I’m making coffee again, creating as much noise as I can to fill the silence, when Ava marches into the kitchen. I’m taken aback by the determination written all over her face. Then she stops, her eyes sparkling a bit at the sight of my bare chest. As her gaze moves down, the sparkle fades and she points to my stomach. Or the two scars marring it. ‘What happened?’
I look down. I don’t know why. ‘Nothing.’ I shake my head and return my attention to Ava, not prepared to go there yet. Besides, I know she didn’t come stomping in here looking all resolute to talk about my scars. It’s the first time she’s seen them since the accident. ‘What’s up?’
After a little shake of her own head, she rights her softened body, standing tall and confident. ‘Tell me how we met. I want you to tell me everything.’
I cautiously lower my arse to a stool, torn between happiness that she’s asked, and dread from the pressure of having to answer. It was all so intense and a huge whirlwind of feelings and emotion; the thought of explaining it is suddenly very daunting. ‘I don’t know where to start, Ava,’ I admit as she joins me at the island. ‘I’m worried I won’t do our story justice.’
She breathes in a little, thinking, as her gaze flits across my face. ‘Then show me.’
I laugh under my breath, but it’s nervous. ‘I’m not sure you’re ready for that.’ I don’t want to freak her out when she’s in such a mind-warp. This isn’t like when we met. I can’t go steamrolling in like I did back then. She’s delicate now. Fragile. I feel like everything is hanging on my approach to this mess.
‘Ready for what?’
I clench my eyes closed, swallowing. ‘My ways.’
‘Your ways?’
‘Yes, my ways.’ I open my eyes and find hers. The mystification staring back at me only amplifies my worry.
She doesn’t know what to make of that. Or of me.
‘That’s what you call it,’ I tell her. ‘My ways.’ I go on when she cocks a questioning head. ‘I’m unreasonable.’ I shrug. ‘Apparently.’ A deep breath helps me to go on. ‘A control freak.’ Another lame shrug. ‘Apparently.’ This is hard already, and I’ve not even skimmed the fucking surface. ‘I’m possessive and controlling and . . .’ I press my lips together when her eyes widen a little. ‘Apparently,’ I add quietly.
‘You just said apparently an awful lot.’
‘Apparently,’ I mumble, looking away from her, struggling to express what she needs to know. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I breathe, frustrated.
‘You swear a lot, too.’
I shoot my eyes to hers, finding a rather disapproving look. I could laugh, but I cough instead. ‘And you don’t, for the record. Hardly ever, in fact.’ I refuse to feel guilty for telling her a barefaced lie. This could be the end of her potty mouth.
‘I don’t?’
I shake my head. ‘Never.’
‘Oh.’ She falls into thought again for a few moments, swallowing repeatedly until she takes in so much air, I’m worried about what might come from her mouth that requires so much preparation. ‘I am ready,’ she declares.
I’m lost. ‘Ready for what?’
‘For you to show me.’ She bites down on her lip a little, gazing at me as I try to comprehend what she’s asking me to do.
‘I’m not sure, Ava.’
‘I am sure.’ She approaches me and lays her hands on my chest, forcing me to breathe deeply through the contact. ‘I have a huge, gaping hole in my head. It’s where you and the children should be, and it’s truly killing me that you’re not there.’ She shoves me a little, bringing her face close to mine. ‘You’re here, in my life, but you’re not up here.’ Releasing one hand, she taps the side of her temple softly, though she still winces a little. Her move is a reminder to both of us that she needs to take it easy. Her visible wounds haven’t healed yet, either. ‘And I just know that you should be. Seeing those photographs has only made that instinct stronger.’ Her voice cracks again, and I quickly take her hand back down from her head, holding it firmly in my grasp. ‘I need you to do whatever it takes.’
Her fierce determination through her broken words staggers me. Then I remember who I’m faced with. I might be a stranger to her, but this is still my wife. The strongest woman I’ve ever met. She has to be, or I wouldn’t be in her life, or she in mine. She tackled me before, took everything I had to throw at her.
‘Whatever it takes?’ I counter, just to hear her say it again. Just so I know we’re on the same page.
‘Whatever it takes,’ she confirms, nodding at the same time. She’s giving me permission. Telling me it’s okay to be . . . all of me?
‘No pressure, then?’ I quip, wondering where to start. The answer comes to me quickly. ‘Go take a shower. We’re going on a little trip.’
