Memorable Scenes
Memorable Scenes
I was recently asked to name the most memorable scene I’ve written. And I wondered what makes a scene memorable to write. Because I enjoyed it? Because I smiled my way through it? Because I cried? Because it was really tough to write? Regardless, I couldn’t narrow it down to one scene. The list is endless for me, and each scene is, for one reason or another, memorable. Many for all of the above and more.
So in no particular order, and because there are so many, I thought I’d kick off with this one . . .
With This Woman
Chapter 29
I head the long way to the elevators to avoid the jewelry rooms and bundle Ava in, hitting the button for the first floor. I see her eyes on the wall, reading the store information guide.
“Hey, I want the fourth floor,” she says. I keep my attention forward. “Jesse?”
The doors open and I’m on the move again, pulling Ava past the collections of designer clothes, most, I note as I briefly scan them, a suitable length. “This way,” I sing, happy.
I suddenly feel her resistance, not surprisingly since the personal shopping department just came into view. “No, Jesse,” she says, adamant, trying to remove her hand from mine, digging her feet in. “No, no, no. Jesse, please.”
I focus on pulling her along, working on my speech to talk her round as I do. She’ll be fine when she settles down. When she forgets about money and independence. I want her to enjoy this. “I have an appointment with Zoe,” I say when we arrive.
“Mr. Ward?” the young chap says, looking down at an iPad.
“Yes.”
“Please, this way. Can I get you any drinks? Champagne, perhaps?”
I look at Ava. I’m even willing to let her have a glass if she’ll just humor my need to spoil her. But she refuses, shaking her head, now quiet. Apprehensive.
“No,” I say to the assistant. “Thank you.” We’re led into the waiting room and offered a seat, and I lower, pulling Ava down with me. She snatches her hand from mine. “What’s up?” I ask tiredly like a dick, reaching for her hand again, holding it.
“Why did you ask me where I wanted to go if you’d already made an appointment?”
“I don’t understand why you would want to trail around a dozen stores when you can have everything brought to you here.” Ava’s version of shopping sounds like hell. Don’t tell me she’d prefer that over this. It’s easy. Pain free.
“Is this how you shop?”
“Yes.” I sigh, done with this debate over fucking shopping. “And I pay for the privilege so just humor me, will you?”
Her lips purse, and I brace myself for the incoming hissy fit but, God love her, Zoe breezes in, her timing perfect. “Jesse,” she says, her arms open in invitation. “How are you?”
Stressed. I go to her, letting her say her hello. “She doesn’t want to be here,” I whisper. “Make this fun.” I pull away. “Zoe. I’m good.” She doesn’t know it yet, but Zoe is helping me in more ways than one, so she’s about to be hit with some serious charm because it’s going to take longer than she’s booked out for me. “You?” I give her a big smile, and she gives me a dubious one, eyeing me with suspicion and confusion. Because in Zoe’s world, who wouldn’t want to be in Harrods being spoiled? Exactly.
“Great,” she says slowly. “This must be Ava.” Abandoning me, she moves in on Ava, obviously keen to find out what it is about this woman that’s got me under the thumb. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Ava smiles, awkward as fuck, and accepts Zoe’s hand. It’s a step in the right direction. She’s not left yet. I’m depending on Zoe now to make sure she doesn’t. “So, Ava, Jesse tells me we’re looking for something special for an important party.”
“Something very special,” I add, sitting again, helping Ava down too, ignoring her constant, poorly concealed dirty looks.
“Okay, what’s your style, Ava?” Zoe asks, and I laugh to myself. Short things. “Give me an idea of what you like.”
“I don’t have a style really.”
Lie. She likes anything that’ll give me heart failure. “Lots of dresses,” I say. “She likes dresses.”
“You like dresses,” Ava retorts quietly. I pout, hitting my knee with hers.
“You’re about a ten, yes?” Zoe asks, looking down Ava’s frame.
Yes, a perfect ten. “Not too short,” I blurt, recoiling at my own words. Did I say that out loud?
When Ava turns a disbelieving look my way, I know I did. I smile, kind of sorry, kind of not.
