This Man Confessed
Page 49
‘All right?’ Tom frowns across the office at me.
‘Fine,’ I stand and take myself into the kitchen, removing the lid from my coffee and tipping sugar into the cup before giving it a good stir and taking another sip. I hum in sweet satisfaction.
‘Coffee for Ava!’ Sally walks into the kitchen, waving a Starbucks cup at me. ‘Oh?’ A look of complete confusion invades her face as she watches me gulping down the hot, sweet liquid.
I exhale happily. ‘Delivered, courtesy of my husband.’
She melts. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘No, it wasn’t, actually. But I added a few myself.’ I walk past a puzzled looking Sal, back to my desk and dig through my bag when I hear my phone shout the arrival of a text.
Are you eating your breakfast?
I take another swig of my coffee and text back;
Yummy.
No thank you because I’m really not very grateful. I feel queasy, but the sweet coffee is going down a treat. I don’t get a chance to put my phone down before it chimes again.
I’m so glad our marriage is based on honesty.
My eyes instinctively lift and there he is, holding a bunch of calla lilies and with an annoyed glare drilling into me. I can’t prevent the long, drawn out exhale of air that rushes from my mouth as I lower myself to my chair. He strides over, giving Tom and Victoria a nod in greeting before sinking his tall, leanness into a chair on the other side of my desk, placing the flowers in front of me. ‘Eat.’ he orders flatly, nodding at the paper bag that’s been shoved to the side.
‘I’m not hungry, Jesse.’ I’m whining, but I can’t muster up the energy to retaliate or snap at him.
He leans forward, looking worried, his eyes evaluating my face. ‘Baby, you look pale.’
‘I feel rubbish.’ I admit. Finally morning sickness at the correct time of day. There is no point in feigning fine because I absolutely don’t feel it and I clearly don’t look it.
He rises and comes to stand behind my chair, leaning down and placing his palm across my brow and his mouth to my ear. ‘You’re hot.’
‘I know.’ I sigh, pushing my cheek to his mouth, my eyes closing with no instruction from my brain. How can I feel so exhausted still? ‘I hope you feel guilty.’ I say quietly. This is all his fault. I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I’m released and my chair swivelled around to face him. He crouches in front of me and takes my hands. ‘Let me take you home.’ he says, but I can tell by his pleading face that he knows I’ll refuse.
‘It’ll pass.’
‘You’re impossible sometimes.’ He reaches up to cup my cheek. ‘Pregnancy is making you moody and even more defiant.’
I force a small smile. ‘I like keeping you on your toes.’
‘You mean you like keeping me crazy.’
‘That, too.’
Sighing, he leans in and kisses me sweetly. ‘Please eat.’ He’s begging, not demanding. ‘It might make you feel better.’
‘Okay.’ I agree. I’m willing to try because even though the thought of swallowing food makes me want to gag, I couldn’t possibly feel any worse than I already do.
He looks a little surprised at my lack of disobedience. ‘Good girl,’
I’m turned back towards my desk and presented with the paper bag, and as I open it, the waft of bacon hits my nose and I do actually gag. ‘I don’t think I can.’ I snap the bag shut again, but it’s soon whipped from my hand, the bagel unpacked and placed on a napkin in front of me. As I gingerly pick at a corner and bring it to my lips, I’m fighting the overwhelming desire to run to the toilets and shove my fingers down my throat. I chew slowly for an age, under the watchful eye of my worried husband, then I swallow. I don’t retch. ‘Can I just eat the bagel?’ I pick at another piece. I can’t face the bacon.
He smiles down at me. ‘Yes. Do you see how happy you make me when you do what you’re told?’
I ignore him and pop the bread in my mouth, each chew becoming easier, each swallow instigating less stomach turning. He just stands and watches me until I’ve worked my way through most of my breakfast, leaving the bacon and a few scraps of bread to the side. ‘Happy?’ I ask. I know I am. I feel better already.
‘Your colours back. Yes, I’m happy.’ He scoops up the remains and throws it in the bin, and then bends down, getting nose to nose with me. ‘Thank you.’ he grins, and I grin right back. ‘My work here is done.’ He pushes his lips to mine. ‘Now I’ll leave my wife to work in peace.’
