This Man Confessed (27 page)

“No, take me home.” I grin and lean across, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Not a chance, lady. You’re all mine, and I’m going to make the most of it.” He returns my kiss, palming the back of my head to pull me closer.

“I’m always yours.”

“Correct. Get used to it.” I’m released before he hastily rams the Aston in gear and screeches away from the jet.

“I am used to it,” I muse, resting my elbow on the door and settling my head so I can watch the unfamiliar world go by. It’s all very boring and concretelike for a while as we make our way out of the airport and away from the hustle and bustle of central Malaga, but then we hit a coast road, and the sight of the Mediterranean meeting the sky holds my attention for the rest of the journey. Mansun sing about a “Wide Open Space,” and the smell of heat mixed with the kicked-up dust of the well-worn road overpowers the usual lingering scent of fresh water, leaving me resentful of its intrusion on my nose. We cruise along in a comfortable silence, the stereo in the background keeping us company, Jesse’s hand resting on my knee, and mine clutching it. I sneak a peek of his profile and smile before I close my eyes, relax farther into the leather, and think of the tranquil, undisturbed time ahead of us.

I’m not asleep, but my eyes come open when the road beneath the tires becomes bumpy and the car starts jolting all over the place. I look to the road ahead and the first thing that strikes me is the appalling condition of it. There’s rubble all over the rut-riddled surface, leaving Jesse negotiating the prestigious car with care. “Where are we?”

“This is paradise, baby,” Jesse says, deadly serious. I almost laugh, but worry is preventing it. I’ve seen paradise, in pictures mainly, and this couldn’t be any further removed. There is nothing, only this dusty shambles of a road and a few houses—if you can call the ramshackle structures that.

I’m starting to feel nauseous from being tossed around in this lovely car when a colossal set of wooden, planked gates come into view and my attention is captured by the high, whitewashed wall stemming from each side and stretching out into the distance. And then I see it.

PARADISE
.

There is a sign on the wall next to the gate and it says “Paradise.” He cannot be serious. My tranquil mind isn’t feeling so tranquil, not now that I’m surrounded by this most untranquil vista. Yes, it’s quiet, but the whole deadness of our surroundings is just making it feel eerie, rather than peaceful.

“Jesse…” I’m not sure what to say. He doesn’t seem in the least bit perturbed by all of this, which leaves me thinking that he’s been here before. If he has, then why would he return? I’m not given any explanation. He just flips a switch and smiles fondly as the wooden gates start to creak open.

We breach the gates and we’re immediately closed in by darkness, a canopy of the greenest green I’ve ever seen draping over us and the driveway ahead. Clusters of white flowers are spotted here and there among the foliage and the most potent fragrance is seeping into the car, even with all of the windows closed.

“That smell.” I sniff deeply and exhale on a sigh.

“This is nothing. At nightfall it’s pungent.” Jesse breathes in deeply himself, humming in pleasure as he exhales.

The sunlight flickers toward the end of the concealed driveway and makes me squint, even through my shades. It’s like a light has been abruptly switched on and all of a sudden, I’ve been transported to…

Paradise.

My breath catches in my throat, and I unclip my belt to sit forward, blinking to ensure that I’m not imagining this. The grimy, concrete, and wasteland jungle is no more, and in its place is an idyllic haven, bursting with greenery, neatly trimmed lawns, and pergolas dripping in pompoms of red flowers. We’re suddenly not moving anymore, and I waste no time ejecting myself from the car, shutting the door, and absorbing my new, improved surroundings. I start walking across the rumbled, cobbled driveway toward the terracotta villa up ahead, not bothering to wait for Jesse, or even to check that he’s following. I take the steps up to the veranda that circles the entire property and turn to get the full view of the grounds.

Paradise.

When I think that I’ve taken it all in, I turn my attention back to Jesse, finding him sitting on the bonnet of the DBS, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. His arms are folded over his chest, too. And he’s smiling. “What’s my beautiful girl thinking?”

My hand reaches out and pulls a stray leaf from the shrubbery hanging from some trellis on the veranda. I smell it and sigh. “I’m thinking that I’ve just officially arrived on Central Jesse Cloud Nine.”

“Where?” The confusion and amusement in his tone is clear.

