Chapter 15: Ava - Reckless Love

Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I take one more sip of my whiskey before daring to glance behind me at the rest of Café Plutus, which is the most expensive eatery in Bellerive.

The two best places in the tiered restaurant, which is perched on the edge of a cliff, have very different purposes. Tables at the bottom and front, overlooking the ocean, are the place to be seen. They have a premium price, and everyone notices who sits here. Power deals, high-profile romances, and any rich person looking to prove a point are in these seats.

Whereas the back, which is also the top, of the restaurant is a private room with glass patrons can look out of but other can’t look into. It’s the place where people go who don’t want to be seen but still desire the ambience and views of Café Plutus. As an added bonus, the room is soundproof for large parties, guests with rambunctious children, and… other things.

I didn’t see who went in, but the two suited men standing outside the main entrance cause a jolt of recognition. I lock gazes with one of them.

Stephen.

He was the cause of the goose bumps. Even before he gave in to the connection between us, I knew when he was in the same room as me. Some sort of weird pheromone-inspired reaction that never diminished in all the years we flicked on and off. Something inside both of us never really switched off, and if I needed more proof, the intensity of his gaze would be it. He might pretend to be indifferent, but he definitely isn’t.

And god help me, neither am I.

Even though it’s an awkward angle, and looking at him too long in a room like this is a social mistake, I’m not the first one to drag my gaze away. Stephen takes in the empty seat beside me, and I think he grimaces. But I could be imagining it, given the distance between us.

“Have you been watching for me?” Raul’s question yanks me out of my thoughts and reminds me of why I’m here. His hand rests on my shoulder, the opposite direction from where I’ve been looking. “You know I never enter from the back.”

He follows my gaze, and immediately, I regret what Raul will likely put together with ease. His biggest hesitation in marrying me was my reputation. Didn’t bother him when he was the one having a one-night stand with me, but, according to him, respectable men didn’t marry those types of women. They were fun, not forever.

I’m not sure Raul intended to have forever with anyone. It’s not his style.

Then I got pregnant, and respectable men didn’t let their baby mama go unwed.

Now, I think I gave up too much, that I didn’t really understand what I wanted, would make me happy. Misery was eating me alive, and I didn’t see how marrying Raul could make that feeling worse.

Maybe the reckoning of my choices was always waiting in the dark, determined to hunt me at the most inconvenient time, drag me back to the path I never should have veered off.

“Is that Stephen Foster?” Raul squints. He should be wearing his glasses for distance, but he’s too vain to carry them with him. He thinks they make him look old, not distinguished like the gray streaks in his hair.

“Yes,” I admit, and I take another sip of my drink.

“Were you talking to him?”

“No.”

“We should go see him later. I can slip him and that other young man an extra tip for their good work.”

“Don’t do that.” His suggestion should be a relief, that he’s not accusing me of anything, but the idea of Raul slipping Stephen a hundred or even a thousand dollars is actually even worse. I will die with embarrassment at his arrogance.

Raul laughs and flags down a waiter to order his own drink. I used to get him one while I waited for him, wherever we were supposed to meet, but then I got tired of how desperate it made me feel to watch the ice melt in his glass. Sometimes it would be hours before he’d arrive, never even a whiff of an apology for wasting my time. Disrespect I let slide off as though it didn’t matter. Memories from the last six years with him keep surfacing, and none of it’s good. All of it makes me wonder if I’ve become a shell of who I once was. Hollow. Superficially invested.

When the waiter sets his vodka cranberry on the table, Raul gives me his full attention. “Aren’t you the one who’s always going on about giving people fair compensation? Isn’t that why you insisted on no personal profits with Reckless those first years? Did I imagine those conversations?”

“If you want to give them a bonus, you don’t need to do it tonight.”

“Nonsense,” Raul says, taking a long sip of his drink. “They’ll appreciate it whenever I do it. Tonight is as good as any time. I’m sure they could both use the money. Best to keep the firm on our good side.” He flips open his menu, even though he’ll order the same off-menu items he always does. “If they’re gone before we’re done, I’ll go to the office this week, make sure Owen knows they did an adequate job.”

Adequate. How did I never notice how pompous he sounds before?

