my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. I feel the hairs on her body respond, confirming what we all need to know – I’m irresistible.
‘Hey, my beautiful wifie-to-be, what are you doing out here all on your own?’
‘Just thinking,’ says Fern. She doesn’t turn towards me but she does lean her head back to rest on my chest; she melts into me and we both silently watch the sunset. For about three and a half minutes. I can’t stay still for longer than that.
‘Did you have a chat with Ben today?’ I asked Ben to talk to Fern about the pre-nup stuff. To point out that he thinks it’s perfectly reasonable (which he does) and that she’s done the right thing by signing (which she has).
‘Yes.’
Well, that’s good, although her staunch silence suggests that I still have to put a bit more effort in. I don’t want to talk directly about the pre-nup; it’s a can of worms, so instead, I go tactical.
‘What is it you want, Fern?’ I ask with a sigh.
Clever this, for two reasons. One, by calling her Fern, instead of ‘Sweets’ or ‘Petal’ – my usual endearments – I’ll make her realize I’m being very serious, taking her very seriously, etc. etc. Women love that, and, importantly, I’ll make her feel ever so slightly insecure because ‘Fern’ is a bit cold in comparison to the other forms of address. Plus, the sigh is genius because that will make her feel sorry for me; she’ll think I’m weary with trying to please her. It’s amazing how much subtext there can be in a single sentence if it’s delivered with the correct nuance. It’s always worth remembering that you can never underestimate the level of meaning women’ll load into just one question. Always better to be a step ahead.
‘I wanted the fairy tale,’ she murmurs. Her answer surprises me. It’s very honest.
‘That’s what you’ve got, Sweets,’ I say, tightening my hold around her, drawing her closer to my body. I start to think about having sex with her because then my cock will stiffen and women love that too. They all love to think I can’t restrain myself around them; that they’re irresistible to me. Nothing doing, so I start to think of having sex with her and Scarlett Johansson. That does it. Fern doesn’t say anything, so I’m forced to go where I wanted never to tread. ‘This stuff with the lawyers doesn’t mean you have any less of a fairy tale, you know.’ Of course, this isn’t strictly true. Let’s face it, when reading Cinderella no one has ever seen the page where a bunch of overpaid, over-educated arseholes divide up Prince Charming’s property, have they?
‘In a way I think it does,’ says Fern, insisting on remaining committed to telling me stuff as she sees it. ‘But, actually, that’s not what I’m thinking about.’
Really? I know curiosity killed the cat. Thing is, there are times when I can be really strong and other times I’m just dead weak. Now’s one of the weak times. I don’t want to, but I find myself asking, ‘So what are you thinking about?’
‘Oh, Jess and stuff.’
‘Is she still acting all jealous and grumpy?’
‘Something like that.’
Problem is, Fern is so wrapped up in her new life she has no idea what the people left behind are feeling. This mate – all her mates – no doubt feel jealous, abandoned, resentful or just plain old-fashioned shy – I’ve seen it all in the people I left behind. And even if I’m wrong and this mate of hers is exceptional and is genuinely blissedout by Fern’s good fortune, she still won’t know how to handle herself; she won’t want to appear sycophantic or on the make so she’ll probably go too much the other way and be chilly. I’d have thought Fern would have a grip on this by now.
‘Still ignoring your calls?’
‘She seems to have a very active social life at the moment,’ says Fern with a sigh. ‘She still hasn’t given me her measurements. I’ve had her dress made up in a size eight and a ten. It seems extravagant to make two, as the dresses are costing over a grand each, but –’
‘Well, we can afford it so don’t worry about it,’ I say, turning her round and leaning her face into my chest. I kiss the top of her head; her hair smells great. ‘She can try them on when she gets here.’