Page 13 of Billionaire's Promise

"Nor am I here to talk about myself."

I peer into her eyes, then raise my hands. "Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to talk about it."

"Aww, come on, Ava. Let me, at least, live vicariously through you."

"What about the rest of the girls? Surely, being married to one of the Seven means they are having enough sex. They’ll have much more to share with you."

"That’s the problem. It’s married sex, which is a bit like eating risotto."

I slow blink. "Let me get this straight. You’re saying married sex is a bit like eating risotto?"

"Yep." She nods. "You know, it’s rice and cheese and all the stuff that makes you warm and content and seduces you into a food coma, and you know you should stop eating, but you can’t because all that serotonin has kicked in and made you happy, but really, it’s weighing you down. But you don’t realize it until it’s too late."

I wince. "Unlike unmarried sex, which is like what? Chili-cake?"

"Precisely." She jerks her chin up and down. "Spicy and unpredictable and you never know when the taste is going to wallop you, and you peel back each layer and reveal a surprise… And then there’s still the cream and—" She frowns. "Hold on, is there even a dish called a chili-cake?"

"Sure is." I nod. "It’s a chili-laced chocolate sponge cake."

She wrinkles her nose, "Okay, not sure I’d want to eat that, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Though where I’m at now, it’s more like being a patty in a hamburger, or the cream filing of an Oreo, if you know what I mean? I snort and Isla eyes me with curiosity.

"What’s going on with you, Ava?"

"N…nothing." I walk toward the changing room adjoining the studio and she follows.

"It’s something, babe, going by your expression."

I blow out a breath. Am I that transparent? But then, Isla has always been too perceptive for her own good. Besides, she’s the only friend I am close enough to be able to confide in about what’s happened, and I have to talk to someone about it. I can’t possibly keep everything that happened bottled up inside. I push open the door to the changing room and walk in with Isla at my heels. I walk toward my locker, and pull out my street clothes. I need a shower, but I can take it when I get home. Instead, I strip off the yoga pants and my top and change into my leggings and a sweatshirt. Pulling on my shoes, then my jacket, I turn to her. "Edward," I murmur.

"What about him."

"He left."

"What do you mean, he left?" She frowns.

"He came to my place sometime early yesterday morning, then he broke his vows."

She stiffens, "He broke his vows. Is that a euphemism for—"

I nod. "Yeah. I chew the inside of my lip. We ah, did it."

"O-k-a-y." She lowers her chin. "Let me get this right. You and the Father had—"

"Sex." I blow out a breath. "Yeah. We did."

"Then he left?"

"He hopped on his bike and got out of there."

“How far could he get on a bicycle?” She laughs.

I roll my eyes. "A motorcycle, doofus."

"Ha-ha. Okay, but he’s coming back, isn’t he?"

"I…" I glance away, then back at her. "I’m not sure."