“Jesse, she has fantastic legs,” Zoe pipes in. “It would be a shame to waste them.” I glare at her. Does she want this commission or not? “What shoe size are you, Ava?”
“I’m a five.”
“Great, let’s go.” Zoe stands and, surprisingly, Ava joins her without any need for persuasion.
“I can’t believe you’ve done this to me,” she moans, and I smile, because I can see she’s coming round to this. She just doesn’t want to let me have my way.
I give her a quick kiss. “Let me have my fun,” I beg. “I get my own little fashion show with my favorite lady modeling.”
“Who gets to pick the dress, Jesse?”
That’s only a small part of my game plan. “You do.” If they’re in the acceptable pile. “I’m just observing, I promise.” I smile my sincerest smile, willing her to be openminded for the next hour or two. “Go on, knock yourself out.” I lower back to the couch and get my mobile out, ready to kick the next part of my plan into action, discreetly peeking up, watching Zoe lead Ava away.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I jump up and dash off in the opposite direction through Harrods, racing down to the ground floor. I have no idea how long they’ll be before they’re back at the changing rooms. Twenty minutes? Half hour? I suppose that all depends on how much fun Zoe makes this.
When I make it to the jewelry rooms, I find Hans polishing his glasses. “Ah, Mr. Ward,” he says, delighted, slipping them on. “Another Rolex?”
“Not exactly.” I take his arm and guide him to a nearby cabinet. “Show me all your diamond rings.”
His hands slap over his mouth, his eyes wide. “No.”
“Yes, Hans.”
“No!”
“Yes, Hans.”
His hands move from his mouth to his knees. “Oh my God!”
I look at my Rolex. “Time is not my friend right now, Hans.”
“Yes, right. Tell me about the lucky lady,” he says, and I frown. “What does she like? What doesn’t she like? What do you like? What don’t you like? Where will you pop the question? Who will be there? The setting? What time of day? Sunrise? Sunset? The color scheme? Will there be flowers? Water?” He gasps, his hands covering his mouth again. “How will you pop the question?”
I stare at him blankly, incredulous. “I just want a ring, Hans.”
“Which ring?” He glides a hand across various cabinets, all full of beautiful rings, and I take them all in, even more overwhelmed.
I spot an oval cut diamond on a simple band. “That one,” I say, pointing, but no sooner have I uttered the words, I spot another gorgeous teardrop diamond on a slightly thicker, flatter band. “No, that one.” Then a square diamond wrapped in a band of tiny diamonds catches my eye. I lower my hand to the glass cabinet and exhale. “Or that one,” I say quietly. Fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be. I look up at Hans, lost, and he smiles in sympathy. “I haven’t got time to answer your questions, Hans. Zoe is distracting her while I’m here.”
“She’s here?” he asks, alarmed. “In the store?” He starts looking around in a panic.
“Yes, she’s here.”
“Why didn’t you come alone?”
“This is a spur-of-the-moment thing.” Bullshit. She will say yes, she will say yes.
“Maybe come back alone next week and we can take the time and consideration this needs.”
“No,” I say, adamant. “I need the ring today.” I’m not wasting another moment. I want a ring on her finger tonight so every man and woman will see it. Mine. I pause for thought, reining myself in. But the last thing Ava will want to do is go to my sex club after I’ve killed her with romance and proposed. Shit.
Okay. Maybe tomorrow. I swallow. Or Sunday. I pout. But I’d love to give her something special to wear tonight. Something significant. Something every member will see and appreciate.
Mine, mine, mine.
“Mr. Ward?”
I look up at Hans, who has a cushion of rings before him. “One word to describe your love,” he says, reminding me of why I’m here.
I smile, prompting one from him. “I have two,” I say, every vision of Ava I have stored in my memory coming forward and bombarding my mind’s eye. “Understated elegance.”
Hans gasps, and he goes straight to the cushion, plucking a ring from the red velvet. “Then you must have this one.”
I gaze at his recommendation in his gloved hand.