I open my menu, and I try to peruse the updated chicken and fish dishes that are often seasonal. My focus is fuzzy because half my brain is tuned to whatever signal Stephen emits. I want to ask Raul something, but I can’t decide whether I’d ask under different circumstances. The overanalyzing of my motives, when jealousy is the likely culprit, gets to be too much for me. Maybe Raul will be suspicious, maybe he won’t be, but I have to ask. “Do you know who’s in the private room?”

“Heard your real estate tycoon brother flew Ellie Cooper, Wyatt Burgess, and their two kids to the island on the Tucker family jet to look at some investment condos in Rockdown.” He closes his menu. “I’m surprised Gage didn’t mention the fancy movie stars were back—isn’t Sawyer obsessed with them?—when you dropped off Landon.”

“He was in the pool,” I say, deciding on the fish. “With all the kids.” If Raul is right, Gage must be meeting with them tomorrow. The only star who’s visited our island and caught my attention was Mia Malone—her Mending Hearts album absolutely broke me.

“It amazes me your brother has been able to build his real estate company to be anything significant with the amount of time he spends with those children.”

“Those children are his,” I point out. “And his wife also has a career.” And I wish this was the first time for this conversation, as though pointing out the obvious will somehow change my circumstances.

Raul’s lips twist and he raises one eyebrow. “That feels like a dig, but we both know you don’t want more time with me.”

Instead of answering, I signal the waiter for another drink, and we order. Raul isn’t wrong. For my taste, we spend enough couple time together—which is very little. For my son, I wanted better. Growing up, my parents’ interest only stuck when I was poorly behaved, and I wanted the opposite for Landon. A partner who’d love him up in the right ways, like I try to.

We got married, had Landon, and Raul’s life changed a tiny degree, while mine did a one hundred and eighty. I can’t say exactly what I expected from motherhood, from my own family unit, since I’d never wanted kids when I was younger, but something closer to what my siblings have with their partners, like what I had just last week with Stephen in the house, and less like… this.

Silence sits between us, which is familiar and vaguely infuriating. I’m just so tired of pretending I don’t care about anything.

Fuck it.

Since it’s clear things aren’t great between us, I don’t know why I’m dancing around the realities I should be pointing out. Stephen never told me I needed to speak up about The Nile, but he flagged a lot of behavior I’ve been ignoring. Like Jenny with her husband, if Landon was being mistreated, there’s no way I’d stay silent. I’d be loud and reckless, just like the people who’ve been harassing me. These workers are someone’s family members.

If I’ve become hollow and superficially interested in my life, maybe the first step in changing that is now.

Just because he hasn’t listened to me before doesn’t mean he can’t or won’t. Maybe his workers weren’t barking up the wrong tree after all.

“So, does the unionization mean you’re going to pay your workers a fair wage now?”

“I pay above minimum wage.”

Barely. While I might not have said anything before, I’m not oblivious to the gossip about him, about The Nile. It’s a big enough company on the island that it’s impossible to shutter all knowledge.

“That’s not a living wage on this island, and we both know that.”

“Then I suppose they’ll need more than one job. The government has to increase their minimums if they’re no longer enough.”

“You know King Alexander has been trying,” I say, exasperated. “You’ve been part of the group actively working against him, influencing the Advisory Council to maintain the current standard and vote against him in those government proposals about a livable wage.”

Raul laughs, and it’s clear he’s not angry—he’s amused. “You’ve paid more attention than I thought. I like your siblings, but they’re a terrible influence on you. Naïve. Misguided. Families don’t accumulate the kind of money the Tuckers have by being fair.”

“My parents’ generation and the ones before it were selfish,” I say, and I almost can’t believe the words are leaving my mouth. It’s like Sawyer’s brain has invaded my body, but it is true. My siblings have talked about it a lot, and while I might not have actively participated in those conversations, I was listening. Maybe it’s all finally sunk in. “They hoarded wealth. My ancestors kept people down to keep themselves up.”

“Was Sawyer at Gage’s house? He doesn’t spout this kind of nonsense, and obviously someone has been influencing you.”

“Because I can’t possibly have an independent thought?”

“The girl I met and slept with was feisty. Knew what she wanted. A good fuck, followed very closely by a goodbye.”

The fuck had not been good. Adequate, maybe. He’s probably only referring to his own experience. Just like all the times that followed. Telling him he’s bad in bed and criticizing his humanity might be too hard a one-two punch for our anniversary dinner. I’ve been very good at faking almost every aspect of my life.