*
As I look up at the imposing building, I conclude that this is just as weird for me as it must be for Ava. The Manor is still The Manor, except now it’s The Manor Golf Resort and Spa. The grounds are as spotless as they were when I sold the place, and the building as impressive.
‘We met playing golf?’ Ava asks, a little laughter in her tone. ‘How romantic.’
‘There wasn’t much romantic about our first encounter, baby,’ I say, guiding her up the steps to the open doors, checking for her limp. It’s there, if mild.
‘There wasn’t?’ She sounds so disappointed, her head dropped far back, taking in the extraordinary structure. ‘You know, this could be your perfect opportunity to change that.’
I skid to a stop, looking down at her, a little stunned. She remains quiet while I fish for a response to that. I have nothing, so I pull her on, my mind spinning into overdrive. Not about her hinting that maybe I should be romantic, but because she’s shown a suggestive side, and I like it a lot. I shouldn’t, however, take that subtle hint as a green light to ravage her. Not just yet, anyway.
‘This way.’ I lead her into the bar, pick her up, and place her on a stool, trying to ignore the fact that despite the exterior of The Manor remaining the same, the interior has changed dramatically. It looks utterly shit. I gaze around, caught between resentment and reminiscence. The general layout is the same, though the décor is very different.
‘Why are you scowling?’ Ava asks. This will probably do nothing to help her remember. How could it when I barely recognise it myself?
‘It just isn’t how I remember,’ I tell her, pointing to the barman, who’s kitted out in some green penguin suit that matches the rest of the décor. ‘Mario looked much better.’
‘Who’s Mario?’
‘My head barman.’
‘Your head barman?’ she blurts.
‘Oh yeah.’ I look down at her, smiling nervously. ‘I used to own this place.’
‘You owned a golf resort?’ Her mouth hangs open as she takes a look around her. ‘The house, your flash Aston, this place. Are we rich?’
‘We’re comfortable,’ I say nonchalantly, hoping that is the end of that, for now, at least. The complexity of The Manor and how I came to own it isn’t top of my priority list of things to tell her. It’s us that’s important.
I order two waters and quietly ask the barman if I can speak to the manager.
‘Why did you sell it?’
‘It wasn’t a golf resort when I owned it,’ I say, fully aware that I’ve just opened the floodgates to an inquisition. I take the glass and pass it to her, waiting for the inevitable.
‘Then what was it?’ She takes a small sip, looking at me, waiting for an answer.
I stall, avoiding her gaze, like she might find the answer in my eyes. ‘Oh, look, a lovely painting of St Andrews.’ I point my glass to a wall on the other side of the bar, where tasteful art used to hang.
She looks over her shoulder briefly, clearly not in the least bit interested. ‘What was this place when you owned it?’ she repeats, levelling an expectant look on me.
This simple question has made me realise just how much there is for her to remember. Fucking hell, this is getting more daunting by the minute.
My arse drops to the seat of the stool next to Ava, and I sigh, long and defeated. ‘A sex club,’ I say quietly, not that there’s anyone around to overhear.
‘Pardon?’ She coughs, her glass of water landing on the bar.
‘It was an exclusive sex club for the rich and beautiful.’ I rest an elbow on the bar, propping my head in my hand.
Her lovely mouth is hanging open again. And I’m inwardly laughing. She’s heard nothing yet, and for the first time, I wonder if there are certain things that I should hold back for ever. Things that nearly broke us. Things that I would love to have wiped from her memory even before the accident. But that wouldn’t be fair. Our story is our story, after all, and I have to have faith that she got past it back then, so she can get past it again.
‘Wait.’ She retreats on her seat. ‘You said we met here.’ Her finger comes up and swirls the air around her head, comprehension beginning to dawn. The fear of her thoughts is endearing. ‘Tell me I didn’t . . .’
‘You didn’t,’ I assure her on a small smile.
‘Oh, thank God,’ she breathes, her hand coming up to her chest. ‘Finding out I’m married with kids is enough to wrap my brain around, without the added knowledge that I was a kinky bitch.’
I laugh at her evident relief. ‘Oh, you’re kinky, lady. And in a whole league of your own.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her cheeks flush. I haven’t seen embarrassment on my wife for years. It still looks good on her.
I relish the sight, leaning in to her to get close. ‘You’re a teasing temptress, baby. A savage when you want to be.’
‘A savage?’
‘Biting. Clawing.’ I smile a little at her growing shock. ‘Screaming, really loud. We’re fucking perfect together.’
Her blush gets even brighter, her eyes darting away from mine. ‘Oh.’
I chuckle at her prudishness. ‘Well, this is a strange sight.’
