This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

‘Sad or crazy?’ I ask quietly.

He emerges from his hiding place in my neck and gathers my hair, draping it down my back before cupping both of my cheeks in my palms. ‘Sad.’ he affirms. ‘Kiss me, wife.’

I’m not up for any further embarrassment, so I conform and give him exactly what he wants. This way I get to escape sooner. But then clapping starts, and I’m soon missing Jesse’s lips on mine as he takes a bow and sits me back down. We’re staying?

‘I love her.’ He shrugs, like that explains why he has just manhandled me to the floor and demanded a declaration of love, before announcing to a bunch of strangers that we’re expecting twins.

‘Twins!’

I jump at the excited, broken English of the waiter, who waves a bottle of champagne in front of us. ‘You must celebrate.’ He pops the cork and pours two glasses. I cringe. It’s very thoughtful, but there’s no way either of us are drinking it.

‘Thank you,’ I smile up at him, praying he doesn’t hang around to watch us clink glasses and swig. ‘That’s very kind.’ He must hear my mental plea or see my distressed face because he backs away, leaving me assessing the surroundings. People have returned to their meals, some flicking fond looks every so often, but the interest seems to have died down. That woman is still staring, though. I frown at her, but I’m distracted when Jesse’s hand lands on my knee. I turn and find a face full of mischievousness. Yes, he’s demonstrated his point loud and clear, and for everyone to see.

‘I cannot believe you did that.’

‘Why?’ He pushes the champagne flutes away from us.

I’m about to argue my case, but I can feel eyes on me again, and I know who it is. I turn slowly, finding her staring again. She’s quite a few tables away, and there are masses of people between us, but a small gap in the crowd is giving me a clear view, and it’s obviously giving her one, too, because she’s making the most of it. ‘Do you know that woman?’ I ask, keeping my eyes on her, even though she’s returned to her meal.

‘What woman?’ Jesse asks, leaning over me to see where my gaze is directed.

‘There, the women with the pale blue cardigan.’ I almost point across the restaurant, but quickly rein in my lifting hand. ‘Can you see?’

After what seems like forever has passed and he still hasn’t answered me, I turn and watch as the colour drains from his face, leaving a pasty shocked one in place of the tanned content one.

‘What’s the matter?’ I instinctively slap my hand on his forehead to gage his temperature, noting with just a second’s touch that he’s stone cold. ‘Jesse?’ He’s staring blankly past me in a complete trance. I’m worried. ‘Jesse, what’s wrong?’

He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a concussion, and turns haunted eyes onto me. I can see that he’s trying to look okay, but my husband is failing miserably. There’s something seriously wrong. ‘We’re leaving.’ He stands, knocking a glass over, attracting a little bit more attention. Throwing a pile of notes on the table, he wastes no time lifting my perplexed arse from the chair and leading me out of the restaurant.

He strides with complete purpose towards the car, virtually pulling me along behind him. ‘What is wrong with you?’ I try again, but I know it’s in vain. He has completely shut down.

The car door is opened, and I look up at him as he starts to guide me in, but I get nothing. No acknowledgment, no expression, no explanation. I do notice his shoulder tense and rise, though, and his chest is beginning to heave. He’s looking past me, yet still trying to push me into the car.

‘Jesse?’ The unfamiliar female voice pulls my attention away from my spaced out husband and to a women behind me. The woman. I stare at her in confusion, feeling Jesse’s hand grip me tighter. I can hear his breathing now, too. I’m completely bewildered, but I still manage to take her in, running my eyes up and down this stranger who has spent the best part of her time in the seafront eatery staring at me, or Jesse, or us. I’m not sure. But the longer I’m looking at her, the clearer it’s all becoming.

Jesse tries to reposition me to get me in the car, but I shrug him off, too intrigued by who I’m looking at. ‘Ava, baby, we’re going.’ He’s not demanding or shouting at me impatiently, despite my defiance. It makes me want to cry.

‘Jesse, son.’ The women steps forward and my fears are confirmed.

‘You don’t get to call me that.’ Jesse says tightly. ‘Ava, get in the car.’

I get in. That was all the confirmation I needed. I don’t need to hear anything else, no shouting matches or explanations. That’s Jesse’s mum. I shift my body in the seat and watch him make his way around the back of the car, feeling concerned when I see his mum hurry past the front to intercept him. I watch as she places a hand on his arm and he shrugs it off, I hear as she pleads for a chance to talk, and then I see as she presses her body up against the driver’s door to prevent him from accessing the car. His hands fly to his hair and yank, the pain on his face breaking my heart. He won’t physically remove his mother, which leaves him out there vulnerable. I can’t just sit here and watch him struggle like this, so I get out and make my way around to Jesse and his mother, with nothing but determination coursing through me.

I stand in front of Jesse, like a protective shield, and look her square in the eye. ‘Please, I’m asking you to move.’