I scoff. ‘No you won’t.’
Pulling back, he hits me with a cheeky grin. ‘I might check in once or twice.’
I scoff again. ‘No you won’t!’
‘I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. Is Patrick here?’ His question reminds me that I still haven’t spoken to my boss about Mikael.
‘No. He’s in meetings all day.’
He straightens, flicking his eyes to my hair, clearly looking for signs of my fiddling fingers. He won’t find them there because Patrick is in meetings. ‘You’ve made me late.’ he says, looking down at his Rolex.
‘You make yourself late.’ I shoo him away and pick up my flowers to put them in water. ‘Go.’
He holds his hands up and starts backing away from me. ‘Feeling better?’
‘I do. Thank you.’ Now I really am very grateful.
Blessing me with his smile, reserved only for me, he winks, blows a kiss and walks out, leaving me with a little grin on my non-pale face, Victoria and Sal smiling fondly and Tom swooning at my Lord’s back.
They’re all still so affected.
* * *
I make it to the end of the day with my breakfast still in my stomach. I feel so much better. Jesse has text me five times, each one asking how I feel, my answer the same for every reply. Better.
The final message asks a different question, though.
I’m still at The Manor. Come? We’ll have steak.
The last bit gets me.
On my way x
I pack my desk up and wave a goodbye to all of my colleagues, meeting a woman holding a bunch of flowers at the door.
‘Ava O’Shea?’ she asks. It’s not the usual florist, and she called me by my maiden name. Jesse would absolutely never do that and he already sent me flowers today, anyway.
‘That’s me.’ I sound cautious which is fine because I am. I’ve just noticed the flowers are not calla lilies and they are far from fresh. In fact, they’re dead. She places the flowers in my arms and thrusts the clipboard under my nose. She wants a signature for dead flowers? I shift my full arms and manage a rough scribble across the paper.
‘Thanks’ she says casually as she turns to walk away.
I look down at the flowers a little puzzled. ‘They’re dead.’ I call to her back.
‘Fine,’ I stand and take myself into the kitchen, removing the lid from my coffee and tipping sugar into the cup before giving it a good stir and taking another sip. I hum in sweet satisfaction.
‘Coffee for Ava!’ Sally walks into the kitchen, waving a Starbucks cup at me. ‘Oh?’ A look of complete confusion invades her face as she watches me gulping down the hot, sweet liquid.
I exhale happily. ‘Delivered, courtesy of my husband.’
She melts. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘No, it wasn’t, actually. But I added a few myself.’ I walk past a puzzled looking Sal, back to my desk and dig through my bag when I hear my phone shout the arrival of a text.
Are you eating your breakfast?
I take another swig of my coffee and text back;
Yummy.
No thank you because I’m really not very grateful. I feel queasy, but the sweet coffee is going down a treat. I don’t get a chance to put my phone down before it chimes again.
I’m so glad our marriage is based on honesty.
My eyes instinctively lift and there he is, holding a bunch of calla lilies and with an annoyed glare drilling into me. I can’t prevent the long, drawn out exhale of air that rushes from my mouth as I lower myself to my chair. He strides over, giving Tom and Victoria a nod in greeting before sinking his tall, leanness into a chair on the other side of my desk, placing the flowers in front of me. ‘Eat.’ he orders flatly, nodding at the paper bag that’s been shoved to the side.
‘I’m not hungry, Jesse.’ I’m whining, but I can’t muster up the energy to retaliate or snap at him.
He leans forward, looking worried, his eyes evaluating my face. ‘Baby, you look pale.’
‘I feel rubbish.’ I admit. Finally morning sickness at the correct time of day. There is no point in feigning fine because I absolutely don’t feel it and I clearly don’t look it.
He rises and comes to stand behind my chair, leaning down and placing his palm across my brow and his mouth to my ear. ‘You’re hot.’