I grin, drop the leaf, and start running toward him, only vaguely registering his increased amusement as he stands and readies himself for my attack. I launch myself at him, my body taking up the usual baby-monkey-style hold, and I tackle his mouth, full of enthusiasm. He doesn’t stop me. He holds me under my bum and smiles around my brute force.

“It’s my most favorite place in the world,” I say, easing up on his lips and looking down at him, noticing immediately that his Wayfarers are still fixed to his face. I pull them off so I can see all of him.

“Are you happy?” he asks.

“Delirious.” I thread my fingers through his hair and give it my usual little tug.

“Then my work here is done.” His mouth goes to my neck and bites lightly before he disconnects me from his body. “Let me get the cases.”

“I’ll help,” I say, automatically following him to the rear of the car but immediately backing off when he turns and flashes me a cautionary look. “Okay, I won’t help.” I hold my hands up and fetch my bag from the car instead, then follow Jesse to the single-story villa.

He drops the cases briefly while he unlocks the door, and then I’m ushered in to complete darkness, with only slices of light penetrating the gaps between the closed shutters. I can’t see much, but I can smell, and that perfume is rife inside, too, the potency incredible and lingering everywhere.

“Wait here,” Jesse instructs, dumping the cases by the door and disappearing outside again. I stand, gazing around the walls for a light switch, but I can’t see a thing, even with the faint light pouring in from the doorway. And then it’s like a spotlight has hit a blackened stage when a sudden gush of sunlight shoots across the room and collides with the wall opposite. Then there’s another, and another, then another. I watch as the space transforms into a busy crossroads of light lines until there’s no more darkness, just sunlight streaming in from every window and door. My sensitive eyes want to close, but it’s impossible when there is so much to focus on. The walls are smooth and white, the floor is laid in giant honey-colored flagstones, with cream rugs scattered randomly, and a giant U-shaped couch facing the doors that lead to a pool surrounded by bright green grass. And beyond that, a beach.

“Oh wow,” I breathe out, walking tentatively forward, my excitement building the closer I get. Before I know it, I’ve crossed the terrace, padded my way over the lawn, and I’m standing, fiddling with a cast-iron gate that’s getting between me and the beach.

“Here.” Jesse’s hand is suddenly on mine, and a key is inserted into the lock, opening the gate and allowing me to pass through.

Ten wooden sleepers formed as steps and covered in sand and grass take me down to the beach. It’s deserted, and as I look each way for any sign of life, I realize we’re in a bay. There are no other properties in sight—no beach bars, no hotels, not anything. It really is just us, this beautiful villa, and the midnight-blue warmth of the Mediterranean.

“Still on Central Jesse Cloud Nine?” he whispers in my ear, slipping his forearm around the tops of my shoulders and pulling me back to rest against his chest.

“I am. Where are you?”

“Me?” he asks, kissing my cheek softly and sliding his palm onto my tummy. “Baby, I’m in paradise.”

I close my eyes on a contented smile and sink into his body, my hand finding his on my stomach, our fingers intertwining and feeling each other. Central Jesse Cloud Nine really is Paradise.

We spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking and taking delivery of groceries, and Jesse gives me a guided tour, showing me the six en-suite bedrooms, all with doors leading to a different part of the veranda. The kitchen, which is white and modern, has wooden stained worktops and little touches like the suspended wooden grid with cast-iron pans hanging over the cooking area to maintain the rustic feel of the villa. As an interior designer, I’m in awe. I couldn’t have done a better job myself. The bedrooms are all plain-walled, but with sumptuous fabrics dressing the beds and billowing voile hanging at the windows. Sporadically placed canvases take the edge off the sparseness and all of the randomly placed rugs break up the vastness of the flagstone flooring that runs through the entire villa.

Now we’re sitting at the gigantic wooden table in the kitchen with a jug of ice water, and the questions are not prepared to stay in my brain for much longer. This place holds significance somewhere in Jesse’s life and my curious mind is struggling to hold back.

He watches me with a small smile as I lift my glass to my lips before he proceeds to quench his own thirst, still keeping his eyes on mine. I’m desperate to ask, and he knows it, but he’s making me suffer. “Would you like something to eat?”

I can’t prevent the surprised look from jumping onto my face. “Are you going to cook for me?” There’s no Cathy here, and he knows I hate cooking.

