As the first act unfolded, I was getting more annoyed at myself and Ava as my eyes kept seeking her booth despite the darkness. Why had she sent me a photo in that dress? Why did she have to be the one crossing the line this time when I’d sworn to myself I’d be good?
As soon as the intermission was announced, I jumped from my seat, not even trying to come up with an excuse to satisfy Cecilia's curious looks. I walked down to Hardings’ booth, convincing myself along the way that most of my curiosity was due to the child she was carrying.
At the end of the day, she’d told me she didn’t intend to claim anything and refused any of my financial help, but would it always be like that?
What if Hardings found out she was carrying a little St-John? What would stop him from using them against me?
I had a lawyer draw up the papers she needed to sign to ensure that she and the child would not have any rights to my name or estate. Logically, I should have given them to her to sign already, but I hadn’t. I had been planning to do it when I let her go, whenever I considered that she and Ethan had paid enough. Now, I wasn't sure anymore.
I stayed by the loggia, listening to them talking, getting annoyed at how she responded to him and how he pushed a little too hard, despite her obvious lack of interest.
Is that the truth or just wishful thinking?I shook my head, ready to go back to my booth unseen. If I stayed here too long, she could see me and then what? What could I even say to justify my presence?
I let out a little snort.
Why would I need to justify my presence? I straightened up. I was Hugo St-John. I didn’t need to justify myself to anyone.
Suddenly, I heard my name, and instead of leaving as any prudent, sane man would, I took a step closer to the booth, almost entering then and there. An unfamiliar feeling spread in my chest when she defended me, but when Hardings insisted, I stepped in and showed myself. I might have taken it a step too far when I confessed to buying her the dress; it was basically as if I was marking my territory, showing Hardings that she was not his to claim. However, at the same time, admitting ownership over her would only give Hardings more incentive to go after her.
I left the room angry at myself for it and mulled it over for the rest of the performance.
At the end of the show, Cecilia tried to continue the evening by not-so-subtly inviting me back to her place for drinks; as if London was running short of bars. I dismissed her rather quickly, making up a conference call with Asia and exited the theater. Instead of leaving though, I remained parked across the street like a pathetic freak, waiting for Hardings and Ava to finally have the decency to come out. When they finally did and I saw him lean down and kiss her hand, something in me snapped.
I had to stop this; them, us, everything.
Chapter 17
Ava
“YoutoldHardings?”Ethangasped as he chewed on his muffin before having a coughing fit.
I winced, seeing his face getting red as he choked on his food. He tapped on his chest a couple of times before taking a sip of his coffee.
I looked at his drink with unabashed envy; caffeine was one of the things I missed the most with this pregnancy.
“Fuck, Ava. Next time you have a bomb to drop, wait until I’ve got no food in my mouth,” he added, his voice raspy.
“You told me you wanted to know everything. Stop acting like I just told you I killed someone.”
“Did you tell him who the father is?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not, but it just—” I shook my head. “I’m not going to see him again, even if he calls me, which I doubt he will. It just didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.”
“What part didn’t feel right? Hiding the pregnancy from him or going out with him when your heart is somewhere else?” I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I was too scared of his answer.
He nodded silently, adjusting my legs on his lap and pulling the blanket on top of us. It was a common Sunday morning ritual between Ethan and I when it got cold.
He'd usually show up hungover in the morning with a McDonald's breakfast and we would just eat it while watching Sunday morning shows on the couch.
“Nothing to add?” I asked, biting into my hash brown.
“So much, but…” He shook his head.
I moved my legs and sat up, looking at his thoughtful profile. Ethan should have been teasing me about Hardings and his money. He should have called me a fool for not sleeping with him.Thiswas not my Ethan.
“What is it?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again.