“This,” he says, almost dreamily, pointing at the diamond. “A one-of-a-kind cushion diamond.”
I lean in, seeing the edges of the stone are slightly tapered, softening the squarer cut. “It’s beautiful.”
“Indeed. Two carats. Excellent color, amazing clarity. Like I said, one of a kind.”
“It’s perfect.” I stand, my heart going crazy in my chest. One of a kind. “I’ll take it.”
“It’s a very romantic diamond, Mr. Ward. Do you know the lucky lady’s size?
I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring Kate nabbed from Ava’s jewelry box, a costume piece she used to wear. “Here.” I place it down. “Size it to that. How long will it take?”
“Oh, for you, Mr. Ward, we can have it ready by the end of the day.”
“Fuck,” I curse, making him flinch. “Sorry.” There’s not a chance I can make it back today to pick it up. “Can you have it delivered?” I ask. “Later today. Leave it with the concierge.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Ward.”
“Thanks, Hans.” I pull out my card and hand it over, and he takes it with the biggest smile. My eyes fall to a necklace, and I slowly move toward it, captivated by the blinder of a diamond. Stunning. Perfect. I just want to buy her everything. “This necklace,” I say, my eyes fixed to it. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“How could she not?”
I pout, thinking. It’s a whopper of a diamond. Too big? Another catches my eye. Slightly smaller. Less sparkly. Underwhelming, to be honest, compared to the other. Torn, I look at Hans. “I’m going to have Zoe walk past with Ava. Discreetly show her the necklaces.” I’m sure Zoe can make an excuse to take Ava back out onto the shop floor at some point during the fitting.
His shoulders straighten. “Oh, Mr. Ward, you are spoiling her.”
I motion to the card. “You should probably keep that for now.”
He pops it into the machine and I tap in my PIN, looking down at my watch. Shit. “I’ll be back,” I say, dashing off. I’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. She’ll be wondering where I am. I jump on the escalator, run up the steps, and jog through the various departments toward the personal shopping area.
I round a corner.
And nearly barge into the back of Ava.
Fuck.
I skid to a stop, my front literally a hair’s breadth away from her back as she juggles a few dresses in her arms. “Fucking hell,” she hisses, nearly dropping one of them. I scowl at the back of her head, my lips straight, and reverse my steps, putting myself back around the corner and releasing my held breath. What to do, what to do?
I peek around the corner, spotting Zoe walking toward Ava, therefore toward me. She spots me, frowns, and I quickly put my finger to my mouth to silence her. Her frown deepens, as she splits her attention between me and taking the dresses out of Ava’s arms, handing them to a young lad who hangs them on a mobile rail. A full mobile rail. I smile to myself. She’s having fun.
Ava walks off toward another display, taking in a disturbingly short gray . . . thing. Zoe checks her attention is elsewhere and comes over. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I need you to walk Ava through the jewelry rooms. Past Hans. There’s a necklace in a cabinet. Diamond. Hans knows the one. He’ll give you a wink. Make sure Ava sees it. See if she likes it.”
Zoe looks back at Ava, as do I. She’s still looking at the short gray thing. “Jesse,” she says, looking at her watch. “I allocated an hour. I’m pushing time already.”
I point to the mobile rail. “See that?”
“Yes, I see that.”
“I’ll buy it all.” My phone rings, and I pull it out, seeing an unknown number on my screen. Yeah, not answering that. I reject the call, slip my phone back into my pocket, and get back to bribing Zoe. “All of it, Zoe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous. Every single thing. And the necklace if she likes it.”
Her mouth hangs open briefly before she gets it under control. Yes, I’m smitten. “The budget?” she asks.
I say what every commission-based personal shopper wants to hear. “There is no budget.”
She grins. “Well, then I guess I need to be getting on.”
“Yes, please do.” I expect that mobile clothes rail will be loaded to breaking point by the time it makes it back to the personal shopping department. Don’t care. “And, Zoe?” I call quietly, making her look back at me. I point to Ava, who is still looking at that offending gray dress. “That dress is definitely a no.” I need to claw back a little control here. “Anything that short is a big, fat fucking no.”
