‘You’ll see.’ He strides into the foyer of Lusso, and I smile when I hear Clive’s cheerful voice. He’s not as easy on the eye as our new concierge, but I’ll always favour Clive’s age worn and jolly face, rather than Casey’s fresh, pretty one.
‘Congratulations!’ he chants. I’m not surprised. Either Jesse really has broadcasted it, or Cathy’s been getting excited. ‘Wonderful news!’ His voice is getting closer as I’m carted across the marble towards the elevator. ‘Let me get that for you, Mr Ward.’ He jumps in front of Jesse and pushes in the code for the penthouse lift.
‘Thanks, Clive.’ Jesse sounds just as cheerful, as if being reminded of his peanuts. He’s not pushed too much conversation on the journey back to the city, letting me quietly reflect on my recent revelation—the revelation that my brother is stupid and my husband is now two hundred grand lighter because of it.
‘Very good, Mr Ward, very good. You look after yourself, Ava.’ His instruction is stern, and I smile fondly as his crabby face disappears when the doors meet in the middle.
‘You let Clive call me Ava.’ I point out casually.
He looks down at me with raised, cautionary eyebrows. ‘Your point being?’
‘Just saying.’ I find the muscle power to curve my lips into grin, my husband’s possessiveness providing the amused strength necessary.
‘I’m ignoring you.’ He’s fighting his own grin as we exit the lift and he lets us into the penthouse, kicking the door shut behind me.
‘You won’t be able to carry me soon.’ I grumble, holding on extra tight. I’ll miss it so much, but when I’m bursting at the seams and double the size, I can’t envisage being carried with such ease, like I’m just an extension of his own body.
‘Don’t worry, lady.’ He kisses my forehead and turns to push his back into his office door. ‘I’ve ready increased the weights I’m lifting in preparation.’
I gasp and reach up to pull his hair. ‘Hey!’ I’m placed on my feet, but I still have hold of his hair.
‘You’re a savage, lady.’ He laughs, his head lowered to prevent the pull. ‘Are you going to let go?’
‘Say sorry.’
‘Sorry.’ He’s still laughing. ‘I’m sorry. Let go.’
It’s ludicrous. He could stop me in a heartbeat, but he’s letting me have the power. For now, anyway. I release him and kick my shoes off. ‘My feet hurt.’ I complain, wriggling my toes. ‘Why are we in your office?’
‘I wanted to show you something.’
‘A picture of Jake?’ I ask hopefully, probably too eagerly as well. I really want to see what Jesse’s twin looked like.
‘Well, no.’ His frown line jumps onto his forehead.
‘What then?’ I ask, utterly intrigued. He looks shifty all of a sudden, uncomfortable and all boyish. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Turn around.’ he commands softly, resting his hands in his pockets.
I’m not sure I want to. I look at him questioningly, but he remains silent and his frown line remains fixed in place. He’s concerned, which makes me concerned, and very very curious. I slowly pivot, wanting to close my eyes, but far too inquisitive to do it. And then the wall slowly comes into view, and I stop breathing. A choked gasp flies from my gaping mouth, and I’ve taken a step back because Jesse’s chest is pressed up against me. Or maybe he has stepped forward to steady me. I’m not sure. I can’t even take it all in. My eyes run from one side of the large wall, the length of his office to the other end.
It’s completely coated in… me.
Every square inch is me. Not framed pictures or canvases or photographs. It’s wallpaper, although you would never know it. Each seam is so incredibly perfect, it looks like one giant piece of art—a homage to me, and the biggest piece, the centre piece, is me spread on the cross in our room at The Manor. I’m naked, my eyes are dropped low and my lips are parted. My hair is a mass of glossy waves, framing my lust filled face and the sensual vibes pumping from my body in the still shot is tangible. I can feel it as I’m standing here.
My gaze starts to drift, absorbing it all. There’s too much, and I’m gasping again as I spot a motion shot of my back as I rush down the steps of The Manor. It wouldn’t be particularly strange, but I can clearly see the head of a calla lily, extending from the side of my fleeing body. And I register my dress. It’s my navy pencil dress. It’s the dress I wore to my very first consultation with Mr Jesse Ward.
‘That was the first one I took.’ he murmurs, ‘It became a bit of an obsession after that.’ His voice is quiet and unsure. I swing around, my mouth still gaping. I can’t possibly speak. The lump in my throat is doing too good a job of stopping me. He’s biting his lip, watching me closely. I swallow and turn back to the wall.