‘What is?’
‘My wife being all shy and reserved.’
‘Well, it’s not every day you find out your husband owned a glamorous sex club.’
‘It’s not every day your wife forgets who you are,’ I reply, with no hurt or harshness behind my words. It’s just a factual statement. ‘We’re both out of our comfort zone here, Ava.’
She looks at me in quiet contemplation. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to experience something incredible?’
I smile and take her hand, helping her down from the stool. ‘Because you are. Because our story is truly incredible. Come on.’ I find the manager and have a quiet word while Ava stands in the entrance hall, staring up the sweeping staircase to the balcony landing. Just watching her there, taking everything in, looking so out of place, brings back so many memories. It’s sweetly reminiscent, if a little painful. The sight is beautiful, but the feelings are ugly. I don’t have the all-consuming intrigue and awe swirling within me like I did back then. I have anxiety instead.
I join Ava and stare up to the first floor, too. The doors off the landing are all closed – doors to guests’ hotel rooms, as opposed to doors that lead to hours of pleasure.
‘This way,’ I whisper in her ear, making her jump a little. I hold my hand out and smile when she takes it, walking us leisurely though what was The Manor. When we hit the ballroom, which is now a huge restaurant with a terrace onto the golf course, I look back, trying not to hope too much that any of this is familiar to her. It’s a long shot, since it’s so very different from how I remember it. ‘Our wedding breakfast was in this room,’ I say over my shoulder, leading her through the scattering of tables.
‘Please tell me you sold this place before we got married.’
‘I can’t.’ I return my attention forward, smiling when she sighs. My smile stretches when I spot an elaborate spray of flowers in a huge glass vase with bursts of every colour imaginable. I divert us to the table where it stands and scan the bouquet, spotting what I’m looking for. There’s only one. But it doesn’t matter. I only need one. I pluck the calla from the middle and turn, handing it to Ava.
She’s unsure as she reaches for it, eyes flicking from me to the flower. ‘It’s beautiful.’
I smile mildly and pull her on. ‘Understated elegance,’ I say over my shoulder, relishing the beam she gives me in return. ‘They’re your favourite flowers.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since the day you met me,’ I tell her as we approach my office door, thinking I was quite romantic back then after all. I look up at the solid wooden door, my mind bombarded with so many memories, the most poignant and important being the first time that Ava O’Shea wandered in. I remember it like it could have been yesterday. I was hung-over. Grumpy. Wishing I didn’t have to endure the mundane meeting with an interior designer. Then John showed her in, and all headaches and irritability were forgotten. Instant intrigue, desire, and want replaced them. ‘Wait here,’ I order lightly, dropping her hand and opening the door, stepping into the vortex of memories.
Her head cranes around me, trying to see into the office. ‘Wait?’
‘I want you to wait one minute and then knock on the door.’
She laughs a little. ‘Why?’
‘Because that’s how it was when we met.’ I shut the door and spin around, taking in my office. ‘Really?’ I ask thin air. What the fuck have they done to it? I rush across to the corner and drag the desk to where it should be. I haven’t got time to rearrange the entire space to replicate what it was all those years ago, so this will have to do. I hear a knock and fall into the chair, quickly rolling up the sleeves of my shirt and roughing up my hair a little. ‘Come in,’ I call, grabbing a pen and jotting something down on a pad to the side. The sound of the door opening fills the office, and I look up to find she’s poked her head around the door.
‘I don’t even know why I’m here,’ she says on a shrug, making me sag in the uncomfortable office chair.
‘Just come in.’ I flap an impatient hand, beckoning her.
She shuts the door and stands across the office, looking around, a bit bewildered. ‘Nice.’
‘It was better when it was my office,’ I say, following her lead and taking the space in. I sniff my disgust and find my wife again. She’s the only thing that looks right in here, even if she’s staring at me a little blankly, her face asking me what next? Her dark hair, currently piled high in a messy knot, isn’t as glossy, and her eyes aren’t as shiny. But she still takes my breath away.
I get up from the chair and slowly round the desk, dragging my fingers across the wood. Then I rest my arse on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankles and my arms over my chest. Her eyes fall to my torso, and I smile to myself. ‘What do you see?’ I ask, prompting her to look up through her lashes at me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Here.’ I indicate down my tall frame, eyebrows raised in question. ‘What do you see?’
‘I see you.’
‘Play the game, Ava,’ I warn – low and husky, instantly making her shift on her feet. That’s more like it. She’s fidgeting. Good. Let’s get this fucking show on the road.