“Then perhaps you should be proposing to a woman more your age.”
My jaw hits the floor at my feet—the cheeky fucker—and I’m about to retaliate when I see Ava turning. Shit. I quickly disappear round the corner again, smiling at an old couple who are watching me with slightly wary expressions. “Morning,” I say, pulling my phone out when it rings again. “Sarah,” I answer, wandering away aimlessly.
“I think your card’s been cloned. Or stolen. I don’t know, but someone’s just tried to spend over one hundred grand on it in Harrods.”
I stop dead in my tracks. Oh fuck. Just one day. All I wanted was one simple, uncomplicated, stress-free day with Ava.
“The bank just called me,” she goes on. “They couldn’t get through to you. I’ve told them to freeze your card.”
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Jesse?”
I cringe, looking around me, like a rack of clothes might offer me a way out of this. I have nothing, so I just hum.
“Did you hear a word I just said?” she asks.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Good.”
Fuck me, I should have anticipated the fraud department at my bank would flag a transaction of that scale.
“I’ll call Harrods,” Sarah says. “See if they can give me any details on the person trying to use your card.”
Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck. “It was me, Sarah,” I breathe.
“What?” She laughs. “You?”
“Yes, me. I’m in Harrods now, so you can stop panicking. There’s no one trying to steal my millions.” Somehow, I don’t think Sarah will agree with that.
“What on earth are you buying for that kind of money?”
My face bunches, a stressed hand running through my hair. “It doesn’t matter.” I can’t do this now. This whole experience has been a stress-fest already, without Sarah throwing in her thoughts. “I’m not done shopping yet, either, so can you call the bank and tell them to unfreeze my card?”
“I’m too busy getting ready for tonight. You have the number for your personal bank manager in your phone. Call her yourself.”
I let out a long, loud sigh. Great. The bank manager who hates me. I bet she’s dying to offer her assistance. “Fine.”
“And you said you’d be here to help.”
“I’m busy right now.” I hang up. “Fuck it all to hell,” I hiss, scrolling through my contacts, trying to remember her name. Julie, Julia. “Juliette!” I press down on her name and inhale, taking my phone to my ear.
“Juliette Cooke,” she says in answer, and I raise my brows. Still going by her married name, then?
I clear my throat and stand taller. “Juliette, hi, it’s Jesse Ward.”
Silence.
“I’m shopping in Harrods. I believe there’s an issue with my card.”
“Yes, our fraud department flagged a transaction. Your girlfriend confirmed it was fraudulent and froze your card.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I shake my head. “And Sarah, my colleague, was mistaken. I have my card and it was me using it. I need you to unfreeze it so I can pay.”
“No problem,” she replies, clipped. “I’ll make a call and have that done as soon as I’m back at my desk.”
“How long will that be?”
“I’m just about to go into a meeting with a client, so as soon as I’m finished I’ll start the process.”
My jaw rolls, my temper flaring. “I need it to happen now. I’m in the store, and I need to pay.”
“I’m afraid—”
“Juliette,” Fuck this shit. She’s being difficult. Obstructive. “I am asking you nicely to unfreeze my card now.”
“And I’m telling you nicely, Mr. Ward, that I will absolutely do that just as soon as I am at my desk.”
“Put the branch manager on.”
“What?”
“The branch manager, put them on the phone now.”
Silence. Good. We’re getting somewhere.
“I’d like to start the process of moving my accounts,” I go on. “Personal and company, to another bank. One that appreciates my business, is happy to help, and doesn’t use their personal hang-ups as a weapon to hold me to ransom and keep me from my money.” There are tens of millions spread across those accounts. If Juliette loses my business, I’ve no doubt she’ll lose her job too, because I’ll make sure the bank knows why I’m moving my money.
Silence. Good. She’s thinking about this.
“I haven’t got all day, Juliette.”
“I’ll postpone my meeting and call Fraud now.”
