Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

MICHAEL

“I ’ve measured out three bottles each, but they should only need one before we get back. We won’t be long. Please don’t overfeed them. If either of them is really unsettled just give them an extra bottle though. Especially William, his little cheeks are so much thinner than Henry’s still and I know the nurses say it’s okay even though they are identical, but I think maybe it would be good for him if he caught up.”

Audrey rushes around the kitchen, pointing out bottles and sterilised dummies and the sheet of instructions she stuck to the fridge. “I’ll keep my phone out the whole time, so please call me if you need anything. You have my number but I put both mine and Michael’s on the sheet in case your phone dies.” She turns to me, terror filling the space around her eyes. “Michael, where are we going? I need to add the restaurant’s phone number in case our phones die.”

I move around the island bench and place a hand on Audrey’s shoulder. Her muscles tense under my touch. I pretend not to notice the way her body leans, ever so slightly, away from mine. I push down the loneliness that has come with the distance forged between us over the past few months.

Weeks passed so slowly while the boys were in the hospital, each day tracked in milestones, waiting until we could tick everything off the list and bring them home. But now that they are here, it’s as though the universe hit the fast forward button. Four weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

Four weeks of Audrey’s quiet resentment every time I leave the house. She keeps saying “it’s fine”, but I know it’s not. I see the way her eyes roll, I feel the chill in the air when I return. It doesn’t matter if I’ve just gone to pick up more formula, take Baxter for a walk, or take Maisie to the local park. It doesn’t matter that I asked if she wanted to come, or to go in my place while I looked after the boys. The iciness to her tone—hell, her whole demeanour—each time I return is palpable.

Tonight is my attempt to bring some warmth back into her life. And into our relationship. I miss her, I miss us. It took a lot of convincing, but Audrey finally accepted my dad’s offer.

Maisie is spending her week at Callum’s. My mother bounces a sleeping Henry in her arms. Next to her, leaning the back of his legs against the benchtop is my father. Gone is the eternal scowl, replaced with soft adoration as he gazes down at William. I wonder sometimes if he ever looked at me like that? Like he would burn the whole world down to make sure I had what I needed. Maybe, when I was younger, before I fucked everything up over and over again. Before I became a disappointment of an adult son.

But he has softened all over now that I’m getting a few things right. Everything is still running smoothly with Noah’s hotel, even with me stepping back to be with Audrey and the boys more. And okay, my relationship with Audrey needs a decent dose of tender loving care, but we make a good parenting team.

Pride blossoms over my father’s face every time he asks how the hotel build was going and I tell him we were on track to finish early. It filtered through his entire stance when I passed him one of his grandson’s the first time they met, and it’s there again now.

He looks up from William, following Audrey as she paces back and forth in the tiny kitchen. A softness I never knew he possessed comes out as he tries to calm her. “Audrey, honey, we’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t work. Instead she scoffs and rifles through the basket of baby things on the bench. You would think she knew the contents by heart, the number of times she has checked over it this afternoon. Everything our parents could possibly need for the boys while we are gone. Panicked, she whips her head up to look at me. “Do you think this is enough nappies? I’ve got ten. And two packets of wipes.”

I take a chance, stepping behind her and placing my hands on her hips. Electricity tingles from my fingertips and when she sucks in the tiniest of gasps, I step closer. Our bodies pressing together, I dip my head low to kiss her ear. Her exhale is shaky and she shudders underneath my fingers. They twitch at the feeling, dipping into the soft skin of her sides. One step at a time, I remind myself.

“It’s plenty, Audrey. And there’s more in the boys room just in case. Let’s go to dinner. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back, yeah? But you deserve this break, and Mum and Dad will be fine.”

“We really will, sweetie,” my mum pipes up. “We will call you if you need, but it will do you good to get out of the house.”

Audrey sniffs. Her head falls back on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her. She squeezes my arms around her middle before pushing back to step out of the embrace.

“Okay, let’s go.”

She kisses Henry, then William, on the forehead, and shares a long hug with my mother. She hesitates at the front door, and again before stepping into the car.

The restaurant is buzzing when we arrive. The sound crawls over my skin like ants, making my back itch and my nose scrunch.

“I should have picked somewhere quieter, I’m sorry.”

Audrey nudges me inside. “It’s perfect. Maisie is always going on about how good the pasta is.”

“She’s five, how does she know what a good pasta is?”

“Because I make a mean Spaghetti Bolognese. I need to size up my competition.”

The restaurant is only a block away from Callum and Cassidy’s old apartment. And Audrey is right, Maisie is always talking about how good the pasta is. Audrey always mocks shock, claiming she must try it out. It was easy enough to find out where they got it from when Cassidy came to take Maisie to dance class last week, and I took a gamble that beneath the playful tone there was a hint of truth. I can’t wipe the smirk off my face when Audrey all but admits the bet paid off.

She slips her hand into mine as we follow a young waiter through the restaurant to a small booth near the back. The space is cosy, all warm lights and natural textures. Wood grain tables line the side wall of painted brick, flourished with centrepieces of green and white. The plush maroon seats either side of the table the waitress leads us to are small, clearly meant for one person each, but Audrey tugs me down beside her after she sits. Rather than squeeze next to her, I pull her onto my knee, holding her tight when she tries to protest.

“You wanted to share the seat made for one,” I whisper.

She giggles. God, she giggles and I swear I haven’t heard her laugh in months. The sound reverberates down my spine, warming me from the inside out.