She breathes in, long and deep. She’s finding the courage to say what she wants to say, and I silently will her on. ‘I see dirty-blond hair,’ she begins, clearing her throat in order to continue, as if the silly act will wipe her voice of the lust that’s growing. ‘Green eyes.’
‘And?’
‘And a body to die for.’ She smiles shyly on a little shrug of one shoulder, colour creeping into her cheeks again. ‘Which I’m guessing you must work hard for, given your age.’
I just manage to keep my eyebrows from jumping up in surprise. ‘I don’t work that hard,’ I clarify, thinking now would usually be a perfect time to start the countdown and warn her to take that back. But not now. ‘And you don’t know how old I am,’ I point out.
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-three.’
She laughs lightly, looking away. She’s struggling to keep our eye contact, and I just know it’s because she’s finding it too intense to deal with. This is good.
‘You think I’m handsome.’ I pose it as a statement, because I know it to be true. She might have lost her memory, but she can’t have lost her taste in men. I’m her taste. Me. Only me.
‘Devastatingly,’ she confesses, with no hesitance or shame, finding the strength she needs to lock eyes with me.
‘Then we’re off to a good start.’ I half smile, and so does she, more shifting of her feet happening.
‘You’re also cocky.’
‘You love my cockiness.’ I avoid telling her that she also loves my cock. It’s too soon. Or is it? Then her eyes drop to my groin, as if she’s read my mind, and my cock – the one she loves – shouts from behind my fly. I talk it down urgently. It’s definitely too soon for that. I don’t think her mind would cope, and especially not her healing body.
As I take measured steps towards her, her breathing gets more laboured until she eventually gives up altogether and holds her breath. I reach her and dip, kissing her cheek lightly. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ I whisper, smiling when she shudders from top to toe before snapping out of her trance and moving back. ‘You had the very same reaction the first time we met.’
She puffs out a shot of disbelieving laughter, looking away, as if embarrassed by her reactions to me. ‘You . . . um . . . yes . . .’ She shakes herself, and then winces, reaching up to her head and clutching the side. ‘You certainly have a presence,’ she finishes on a face screwed up in discomfort.
My guilt is instant. ‘This was too much too soon.’ I move in and pick her up, and she lets me, welcoming my offer of support.
‘I have legs, you know,’ she says, settling her head on my shoulder.
‘Yeah, yeah, you tell me most days.’ In one swift but careful move, I manoeuvre her body, guiding her legs to around my waist. ‘And this is more like it.’ Our faces are suddenly close again, her unsure eyes on mine. ‘You call it our baby chimp cuddle,’ I say quietly.
She smiles faintly, scanning my face, as if she can’t get enough of it. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t actually sweep me off my feet the first time we met, so what happened after you had me coming over all hot and bothered?’
‘You ran.’
‘I ran?’
‘Yes, you virtually threw yourself down the stairs to escape me. Well, after I’d shown you the extension and told you I liked your dress.’
‘The extension? You’ve lost me.’
‘I hired you to design the new rooms I had built here.’
Realisation floods her eyes, as well as a little happiness. Something has just clicked for her. ‘So that’s why I was at a posh sex club!’
I nod and move over to a black leather couch, lowering and keeping Ava on my lap. ‘Tell me your last memory. What’s the most recent thing you remember, Ava?’ I take her hands and hold them on my chest, watching as she falls into thought, her forehead creasing in concentration. I wait patiently for her to try to find what she’s looking for, soundlessly willing her on.
‘I was working for a company called Rococo Union.’ Her lips twist as she looks up at me. ‘There was a man I was seeing. But it wasn’t you.’
I feel like a knife just plunged into my fucking heart, and though I fight not to show it, I know my nostrils are flaring dangerously. ‘Is that it? There’s nothing else?’ I try not to sound too hopeful. It’s hard when I’ve never hoped for anything more. Just a little something for me to work on. ‘Anything?’
Her blank expression, the fact that she’s stalling her answer, tells me she doesn’t. ‘I’m sorry.’ She looks away, probably to avoid the disappointment on my face.
Her despondency kills me. I pull her forward, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Take me home.’ She snuggles into me, and I feel her tears soaking through my shirt. ‘Please.’
I’m up from the couch quickly, carrying her out, trying not to let myself feel defeated. It’s still early days, and she’s heard only a morsel of our tale. Yet she’s exhausted by it already. But I won’t quit. It isn’t in my DNA, especially when it comes to this woman.