you?’
‘The one you love,’ I declare, walking forward, snip-snipping at the air, a cunning smirk pulling at my lips. ‘Remove the dress.’
‘Fuck you, Jesse.’ She’s absolutely outraged. It’s sweetly reminiscent. ‘Jesus, did I actually let you do that?’
‘Yes. You were too distracted by all my handsome glory to notice what I was doing until it was too late.’
She snorts. ‘I’ve never met such an egomaniac.’
‘Yes, you have.’ I continue to stalk forward, ready to pounce when she bolts. ‘And you married him.’
‘I must have been mad.’
I take no offence, don’t let her claim faze me, since there’s absolutely no conviction in her tone. Just lust. ‘Crazy mad,’ I whisper, smiling when she starts taking steps back, trying to keep some distance between us.
‘Crazy mad,’ she murmurs in reply, her eyes clouding over with a ton of desire. ‘You are the crazy-mad one.’ Her arse meets the worktop, her retreat blocked. I reach her and press my front to hers, dipping to put my mouth at her ear.
‘Take it off.’
‘No.’ She’s being defiant for the sake of it, playing the game. She knows one way or another this dress is coming off.
‘You’re heading for a Retribution Fuck.’
Startled, she looks up at me, my promise snapping her out of her trance. I immediately kick myself. Too much? Ava laughs somewhere between bewilderment and amusement. ‘What the hell is a Retribution Fuck?’
I feel heat in my cheeks, and she hasn’t missed it, her gaze jumping from my bristly face to my eyes. There are so many mind-bending things for her to get her head around. The time has come to address the fucks. While the styles of fucks I lay on my wife were perfectly understood between us, I never imagined what it must sound like to a stranger. And, right now, painfully, my wife is practically a stranger. Great. So we’re going to have a conversation about fucks. Why didn’t I keep my stupid mouth shut and focus on getting that dress off?
I take in air, wary of her half smile. She might not be smiling in a minute. ‘Want to sit down?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Probably,’ I admit, reluctantly moving from her path.
She moves across to the chair and slowly lowers herself, her eyes always on me. ‘So, the Retribution Fuck?’
‘It’s like a punishment, I guess.’ I shrug and put the stupid scissors away.
She looks horrified, and every reason for me to be worried about this conversation is confirmed. ‘You punish me?’
‘Yes, but you like it.’
‘I like being punished?’
Damn it. How can I explain this so it makes any sense at all? ‘It’s a game,’ I start, having a quick nibble on my lip before I go on. ‘A power play. You’ve always humoured me.’ Fucking hell, what do I sound like? ‘The handcuffs . . .’
Her neck recoils sharply, and she hisses, reaching for her head on a wince. Guilt tears me up inside, and I move in to ease her, but come to an abrupt halt when she raises her hand, warning me off. ‘Handcuffs? Again with the handcuffs. You didn’t just use them as a gimmick on our wedding day?’
Fucking hell. I shrug sheepishly. ‘It’s all part of the game.’
Ava looks away, her hand still on her head, rubbing lightly. ‘Who has the power?’ she murmurs meekly.
Another jolt of life sparks within me, and I quickly put myself on the stool in front of her, taking her hands from her head and holding them firmly. ‘Me.’ I swap her hands for her cheeks and plant a kiss on her lips. ‘Always me.’
‘But something tells me it’s actually me,’ she says against my lips, and I smile like a madman, because she’s right.
‘You keep telling yourself that, lady.’ I rub her nose with mine.
‘So you punish me.’ She takes my hands from her cheeks and interlaces our fingers. ‘What for?’
‘Not doing as you’re told. And sometimes I utilise the Reminder Fuck, just to remind you of your place.’
Eyes wider still, she just stares at me. ‘The Retribution. The Reminder. All sounds lovely.’ The sarcasm in her tone is potent. ‘What other fucks do we have?’
‘I think your favourite is the Truth.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you get to handcuff me, usually when I’m asleep.’ I scowl at her. I can’t help it. ‘And you use your position of power to extract information from me.’
Her eyebrow lifts, her eyes looking me up and down. She’s imagining restraining me. It’s both thrilling and terrifying. Especially when there’s so much more about us for her to learn. I decide here and now that, in actual fact, I’d hate it if Ava laid a Truth Fuck on me again. I make a mental note to find the cuffs and hide them somewhere she’ll never find them.
‘Then there’s the Apology,’ I continue.
‘Who’s apologising?’ she asks quickly, though I know she knows.
‘You.’
‘What for?’
‘Usually being defiant.’
She laughs again. ‘Like wearing an unsuitable dress?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘So are you going to make me apologise?’
Jesus, I’d love nothing more. My dick is screaming at me to let her. ‘I’m not sure you’re up for that just yet.’
‘Why? What do you make me do?’ Her face is becoming more horrified by the second.
Make her? I don’t make her do a damn thing. Wouldn’t dream of it. My lips press together. Jesus Christ, I must sound like a monster. I cough and glance down at my groin, and Ava flies up from her stool. ‘Are you fucking kidding me, Ward?’
More sparks, more life. She called me Ward. She only ever calls me that when she’s spitting mad with me. And what do I do when she swears? ‘Watch your fucking mouth!’ I bellow, knocking her back a few steps with the force.
‘Fuck off!’ she snaps, stomping off out of the kitchen.
Shit, I love her so fucking much. I go after her, hearing her indignant huffs and puffs as she stamps up the stairs. ‘Ava,’ I call, running up behind her, three steps at a time.