“I missed your laugh.”

Her giggle melts into a soft sigh and she finally relaxes against me.

I dip my hand onto her side, squeezing her thigh. My thumb presses against the crease, following the line of her panties underneath her leggings. Her sigh morphs again, into something more guttural. The sound feeds me, building a fire in my bones.

“I missed you .” I kiss the soft spot behind her ear, nipping at the sensitive skin. As she wriggles in my lap, the friction rubs against my groin until my dick is strained under the zipper of my pants. “Fuck, Audrey.”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, pushing herself further into me. “I missed you, too.”

“Audrey,” I warn her.

I’ve been so starved for touch over the past few months, and it’s not her fault but if she isn’t careful I’m about to let all my pent-up sexual frustration out on her. No more giving her time to be ready, to heal—physically and emotionally. No more waiting for her to make the first move, although the way she moves in my lap might be just that. She grinds herself into me until I’m ready to hoist her onto the table and feast on her. Screw the pasta.

“Michael.” It’s a whisper on her lips. A memory of how she moaned my name into my ear. A promise that she will again.

And then she is gone. She’s off my lap and sliding into the chair opposite me before I have a chance to pull her back.

‘Later’ she mouths, and I don’t want to get my hopes up because I know later means home and the boys and all the crazy that having twin newborns brings. But the hope swells anyway. My cock, too. I reach between my legs to adjust myself, earning a wide, all-knowing grin from Audrey. Her eyes twinkle and maybe it’s just from the overhead chandeliers but maybe it’s also because she feels it too. The electricity between us that was so close to fizzling into nothing but is still there, waiting to be sparked again.

The waiter bounds over while we are still taking each other in, catching me with my hand on my lap and my eyes, surely pitch black, raking over Audrey. Her tits are still swollen from the pregnancy, and they threaten to bust open the buttons that run down her satin top. I’m going to tear them apart. Later, though. Because beside the table the waiter is clearing his throat, shuffling his feet. His pen is poised on his tiny notepad.

I compose myself enough to order a bottle of wine and a serving of Maisie’s go to spaghetti.

“I’ll have the same,” Audrey says, but her eyes linger on the lower half of the menu where the woodfire pizzas are listed.

“Order the pizza,” I tell her. “You can have some of mine and see what Maisie is raving about.”

“Are you sure?”

I nudge my leg against hers, but let the touch linger and brush my calf up and down hers. I can’t stop. “I’m sure.”

She smiles again, and it’s like when the moon comes out during the day. Awe inspiring even though it’s more common than you think. I will never not be captivated by her. Turning to the waiter, she orders one of the restaurant’s specialty pizzas. The waiter jots down the order, promises to be back with our wine, and scurries off. No doubt happy to remove himself from the sexual energy buzzing around us.

A blush creeps up Audrey’s neck, covering her cheeks with a crimson glow. She bites her lip again and pulls her cardigan around her, holding on to the corners as she folds her arms below her chest. It pushes her breasts higher and I can’t tear my gaze away.

“You’re making it worse, you know.”

She jumps a little in the chair, rearranging her arms so the cardigan covers her tits. There must be a speck, or something, on the table, because she stares down at it intently.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Her head bobs a short nod and she settles back into the plush cushion of the booth seat.

“It’s okay, though,” she says as she builds up the courage to look at me again. I strain every muscle in my face to keep it neutral, to hide the almost animalistic desire raging through me.

“It was nice, even,” she adds, “to feel wanted again.”

“Audrey, I never stopped wanting you.” Reaching a hand across the table, I pull her arm out of her tight hold and lace my fingers through hers. “I was just trying to give you space, I thought you needed it.”

She traces small circles on the back of my hand with her thumb. Her mouth opens to talk, but she presses it shut, inhaling deep through her nose. She lets her breath out through a tiny gap in her teeth and starts again. “I did, and sometimes maybe I still do. And I don’t want you to feel bad because it’s hard to show someone you want them when they aren’t showing it back. I needed to feel like myself again, and until tonight, I haven’t.”

“I told you a night off would do you good.”

Squeezing my hand, she leans forward, resting her elbow on the table and dropping her head into her free hand.

“I’m not saying it.”

“Say it Audrey,” I tease, knowing she probably won’t.

But she does. “You were right.”

I clasp my hand over my chest, dropping my mouth open with a gasp. “I was what , sorry? I didn’t hear you.”

“You heard me just fine, I’m not saying it again.”

“I will remember this night for the rest of my life.” Not just because she admitted I was right about something though. I’ll remember the moment we reconnected after months of intense strain on our relationship. I might be naive, but I’m not stupid enough to think that one night away—and a few lust-filled touches—is going to fix all our problems. But we are back on the right path, and that’s a bloody good start.

The waiter returns with our wine, pouring two glasses after Audrey takes the first sip and nods her approval. His eyes dart between the two of us, but he places the bottle in the centre of the table and moves away.

Audrey takes a long sip of her wine. “I was so worried about coming out,” she says after she gulps down the deep red pinot noir. “After all those nights while the boys were in hospital, you’d think I was used to being away from them. But now they are home I feel like I owe them all my time.”

“I get it, but you also owe yourself the freedom to do the things you love. You can’t pour from an empty cup, isn’t that what they say?” I down the last sips of my drink.

Audrey picks up the bottle to fill our long-stemmed glasses. “My cup was definitely empty.”