I even fooled myself for a while.

“Then you got pregnant, and the feisty girl sort of faded away into a dutiful mother and wife. The kind of woman a billionaire entrepreneur can count on. That’s what we agreed. This version of you tonight is amusing, but she can’t stay.” He chuckles. “You and I are united in our desire to make more money, built empires. That’s who I married. That’s the deal we made.”

A deal I made at the absolute lowest point in my life.

“The Nile employs a lot of people, and those people talk. If you’re decent to them, they’ll be decent to you. It’s a pretty simple principle,” I argue.

“And a naïve one. No matter what you give them, they’ll always want more. That’s been the problem with unions for years now. More is more is more. This one will be no different.”

“I haven’t had any problems with my workers.”

“That just means you’re not listening to them either.” He gives me a smug smile.

Our dinner arrives, and we eat in silence. He probably believes he’s convinced me to scurry back to my oblivious corner, content with whatever scraps of information he feeds me. Normally, I probably would. If I’m honest, that’s exactly what I’ve done in the past—a brief flare of interest followed by cool indifference. Can’t change. Won’t change. The same for both of us.

I don’t know what’s beginning to happen to me. The only thing I’ve seen with any clarity for a long time is Landon and my role as his mom. The opaque shroud that covered me, kept me from seeing the truth of my circumstances, has been opened, and I’m slowly crawling my way out.

I can’t hide from any of these truths anymore.

What’s more—I don’t think I want to.

I might be done fighting for tonight, but I fear this is only the start of whatever has begun to move and shift inside me, threatening to reform into a shape that doesn’t fit this man or this life.

“Come on,” Raul says, pushing back his chair. “I’ve seen some people we should say hello to.”

Reluctantly, I stand up, downing the last of my drink and depositing my napkin on the table. Small talk as we work the restaurant for lucrative relationships is the last thing I’m interested in, but it’s not worth a public fight. Not yet.

So I trail him around from table to table, smiling and networking.

The closer we get to the top of the restaurant, the more my skin warms with awareness, as though I’m standing too close to the fire, daring it to burn me.

“Ah, wonderful,” Raul says when we’re near Stephen and Datu.

Not wonderful. I hang back, already cringing at the exchange that’s about to happen. At some point, Raul puts bills in his hand, and he shakes Datu’s first, thanking him for the excellent work.

Seeing the money he gave Datu, Stephen doesn’t take Raul’s hand when he offers it.

“I don’t need anything further from you and Mrs. Santos,” Stephen says, focused on Raul.

“Mrs. Santos,” Raul crows, glancing at me over his shoulder. He releases a deep sigh. “I wish she’d taken my name. She was still full of fight back then. Keeping the Tucker name was a sticking point for her.”

“Nothing wrong with being proud of where you come from,” Stephen says. “I hope you enjoyed your evening.”

“Our anniversary,” Raul says. “Six years. Feels like a lifetime.”

Stephen finally looks at me, and the time we spent in the house together means I can almost read him again. Even with a shuttered gaze, it feels like he’s holding back a comment, some savage insult that would knock Raul back.

I want him to say it. In another life, I’d have called him out, challenged him to vocalize what he’s thinking.

But he won’t say it because he thinks of me as Mrs. Santos now, and I won’t coax a response out of him because I’m no longer Ava Tucker either, not really. I’m neither person and yet somehow still both.

Datu and Raul are speaking, and I know Stephen and I shouldn’t be staring at each other this long. My stomach dips when Raul’s hand lands on the small of my back.

“The real celebrating happens at home,” Raul says, winking at Stephen and Datu before leading me out of the restaurant. My skin crawls at his touch, at the implication that he’ll get to caress even more.

For the first time in my life, the thought of being with someone sexually makes me feel dirty, and to know that it’s my husband making me feel that way is a special kind of fucked up.

At the house, I immediately feign a headache, take some aspirin I don’t need, and ignore Raul’s loud, impatient sighs of dissatisfaction.

In our en suite, I turn on the fancy, oversized shower, strip down, and then I sink to the floor, the jets pounding against my body. I stare at the water rushing across the tiles around me, and the tears I refuse to let anyone else see flow. What the fuck is happening?

I don’t know how much longer I can keep living this life.

Leaving might be awful, but is it really worse than this?

I cover my face, and I sob into my hands.

What am I going to do?