‘I know.’ I sigh, pushing my cheek to his mouth, my eyes closing with no instruction from my brain. How can I feel so exhausted still? ‘I hope you feel guilty.’ I say quietly. This is all his fault. I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I’m released and my chair swivelled around to face him. He crouches in front of me and takes my hands. ‘Let me take you home.’ he says, but I can tell by his pleading face that he knows I’ll refuse.
‘It’ll pass.’
‘You’re impossible sometimes.’ He reaches up to cup my cheek. ‘Pregnancy is making you moody and even more defiant.’
I force a small smile. ‘I like keeping you on your toes.’
‘You mean you like keeping me crazy.’
‘That, too.’
Sighing, he leans in and kisses me sweetly. ‘Please eat.’ He’s begging, not demanding. ‘It might make you feel better.’
‘Okay.’ I agree. I’m willing to try because even though the thought of swallowing food makes me want to gag, I couldn’t possibly feel any worse than I already do.
He looks a little surprised at my lack of disobedience. ‘Good girl,’
I’m turned back towards my desk and presented with the paper bag, and as I open it, the waft of bacon hits my nose and I do actually gag. ‘I don’t think I can.’ I snap the bag shut again, but it’s soon whipped from my hand, the bagel unpacked and placed on a napkin in front of me. As I gingerly pick at a corner and bring it to my lips, I’m fighting the overwhelming desire to run to the toilets and shove my fingers down my throat. I chew slowly for an age, under the watchful eye of my worried husband, then I swallow. I don’t retch. ‘Can I just eat the bagel?’ I pick at another piece. I can’t face the bacon.
He smiles down at me. ‘Yes. Do you see how happy you make me when you do what you’re told?’
I ignore him and pop the bread in my mouth, each chew becoming easier, each swallow instigating less stomach turning. He just stands and watches me until I’ve worked my way through most of my breakfast, leaving the bacon and a few scraps of bread to the side. ‘Happy?’ I ask. I know I am. I feel better already.
‘Your colours back. Yes, I’m happy.’ He scoops up the remains and throws it in the bin, and then bends down, getting nose to nose with me. ‘Thank you.’ he grins, and I grin right back. ‘My work here is done.’ He pushes his lips to mine. ‘Now I’ll leave my wife to work in peace.’
I scoff. ‘No you won’t.’
Pulling back, he hits me with a cheeky grin. ‘I might check in once or twice.’
I scoff again. ‘No you won’t!’
‘I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. Is Patrick here?’ His question reminds me that I still haven’t spoken to my boss about Mikael.
‘No. He’s in meetings all day.’
He straightens, flicking his eyes to my hair, clearly looking for signs of my fiddling fingers. He won’t find them there because Patrick is in meetings. ‘You’ve made me late.’ he says, looking down at his Rolex.
‘You make yourself late.’ I shoo him away and pick up my flowers to put them in water. ‘Go.’
He holds his hands up and starts backing away from me. ‘Feeling better?’
‘I do. Thank you.’ Now I really am very grateful.
Blessing me with his smile, reserved only for me, he winks, blows a kiss and walks out, leaving me with a little grin on my non-pale face, Victoria and Sal smiling fondly and Tom swooning at my Lord’s back.
They’re all still so affected.
* * *
I make it to the end of the day with my breakfast still in my stomach. I feel so much better. Jesse has text me five times, each one asking how I feel, my answer the same for every reply. Better.
The final message asks a different question, though.
I’m still at The Manor. Come? We’ll have steak.
The last bit gets me.
On my way x
I pack my desk up and wave a goodbye to all of my colleagues, meeting a woman holding a bunch of flowers at the door.
‘Ava O’Shea?’ she asks. It’s not the usual florist, and she called me by my maiden name. Jesse would absolutely never do that and he already sent me flowers today, anyway.
‘That’s me.’ I sound cautious which is fine because I am. I’ve just noticed the flowers are not calla lilies and they are far from fresh. In fact, they’re dead. She places the flowers in my arms and thrusts the clipboard under my nose. She wants a signature for dead flowers? I shift my full arms and manage a rough scribble across the paper.
‘Thanks’ she says casually as she turns to walk away.
I look down at the flowers a little puzzled. ‘They’re dead.’ I call to her back.
