This Man Confessed

He kisses my forehead and takes a deep breath into my hair. ‘Come on, Mrs Ward. Let’s mooch.’

* * *

I’m thoroughly fed-up of mooching by the time we’re back on the marina front, and I know Jesse has humoured me to within an inch of his life, insisting on buying everything that I picked up or looked at in a bid to reduce my browsing time. This wouldn’t have bothered me too much if it wasn’t for the kind of stores in which we were mooching. This is no Camden. Yes, there were a few knickknack stalls, but I was mainly directed into the abundance of designer stores, leaving me feeling a million times more conspicuous than I ever did in Harrods. The quiet, minimal spaces were dressed with just a few key pieces, not leaving much scope for mooching at all. I did see an exquisite tan bag which I braved a touch of, just to feel the softness of the leather, and Jesse, of course, took this small motion as an indication of my liking and quickly had it wrapped and bagged. I didn’t try to stop him. I really do love my new bag, so I showed him my gratitude, to which he responded by buying me everything that I looked at throughout the afternoon, each time giving me an expectant look to prompt my thank you.

He’s weighed down with bags now, and God bless him, he looks harassed. ‘I’ll put these in the car. Wait there.’ He leaves me on the side of the pedestrianized area, coating my lips in Chapstick, while he goes over to the car to dump the bags, making his way quickly back over and grabbing me. I stifle a yelp as I’m suspended in his arms and ravished. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’ His mouth slides over my freshly moisturised lips with ease as he takes me for all to see. As always, I’m oblivious to our location and company, letting him do as he pleases with me. ‘Hmm, you taste good.’ He pulls back and pouts, his own lips shimmering slightly from the transfer of my Chapstick.

‘If you want to wear ladies lipstick, then do it properly.’ I reach up to apply, and he does nothing to stop me, even puckering to make the coating easier. ‘Better,’ I conclude on a smile. ‘You’re even more handsome with shimmery lips.’

‘Probably.’ he agrees, with complete ease, smacking his lips together. ‘Come on, I need to feed my wife and peanuts.’ He returns me to a vertical position and starts to reposition the slipping straps of my little yellow sundress. ‘These need tightening.’

Shrugging his fussing hands away, I lead on, pulling my own straps into place and disregarding the grunts of protest coming from behind me. ‘Where are you feeding me?’ I ask over my shoulder, keeping up my stride. I’m not striding for long, though. My wrist is seized, and I’m suddenly pulling against a dead weight.

‘Don’t walk away from me,’ he practically growls, spinning me around to face him. He’s scowling, while I’m grinning. ‘And you can wipe that grin off your face.’ He proceeds to tighten my straps, muttering some rubbish about an insufferable wife, who drives him f**king crazy. ‘Better. Where are all the clothes I bought you?’

‘At home.’ I answer curtly, not that any were suitable for a holiday in the sun. I wasn’t exactly given time to go holiday shopping, so I made do with my holiday wardrobe from a few years ago. I was early twenties then, and these clothes he keeps moaning about reflect it.

He takes a deep breath of patience. ‘Why do you insist on being so difficult?’

‘Because I know it drives you crazy.’

‘You just enjoy reducing me to a crazy madman.’

‘You make yourself a crazy madman.’ I laugh. ‘You need no help in that department, Jesse. I’ve told you before; you do not dictate my wardrobe.’

His eyes burn with green displeasure, but I don’t shy away from his hulking, fierceness. I’m really rather brave. ‘You drive me crazy.’ he repeats, because he doesn’t know what else he can say.

‘What are you going to do?’ I ask smugly. ‘Divorce me?’

‘Watch your f**king mouth!’

‘I didn’t even swear!’ I’m really laughing now.

‘Yes, you f**king did! The worse word, in fact. I forbid you to say it.’

Oh, now I’ve really got the chuckles. ‘You forbid me?’

His arms fold over his chest in an act of authority, like I’m a bloody child. ‘Yes, I forbid you.’

‘Divorce.’ I whisper.

‘Now you’re just being childish.’ he huffs, just like a child.

‘-ish.’ I shrug. ‘Feed me.’

He scoffs loudly and shakes his head. ‘I should f**king starve you and reward you with food when you do what you’re f**king told.’ My shoulders are clenched, I’m turned around and then guided towards a sea-front restaurant. ‘I’ll feed you here.’

We’re shown to a table for two on the outside terrace and settled by a happy Spanish man with slicked black hair and a moustache to match. ‘Drinks?’ he asks in a thick Spanish accent.

‘Water, thank you.’ Jesse sits me down and tucks me under the table before taking a seat opposite and passing me a menu. ‘The Tapas are sublime.’

‘You pick.’ I hand the menu back over the table. ‘I’m sure you’ll make a suitable choice.’ My eyebrows are raised cheekily, and the menu is taken from my hand thoughtfully, but with no scorn or reproving look.

‘Thank you.’ he says slowly.

‘You’re welcome,’ I counter, pouring us a glass of water each when the waiter places an ice cold jug on the table. It’s muggy and my thirst has hit hard at the sight of water trickling down the side of the glass pitcher. I down the whole glass in one foul swoop and immediately pour another.