Page 130 of This Woman Forever

“Here’s my beautiful girl.” I’m done playing office junior for the day. I cast aside the papers and get on my arse, ushering Ava into my arms. “Come here. I need you.”

“Need me, or need me to sort all of this out for you?”

Would she? I mean, I’d silently hoped, and she did offer an hour here or there. She must see how lost I am. But she’s tired. “Both.”

Coming to me, she lowers between my spread thighs. I saw her brief look of alarm at the mess. I crowd her completely and get a long hit of her scent. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Good, I don’t like seeing you poorly.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been underhanded and knocked me up,” she counters, the words loaded with sarcasm. I still smile though. “I saw Steve leaving,” she goes on.

“Hmm.” I don’t want to talk about Cook. I want to show her our new room and then get us home.

“Did you offer burial or cremation?”

I knock her leg with mine as I suck on her lobe. “I offered him an olive branch, actually.” Kind of. It was more blackmail, I suppose. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.”

“What’s made you so reasonable?”

“I’m always reasonable,” I reply. “It is you, beautiful girl, who’s the unreasonable one.”

“What’s so reasonable about having my car stolen?” There she goes again, making something sound as terrible as possible. I didn’t have it stolen. I had it delivered back to Lusso so Ava didn’t have to drive it there. Or here. Or wherever. “And how did you manage it without any key?”

“Tow truck. How was your day?”

She reaches for a piece of paper. “Productive,” she says. “Shall we make a start?”

She definitely looks perkier. Full of color. Bright eyes. “Suppose so.” She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. It’s fucking painful.

Ava gets to it, working quickly, glancing at papers, sorting them, tidying them, bundling them. She’s a pro, and I am clearly redundant. So I leave her to it and go to my computer, doing something far more enjoyable.

Making a list of things for Zoe to source.

Car seats, strollers, cribs, sterilizers. What else? I scroll the pages, browsing. Blankets, clothes, nappies, baths, baby monitors...

It’s fucking endless.

Ava appears at the foot of my desk, startling me, and I quickly shut my laptop and get up. “Dinner?”

Her expression is a beautiful blend of curiosity and amusement as she leans past me and flips the lid back up. Bugger it. I know she’ll think it’s too much too soon, but we have lots to get done. The nursery, the birth plan, buying every piece of baby equipment ever invented. “Just doing a bit of research.”

I can’t take her judgmental eyes on me anymore, so I look away. And then I’m suddenly warm and fuzzy everywhere, Ava hugging me. “I know you’re excited,” she says softly. “But could we hold off telling people?”

Ah.

Oops.

“I want to shout about it,” I say. “Tell everyone.”

“I know.” She looks like she’s struggling, as if she braced herself for this conversation. I thought she was happy. “But I’m a few weeks. It’s bad luck. Women usually wait until their first scan, at least.”

“When’s the first scan?” I ask, ready to hit Google again. “I’ll pay. We’ll get one tomorrow.”

She leans back and holds my forearms while I keep hold of her hips, smiling at her. She suits pregnancy already. “It’s far too early for a scan,” she tells me. How does she know? “And anyway, the hospital will do it.”

What? Wait, she thinks we’re waiting around for an invitation from a hospital to check everything is okay and how far she is officially? Nah. Not happening. “You are not having my baby in an NHS hospital.” Because they don’t accept drop-ins every day of the week just to check things over.

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