‘Fuck you! You’re a hypocritical wanker, Ward. Watch my mouth? Why don’t you watch yours!’
I notice a small limp in her last few steps. ‘You called me Ward!’ I rush to explain, and she stops. ‘You always call me Ward when you’re cranky with me.’
She slowly turns, her thoughtful face coming into sight. ‘I imagine I call you Ward all the time,’ she mutters.
‘A few times a day,’ I admit, my shoulders jumping up casually. ‘Mostly, you humour my needy side.’ I extend my hand from a few steps below her, resigning myself to the fact that, today, the dress can stay. She just better hold me back if some pervert has a wandering eye. ‘And the thing I need most of all is you.’
Her body softens, her sigh definitely dreamy. ‘And then you’re all romantic.’
I smile, and I know it’s shy. ‘I’ve been known to have my moments.’
‘Like?’ The interest in her voice thrills me. She’s craving information, and I’m more than happy to give it. ‘We have romantic fucks too, you know.’
She laughs lightly. ‘Well that’s a relief.’
‘There’s sleepy twilight sex. And sleepy sex. And the Compromise Fuck. We had loads of those when you were expecting the twins.’
‘And what does a Compromise Fuck entail?’
‘A little rough, a lot of gentle. And, for the record, lady, you were the one who wanted the rough.’ I nod when she huffs a light breeze of surprised laughter. ‘And then there’s the Quiet Fuck. Usually when we’ve stayed at your parents’.’
Her light laughter turns quickly into hard laughter. ‘You gag me, don’t you?’
‘You can’t keep your pleasure quiet, Ava. What can I say?’ I shrug around a cocky grin, and she shakes her head in dismay.
‘Go on,’ she urges.
I take a step up, bringing us to eye level. ‘The Proposal Fuck was quite romantic.’
‘You asked me to marry you during sex?’
‘Actually, you were handcuffed to the bed and I didn’t release you until you accepted.’
She’s now on the verge of falling to her arse in amusement. I know it’s a lot to take on board. But at least she’s laughing and not raging any more. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’
‘Believe it, baby. But if it makes you feel better, I did propose again. On my knee. In front of your parents.’
Satisfaction flourishes before my very eyes. She looks dreamy, one hand moving to her chest. This pleases her. I know how much her parents’ opinion means to her. I try to behave around them. I try really hard. I don’t always succeed, but still. It’s the thought that counts.
‘It was my birthday. You couldn’t say no.’
A smile pulls at the side of her mouth. ‘And how old were you?’
‘Twenty-five.’
Softly chuckling, she glances away, clearly coming to terms with all of this. Her life. My life. Our life. ‘Wait.’ She looks back to me. ‘Why did you propose twice?’
All the contentment flowing through my veins turns to acid, my lips forming a straight, annoyed line. I’m not annoyed with her, more with myself. ‘We’d had a disagreement.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine what there could have been for us to disagree about.’
There it is. That sarcasm. ‘Sarcasm—’
‘Doesn’t suit me. I know. Why did you propose twice?’
‘Can we get back to the fucks?’
Her head tilts in impatience. ‘Tell me.’
I can’t go over this again, and I’m not afraid to tell her so. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just know I punished myself and you punished me, too.’
Comprehension dawns fast, and she flinches, as if she could be being hit with the motherfucking whip in her mind. ‘So you cheated on me when we were engaged?’
‘God, no!’ I blurt, disgusted by the suggestion. Give me strength. I won’t insult her and tell her we barely knew each other, nor will I argue my case in any way. It’s done. I can’t change it. I hate myself every day for it, but it’s done. ‘You found out when we were engaged. That’s why I proposed to you again. Properly. I was trying to show you that I could be the man you needed, as well as the man you wanted.’
‘Oh,’ is her only acknowledgment.
Good. Let’s move on. On to the most utilised fuck in our lives. ‘The Danger Fuck is our favourite these days.’
‘What’s that?’
‘When the kids are within a mile radius.’ Her smile’s back. And so is mine. ‘Can we go for dinner now?’
‘Depends.’ Her nose lifts, and she waits for me to ask for confirmation of what exactly our date depends on.
I don’t need to ask. On a dramatic roll of my eyes, I pick her up, mindful of that limp, and carry her down the stairs. ‘You can wear the stupid fucking dress.’
She grins, victorious, and loops her hands over my neck. ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it?’
‘We’ve not left the house yet. And you should have worn flats instead of heels. I saw you limping.’
‘I wasn’t limping.’
‘Are you arguing with me?’
‘Yes.’
I wrinkle my nose and nuzzle hers. ‘Are you wearing lace under that red thing?’
‘I didn’t have much choice. There’s nothing but lace in my knicker drawer.’
‘Good.’ I carry her out and put her in my Aston, pulling the belt across her body. She doesn’t protest, just lets me do my thing and buckle her up. ‘We’re late,’ I muse, checking my Rolex as I shut the door and round the car. Falling into the driver’s seat, I start her up and rev a few times.
‘That’s your fault for having so many fucks to explain.’ She goes to the mirror and applies a little gloss to her lips. ‘Which was your favourite, by the way?’
I laugh, loud and sharp as I put the stereo on and Glass Animals’ ‘Youth’ fills the car. ‘All except the Truth.’ I turn up the volume and zoom off, reminding myself to find those handcuffs and hide them.