“I could’ve had staff, but I wanted you to myself.” He grins that roguish grin. “I think you should look after your husband and fulfill your obligation as my wife.”

I cough a little at his arrogance. “When you married me, you knew I hated cooking.”

“And when you married me, you knew I
couldn’t
cook.”

“But you have Cathy.”

“In England I have Cathy to feed me, which is a good job as my wife doesn’t.” He’s serious now. “In Spain I have my wife. And she’s going to make me something to eat. You did a good job with the chicken.”

He’s right, I did, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it, although I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy watching him eat it. I was looking after him for a change, and with that thought, I’m oddly keen to prepare him a meal. “Okay.” I stand up. “I’ll fulfill my obligation.”

“Oh good. It’s about time you did what you’re told,” he says candidly, no smile, no humor. “Get to it, then.”

“Don’t push it, Ward,” I warn, leaving him at the table and making my way to the fridge. It doesn’t take me long to decide what to cook. I grab some peppers, chorizo sausage, rice and mushrooms, along with some lamb cutlets, and transport them to the worktop before locating a chopping board and a knife.

I set to work, halving the peppers and deseeding them, and then chopping the mushrooms and sausage finely and frying it all off. I boil the rice, chop some fresh bread, and pan fry the lamb. And the whole time he sits and watches me busy myself, with no offer of help and no attempt to make conversation. I’m halfway through stuffing the peppers when he appears in front of me, leaning across the counter from the other side. “You’re doing a great job, lady.”

I pick my knife up and wield it at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

I’m shocked when his relaxed face flashes black and the knife is snatched from my hand. “Don’t fucking wave knives around, Ava!”

“Sorry!” I blurt out, glancing at it in his hand and quickly appreciating my stupidity. It’s a nasty-looking blade, and I’m brandishing it about like it’s a rhythmic gymnast’s ribbon. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

He places it down carefully and seems to gather himself. “It’s okay. Forget about it.”

I gesture toward the table for anything to do other than apologize again. “Do you want to lay the table?”

“Sure,” he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top; I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.

Jesse leaves me and quietly lays the table for two while I finish preparing dinner.

“Here.” I slide his plate in front of him, but before I can pull my hand away, he grabs it and looks up at me with sorry eyes.

“I overreacted.”

I feel better already. “No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be so careless.”

He smiles. “Sit.” He pulls my chair out, but as soon as I’ve lowered myself, he stands. “We’re missing something,” he informs me, striding off and leaving me wondering where he’s gone. It’s not long before he’s back, holding a candle in one hand and a remote control in the other. He finds some matches, lights the candle, and places it in the center of the table, then pushes a few buttons on the remote control, filling the villa with a distinct male voice. I recognize it immediately.

“Mick Hucknall?”

“Or God. Either will do.” He smiles as he takes his seat.

“You’re willing to share your title?”

“He’s worthy,” he replies casually. “This looks good. Eat up.”

I acknowledge his nod at my plate with a small smile and carve my way through a piece of lamb, resisting the urge to brandish my knife again when Jesse leans over, looking at my meat. He’s checking how well it’s cooked. I help him out, turning my plate so he can see the center of my lamb. I like my steak medium, but I love my lamb cooked thoroughly.

I stab a piece with my fork and bring it up to my lips. “May I?” I ask, completely serious and with no hint of a smile on my face, which is good because I’m matching Jesse.

“You may,” he says, slicing through his own lamb and taking his first bite. He chews, nods, and swallows. “You can cook, wife.”

“I’ve never said I can’t. I just don’t like doing it.”

“Not even for me?”

“I don’t mind,” I answer coolly.

“I like you cooking for me,” he muses. “It’s kind of normal.”

I pause and place my knife down. “Normal?”

“Yes, normal. Like what normal married people do.”

“Normal, like the wife cooks and the husband eats? That’s a bit chauvinistic.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s still concentrating on his careful cutting and eating. He wants normalcy? Then he should try being a bit
normal
himself. But do I want him to be normal? He wouldn’t be Jesse if he was normal. We wouldn’t be
us
if he was normal. I take another bite of lamb to busy my mouth. We’ll never be normal, not completely, and I hope we’re not.