The doors on the massive television cabinet start sliding across, revealing the biggest, frameless, flat screen T.V I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
‘Do you want to watch television or would you prefer music and conversation?’ He looks at me on a small smile. My fork is hanging out of my mouth. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.
I chew and swallow as soon as I can. ‘I’ll take music and conversation, please.’ That was an easy choice. He nods, like he knew that would be my answer, and the next thing I know, the room is swamped in the calming tones of Mumford and Sons. This is a surprise. I cross my legs and sit back. I made a good choice with this sofa.
‘Good?’
I glance over and find him facing me, one knee up and his arm resting on the back of the sofa holding his plate. ‘Very, you don’t cook?’
‘I don’t.’
I smile around my fork. ‘Why, Mr Ward, is that something you don’t do well?’
‘I can’t be amazing at everything.’ he says, completely straight faced, studying me closely. He really is an over-confident arse.
‘Your housekeeper cooks for you?’
‘If I ask her to, but most of the time I eat at The Manor.’
I suppose it makes sense that he’d take advantage of the lovely food at his disposal. I know I would. ‘How old are you?’
He pauses with his fork midway to his mouth. ‘Thirty-ish,’ He takes his forkful of food, watching me as he chews.
‘-ish,’ I mouth.
‘Yes, ish,’ A smile plays on the corners of his lips.
I return to my food, not in the least bit bothered by his vague answer. I’ll keep asking; he’ll keep evading. Maybe I should try with my own versions of persuasion – maybe a truth fuck or a countdown? What would I do to him on zero? I drift into musing over exactly what I could do on zero, between mouthfuls of my Chinese dinner. I can think of plenty, but nothing I could carry out with ease. He’d overpower me, very easily. The countdown is off the menu, so it’s a truth fuck then. I need to invent the truth fuck. What could I do?
‘Ava?’
I look up, finding Jesse and his frown line studying me. ‘Yes?’
‘Dreaming?’ he asks, his voice laced with concern.
‘Sorry.’ I put my fork down. ‘I was miles away.’
‘You were,’ He takes my plate and slides it onto the coffee table. ‘Where were you?’ He reaches over to pull me into his lap.
I snuggle happily. ‘Nowhere.’
He shifts up the sofa, taking my place in the corner, positioning me under his arm. I rest my cheek on his bare chest, throw my leg over his groin and inhale him in his entire fresh water splendor. I sigh, letting the soft music and the feel of Jesse ease me into a peaceful rest.
‘I love having you here.’ he says quietly, playing with a lock of my hair.
I really love being here too, but not as a puppet. Would it always be like this? I could do exactly this, day in, day out – it’s been a lovely day. But could I live with the controlling, unreasonable side of him? I run my finger along the line of his scar.
‘I love being here too.’ I whisper. I really do, especially when he’s like this.
‘Good. So you’ll stay?’
What? Tonight? ‘Yes. Tell me how you got this.’
He reaches down, clasping my hand to prevent any further touching of the area. ‘Ava, I really don’t like talking about it.’
Oh? ‘I’m sorry.’ I feel bad. That was a plea. Something terrible happened to him, and it makes me feel sick to know that he was hurt in some way.
He pulls my hand up to his face and kisses my palm. ‘Please, don’t be. It’s not something that’s important to the here and now. Dragging up my past serves no purpose other than to remind me of it.’