“Very kind.” I smile tightly. “And please let me know when the hold has been lifted so I can avoid the embarrassment of having my card declined in Harrods again.” I hang up and curse again, then curse harder when a text lands from Zoe, informing me they’re heading back to the changing rooms. Fuck, I need to go see Hans. Fuck, I need to be at the changing rooms when Ava returns to them.
“This is not panning out how I hoped,” I say to myself, breaking out into a jog, dipping and diving around the various displays on my way back to the personal shopping department.
I spot Ava and Zoe in the distance, ahead of me. “For God’s sake.” I pick up my pace, round a young couple, jump over a kid, dodge a sales assistant, circling wide around Ava and Zoe.
I’m fucking knackered when I arrive in the waiting area, slumping down onto the couch, fighting to get my breath. It’s ridiculous. I run miles most days, and a small sprint across Harrods has me blowing out my arse. It’s the circumstances. The stress. My phone rings and I dig it out, seeing Juliette’s name on my screen. “Yes?” I answer, as clipped as she should expect.
“Your card is ready to use, Mr. Ward.”
Ava and Zoe appear, the rail being dragged along behind them, the young lad in charge of it appearing as knackered as I am. Ava looks delightfully relaxed, and maybe a little embarrassed by the amount of clothes loaded on the rail. I flick Zoe a raised brow, and she shrugs. “Thanks,” I say to Juliette, hanging up and rising. “Have fun?” I ask, lavishing Ava, kissing away the blush on her cheeks. “I missed you.”
“I’ve been gone an hour.” She laughs as I suspend her in my arms, the sound glorious. This is more like it. This is what I’m here for.
“Too long. What have you got?”
“Too much to choose from.” Ava looks at the rail when I stand her up. There will be no choosing.
“Go try,” I order softly, swatting her arse, encouraging her on. I give Zoe a pointed look before directing my stare at the jam-packed rail. We’re going to be a while. Of course, she ignores me, marching past to the changing rooms, on a mission to bankrupt me.
Ava follows, and when they reach the door into the private room, Zoe invites Ava in, pushing the rail in too, looking back at me.
“She loved it,” she mouths.
I put up both hands. All fingers. “Give me ten.”
She nods and I leave for yet another sprint around Harrods, arriving at the jewelry room with a sweat. “Hans,” I breathe.
“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid—”
“I know, Hans. I’ve talked to my bank. It’s fine, they were being cautious.” I can see his relief, his sale saved. “And she loved the necklace, so I’ll take that too.”
“Mesmerized, Mr. Ward,” he sings. “I was quite torn. When your card was declined, I very nearly removed the necklace from the case so she couldn’t see it.”
“Thank the commission gods, eh, Hans?” I quip, bracing my hands on the edge of the glass counter, probably smearing it to death, trying to catch my breath. “Now, if you could run through the ring and the necklace sharpish, that would be helpful.”
“My pleasure.” He disappears toward a cash register.
“I bet it is,” I mutter, smiling when he returns with the card machine, tapping my PIN in. And we both wait this time, watching for the glorious word Approved to appear on the screen.
I breathe out my relief when it does, write down my address for Hans to have them delivered, and call Clive on my way back to let him know Harrods will be dropping off a gift for Ava later today and to keep it in the safe until I collect it from him.
I make it back to the dressing rooms with one minute to spare and drop to the couch, exhausted, just as Zoe peeks around the door to check I’m back.
She smiles. “Ready?”
“Ready.” I exhale, getting comfortable, just as Ava breezes out in a beautiful taupe gown. I lied. I’m not ready at all. I stare at her, mouth open, dazzled, as she holds her hands out to the side, like she’s scared to touch it.
“What do you think?” she asks, as Zoe stands to the side, smiling.
I blink, shift in my seat, shit happening behind the fly of my jeans that shouldn’t be happening in Harrods. “I—” I clear my throat. I didn’t appreciate how hard this might be. Watching her try on dress after dress, all of which I know are going to be stunning on her, not to mention sitting here while she’s in there undressing over and over again. “It’s beautiful.”
She smiles, almost shy. “You think?”
Just look at her. Do I think? Fuck me, she’s flawless. This is going to be torture.
