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. He just quietly observes me fulfilling my obligation to feed him.
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 patronise 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, 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 towards the table for anything to do, other than apologise again. He doesn’t seem happy at all. ‘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‘Sure,’ he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top, I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.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 over-reacted.’
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 centre of the table, then pushes a few buttons on the remote control, filling the villa with a distinct male voice. I recognise it immediately.
‘Mick Hucknell?’ I ask, a little surprised.
‘Or God. Either will do.’ He smiles as he takes his seat.
‘You’re willing to share your title?’ I ask, picking up my blunt knife and safe fork.
‘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 centre of my lamb cutlet. He should be happy. 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 flick him a look to gage his expression, and it’s as I feared. There is no humour and he’s not pouting at me playfully. I know where this is heading and whilst I do actually like cooking for him, I wouldn’t want to do it every day. ‘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? No, I don’t. 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, instead of calling him a caveman. We’ll never be normal, not completely, and I hope we’re not.
He shrugs, rests his cutlery on the side of his plate and sits back in his chair, slowly raising his eyes to mine as he chews purposely slow. What’s going on in that head of his? The greenness of his gaze has me engrossed, making me slow my own chews down to mimic his. ‘Isn’t this normal?’ he asks, his voice low and throaty.
‘You mean having dinner together?’
‘Yes,’
I shrug a little. ‘Yes, this is normal.’
He nods mildly. ‘What about if I spread you on this table during dinner and fuck you? Would that be normal?’
My eyes widen a little in surprise. I don’t know why because that would be perfectly normal for us. ‘Our normal is you taking what you want, when you want it. You can chuck in a meal cooked by your wife, if you like.’
‘Good,’ He collects his knife and fork. ‘I like our normal.’
I frown at him. What was the point of all that? ‘Is something worrying you?’ I ask.
‘No,’ He answers far too quickly.
‘Yes, there is.’ I fire back, and I think I know what it is. ‘Are you suddenly considering the possibility of no wherever and whenever with two babies around?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Look at me.’ I demand, and he does, but he’s looking at me in shock. I don’t give him a chance to scoff at my order, or ask me who the hell I think I’m talking to. ‘You are, aren’t you?’
His shock turns to a glower. ‘Wherever, whenever.’
‘Not with two babies around.’ I could laugh at him. He has. He’s suddenly well aware that his possession over my body is going to be curbed. I return to my dinner, delighting in this revelation. I can’t believe he hasn’t thought about this already. ‘They’ll need a lot of my attention.’
He points his fork at me. Not his knife, but his fork. ‘Yes, you’re primary role will be the care of our children, but a close second, and I mean a very close second, will be for my indulgence. Wherever, whenever, Ava. I might need to control my craving for you to a certain extent, but don’t think that I’m going to sacrifice devoting my life to consuming you. Constant contact. Wherever, whenever. That’s not going to change, just because we have babies.’ He stabs at a piece of lamb and yanks it off the fork with his mouth.
If wanting me to cook for him was chauvinistic, then I have no idea what that little speech would represent. ‘Even if I’m knackered from night feeds?’ I’m poking.
‘Too tired for me to take you?’ he asks, shocked.
‘Yes,’
‘We’ll get a nanny,’ His lamb takes another vicious stabbing, and I mentally laugh my socks off.
‘But I’ve got you.’ I remind him.
He sighs and drops his knife and fork to his plate. ‘You do,’ His fingertips go to his temples and start rubbing calming circles. ‘You do have me, and you always will.’ He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘Promise me you’ll never say I’m too tired, or I’m not in the mood.’
‘You’re the one who tells me I’m too tired!’ I practically screech. ‘It’s okay for you to knock me back.’
‘That’s because I have the power.’ he says frankly. ‘Promise me.’ he presses.
‘You want me to promise you that I’m here for you to take as and when you please?’
He looks away, only very briefly, before returning thoughtful eyes to me. ‘Yes,’ he says simply.
‘What if I don’t?’ I’m being insolent for the sake of it. I’ll never be too tired for this man, but his sudden epiphany is really quite amusing. He should have thought about all of this before he nicked my pills.