Page 12 of This Woman Forever

“My dress,” Ava breathes, biting her lip as she joins me outside the suite, her face subtly thrilled. My God, what is the dress like?

“Quick, in here,” Elizabeth sings, opening the door wider and hurrying John and Zoe in. Then she grabs her daughter, and hauls her into the room with her.

And shuts the door in my face.

I snarl at the wood.

4

I don’t know how many times I’ve circled my office this morning. I left our suite at one minute to midnight when Elizabeth practically dragged me out. I made sure she knew I wasn’t happy. Joseph told me to humor her. I asked Joseph how he lives with her. He laughed.

As anticipated, I didn’t sleep at all, and I can really feel it. I couldn’t even go to her at dawn and get my fix. She’s mere meters away, upstairs in our suite getting ready to marry me, but it’s been more than ten hours since I’ve seen her. Touched her. Fuck me, this is torture. I’m trying so hard to be respectful of her parents’ traditional beliefs. And struggling. I’m tense, agitated, and even I know it’s all very unreasonable.

We made it.

But still not communicating as well as we should.

My head falls back, and I look up at the ceiling, trying to find some calming thoughts. It’s not working. I have serious issues.

Glancing down, I begrudgingly note it’s only five minutes since I last checked the time. “For fuck’s sake.” I pull at my hair, like I’m trying to yank some reason into my stressed-out mind. What if Elizabeth’s talked Ava out of marrying me? What if she’s pointed out my age or the short time that we’ve known each other?

I snort.

Become very still.

What if Ava’s confessed my pill-stealing sins to her mother and Elizabeth’s talked some sense into her?

“Fucking hell.” I pick up my pace and make another circuit of my office. I’m going to make myself fucking dizzy.

Too late, bro.

“Oh, you’re here.”

Always.

I raise my brows to myself, thinking. “I don’t suppose you’ve been upstairs?—”

And spied on your young bride?

“Fuck off.”

You wish.

A knock at the door makes me jump. “What?” I bark, collapsing back in my chair, my arse hitting the seat hard. Then my forehead hits the desk.

Again and again and again.

“Stupid motherfucker.” John laughs, pulling my face up. He shuts the door and strides over to my desk, amusement plaguing his face as he scans my T-shirt-clad torso. “Been running?”

“Might have.” At five when I got the first glimpse of dawn.

“Nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” I scoff, picking up a pen and twiddling it between my fingers in a very nervous way. Not nervous for the reasons John thinks, anyway. “I’m impatient.”

John smiles, a rare, all-white, piss-taking smile. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing’s fucking eating me.”

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