“You can’t buy the first dress you try on.” Zoe ushers her back into the dressing room. “Next.”
I was right to be worried. It’s plain torture watching Ava appear time and again in various beautiful gowns, all fitting her like they were made for her, all absolutely begging to be ripped off. Damn, I wish I didn’t need to go to The Manor. I want to take her home and hide in our bed until this evening. On that thought, I get up and wander out of the shopping area, calling John. He doesn’t answer.
Zoe appears, dragging another trolley along. “You’re really pushing your luck.”
“It’s just a few more things.”
“Looks like it. How much longer do you need to bankrupt me?” My phone rings in my hand.
“Only another hour or so,” she sings, smiling sweetly. I shake my head at my stupid self. What was I thinking? I answer the unknown number; I won’t be making that mistake again.
“Mr. Ward, it’s Hans.”
“Is there a problem, Hans?”
“No, no problem. I pulled a few strings and had the ring resized so your purchases are ready. I can have them delivered now?”
“Actually, I’m still in the store.”
“You are?” he asks, surprised.
I point a look at Zoe. “Yes, I am.” Hemorrhaging cash. “I’ll pop down and pick them up.”
“Excellent.”
I hang up. “If she asks where I am, I’m using the gents.”
“Whatever you say.” Zoe pulls the rail on, and I dash off, wondering when security might show up and find out what the fuck I’m doing running circles around Harrods.
I make it to Hans, who’s standing, arm extended, smiling, with two green bags suspended from his finger. I hardly even slow my pace, swiping them from his hand as I jog past, his body turning to follow me. “Good luck, Mr. Ward,” he calls with a clap of his hands.
I break out of the store and keep up my pace to my car, opening the driver’s door and stuffing the bags beneath the seat. Jesus Christ, this car is currently worth around half a million as it stands. I shut the door and lock it. Walk two paces, pause, and look back at my car. Press the fob to lock it again. Reverse my steps and check it’s really locked.
When I make it back to the dressing area, Zoe is grinning. “What?” I ask, nervous.
“Nothing,” she sings, as a young girl shuffles past with a dress bag laid over her arms, her back purposely turned toward me.
“What’s that?”
“Just sit down and enjoy the rest of your show.” She wanders off. “It’s cost you enough.”
I laugh under my breath, lowering to the couch again and leaning back, fucking exhausted. I glance down at my Rolex. I’m sure I said to Ava shopping at Harrods was pain free. Then why the fuck does every muscle I have ache? And my head. I blow out my cheeks and can’t even find the will I need to sit up when Ava appears in a lovely blue summer dress that meets my standards. I nod, she smiles, and returns to the dressing room, appearing a few minutes later wearing a spotty dress with longer sleeves. Another nod. Her cheeks are getting pinker, her hair wilder each time I see her. She’s knackered too, for very different reasons. A few minutes later, she’s appearing again, and suddenly I find some energy. The fuck? I look at the short gray thing with all the disgust I feel.
“She’s like a clothes horse, isn’t she?” Zoe says dreamily.
I ignore Zoe and give Ava my full attention. “Get it off,” I hiss.
For some reason, this amuses Ava, but she backtracks straight back into the changing rooms without protest. I give Zoe my attention. “Seriously?”
“Oh, lighten up. You sound like a dinosaur.”
I recoil, my stunned eyes watching Zoe follow Ava. A dinosaur? My disgust multiplies, as do the daggers I’m firing in Zoe’s direction. She quickly disappears, dodging them, and I get up, going to the nearest mirror. I sniff, turning my head, feeling at my scruff. Checking my dark blond for grays.
Nothing.
Dinosaur? She’s talking out of her fucking arse.
I hear movement behind me and turn, seeing Ava standing stock-still staring at the rail of dresses. “What have we got then?” I wander over.
“Oh, she’s got some fabulous pieces,” Zoe tells me, shifting the line of dresses along and popping another on the end. “I’m very jealous. I’m just going to get this all wrapped and bagged for you.”
“Jesse,” Ava says, as I watch Zoe prance off with my card. “I’m really not comfortable with this.”
I sigh when I feel her take my hands. “Why?”
She nibbles her lip, looking past me to Zoe, clearly torn. She wants to accept but doesn’t think she should. She’s worried about what people will think. She’s worried about giving people—no names mentioned—ammunition to substantiate their claims that she’s after one thing. It’s still really fucking insulting, like they’re saying I have nothing but money to offer a young, beautiful woman like Ava.
No, you have lies too.
I blink. And devotion. And security. And safety.
“Please,” she begs, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes, squeezing my hands. “I don’t want you spending all of this money on me.”
“It’s not all that much.” I pout, certain I look as disappointed as I feel. Ava breathes out, her gaze dropping, but her hands remaining clenching mine. I stroke over the backs with my thumbs, wishing she could get past her issues. She can be as independent as she likes. Kind of. Doesn’t mean I can’t spoil her. Doesn’t mean I can’t treat her like she’s precious. Doesn’t mean I can’t look after her.
“Just buy me a dress for tonight,” she says quietly, her eyes climbing back up my body and landing on mine. “That would be acceptable to me.”
“Just one dress?” One measly dress? It can’t be like this forever. She’s got to get comfortable with my money, or every day will be a struggle. “Another five dresses and you’ve got a deal,” I say, considering the fix I’m in. I have to please Ava, as well as Zoe. I can’t take back my promise of extortionate commission, and I can’t fall out with Ava. So I’ll negotiate for now, show some flex.
“Two,” she retorts.
I roll my eyes to myself. Of course she’d counter. “Five. This wasn’t part of the deal.” She said she’d let me spoil her. The fact I have is beside the point. She doesn’t know I’ve spoiled her, and the deal was that she would let me.
“I don’t care how old you are. Keep your silly little age secret.”
“Okay, but it’s still five. I’ve got to make a phone call. You go and pick five dresses.” At least the ones we’re taking today. “Zoe has my card. My PIN is one nine seven four.”
Ava’s eyes bug. “I can’t believe you’ve just told me your PIN number.”
“No secrets, remember?” Am I a complete cunt? I quickly turn and walk away before Ava catches my flinch.
“You are thirty-seven,” she calls, sounding happy. Happy that I’m not older? “Your PIN number. You were born in seventy-four. You didn’t lie at all, did you?”
Exactly thirty-eight years ago on Monday. One year closer to forty. And the one woman I love is still on the right side of thirty, by quite some years. How the fuck have I been on this planet for thirty-eight years? And how have I survived them? I honestly don’t know, but for the first time in a long time, I’m really fucking happy I did.
I look back at the woman who’s changed me—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst—blowing her a kiss, before leaving her delighted form and putting myself out of eyeshot.
I dial John. “What are my chances of not coming over this—”
“Zero,” he grunts, and my shoulders drop. “A few of the cameras have gone down.”
“What?”
“I’ve called the company. We’re on a twelve-hour contract, which means they can come anytime between now and—”
“Early hours of tomorrow morning.” I look up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“Indeed. I’m checking them over to see if it’s something I can fix temporarily to tide us over until tomorrow morning. Could do with a hand.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Where are you?”
“Hell.”
“Still?”
“How’s Sarah?”
“Moody. What’s gone on?”
Definitely not telling John that over the phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, we also need to discuss Steve Cooke.”
My back straightens. Loose. “Why?”
“I’m not sure I like how he conducts himself. He’s getting a bit heavy-handed for my liking.”
I’ll scratch you back, you scratch mine. Fucking hell, is he expecting me to overlook this? “A complaint?”
“Not yet. Give it time.”
“We should talk to him tonight.” I won’t be scratching his back.
“He’s not attending. On duty. Tomorrow?”
I inwardly groan. I don’t want to do anything tomorrow other than worship Ava. I certainly don’t want to deal with a loose member. “I’m a bit busy tomorrow.” I cringe.
“Sunday then.”
I grimace. “I’ll see you in a bit.” I hang up, curse a few times, and return to the personal shopping area, wiping my face clean of irritation. Ava wanders out, her eyes fixed on me, her expression happy. “Thank you.” She gives me a kiss, handing me my credit card.
“You’re more than welcome.” I accept her affection, relinquishing her of the bags. “Do I get another show?” One that doesn’t involve me dashing around like a prick in between outfit changes.
“Of course, but you don’t get to see the gown.”
I laugh to myself. I think I’ve seen every gown Harrods stocks today. “Which one did you pick?”
“You’ll find out later.”
A surprise? Can’t wait.
“So,” she muses, casual. “My man really is knocking on forty.”
I pause sucking at her neck and scowl. Jesus, why does forties sound so much older than thirties? Sounds fucking ancient compared to twenties. I get her in my sights, seeing utter delight on her face. I suppose I should be grateful there’s not horror. But it would be perfect for me if we never talked about our ages. I take her hand and start leading her on. “Does it bother you?”
“Not at all,” she answers quickly, sounding quiet convincing too. So why the fuck won’t she stop banging on about it? “Why does it bother you, though?”
“Ava,” I say on a sigh, keeping us moving, mindful of the time. “Do you remember one of the very first things you said to me?” How old are you?
“Why did you lie?”
“Because you wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t a problem.” I look down at her, finding a wide, glorious smile.
“It doesn’t bother me in the slightest how old you are.” She’s talking bullshit. Of course it bothers her—as proven with her incessant questioning in that regard. Trying to convince me now that I was worried over nothing is sweet but wasted. “Is that a gray hair?”
I get us on the escalator and turn to face her. She still looks delighted, even if she’s trying her hardest not to be. No, baby, that is not a gray hair. Because I just fucking checked for them in the mirror. “Do you think you’re funny?” I don’t give her a moment to answer, dipping and tossing her onto my shoulder.
“Jesse,” she shrieks as I turn and walk off the escalator, pacing through the store, smiling at every person I pass who’s looking on, some wide-eyed, some turning to mush. Mostly the women.
I pass Hans, whose hand slaps into his chest, love hearts popping into his eyes. I give him a nod. “Good day, Mr. Ward,” he calls as we pass.
“So far, so good,” I muse, looking up to the sky and throwing a quick prayer out there that it remains this way.
What, until you’ve got that whopper of a diamond on her finger?
“You got it, Jake,” I say quietly.
“What?” Ava says, bobbing up and down.
“Nothing. You okay up there?” I move my hand to her arse and squeeze, and she jolts on a laugh.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
I smile. “These knocking-on-forty-shoulders holding you up okay?” My smile widens when her hands stroke over the swell of my backside.
“Perfectly fine.”
I lift the bags in my hands for the green-suited man on the door to see. “Hands a little full, mate,” I say as I approach, and he laughs, opening the door.
As soon as we’re in the sunshine, I lower her, watch as she pulls her dress into place, take her hand, and walk us down the street to my car. I release the boot and pop her bags in there, put Ava in the passenger seat, and kiss her chastely. “We’ll grab some lunch at The Manor.” I shut the door before she can protest, because I really don’t have a choice now but to go help John out. “Enjoying your day so far?” I ask as I slide on my Ray-Bans, looking across the car to her.
“Absolutely.”
“Me too.” I start the engine. “Put your belt on.” Checking my mirrors, I ease out of the parking space and check the dash for the time, cursing when I see it’s ticking on. At this rate, we’ll get no alone time before we have to be at The Manor again this evening.
I let the windows down and put some music on, stopping at the lights at the end of the street.
“What’s up?” Ava asks when I curse.
“Watch,” I say, pointing at the lights. “Every single one will be red from here to The Manor.”
“We could always just go home instead,” she muses, shifting in the leather seat as I turn my eyes slowly onto her, not impressed. Not impressed at all. “John needs a hand with something,” I say, my eyes dragging down her front to her boobs.
“Shame,” she whispers, gazing out of the window.
Jesus Christ.
“The light’s green,” she adds, just as a chorus of car horns break out.
I blink and look up, a little disorientated. I can’t see her smile. But I can feel it.
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