Falling For Ava (British Billionaires #2)


by Pamela Ann

Prologue

Ava

My life was splendid. I had a doting husband that loved me to no end; a family who adored me; and a supportive, close-knit group of friends who would keep my secrets to the grave.

Envious people never failed to comment whenever they had a chance that I was a lucky woman. Indeed, I was quite lucky in all fronts of my life.

But as everyone knows, all perfections have their imperfections, whether it’s fully visible or hidden from prying eyes, it’s there, hovering, making one conscious it’s alive and thriving.

My life was fine …

Up until the past decided to give me a vivid reminder of someone I had wanted to forget for a decade yet had never been successful at it.

My parents had once called this “imperfection” a gold-digging bastard without any ambition other than to milk whatever he could from me. For a time, I was swayed by their filthy lies, treating him like the dirt they had described him to be. Mortified though I was, it didn’t stop me from making it known what I believed him to be. For a while, it made me feel satisfied, but as the time went on, my conscience started to waver against my beliefs.

My horrid actions pained him, though he wouldn’t say it out loud because he loved me that much. But shame itself couldn’t hold back from what I felt for him. The shame matched whatever passion I had, loving and hating him at the same time.

My naiveté caused me to believe such lies I knew deep down weren’t true. Realizing how horrific I’d been to him, I halted everything physical because I felt undeserving of his loyalty and love.

Then, one night, tragedy struck and life took him away from me. I was broken, dying with my guilty conscience, and mourning the loss of him. The knife struck so deep I mourned him on a daily basis, even after a decade. There was never a day in which I didn’t think of him.

However, all of this changed when the past haunted me in the form of another man named Craig Chambers.

Chapter 1

Ava

“Allie, must I really go with you tonight?” I moaned my complaint, knowing my best friend wouldn’t let up, even if I told her I had measles.

She was bent on going to this party due to her newfound love interest, and little, ol’ married me, best buddy in the world with her husband across the Atlantic Ocean, would certainly be the perfect tag along person to make sure she wouldn’t shag him before the night ended.

Allie had this two week no sex rule with a new man. I’m not quite sure why she even went to such lengths since she tended to play mind games that would end up with her almost submitting to whomever she was dating at the given moment.

Placing a hand on her hips, she huffed out a sigh. “You have to. It’s not like you have anything better to do. Besides, aren’t you visiting England to spend some time with me?” She raised her brow before opening my closet, rummaging through my dresses with great scrutiny before finally choosing a short, silver, beaded dress. The design was beautifully intricate, and I couldn’t help smiling, knowing that Allie had intentionally found the perfect dress to entice me to come out with her tonight.

“Shall we?” She directed me a sure-fire glance, certain that I wasn’t about to turn her down. As my best friend, Allie definitely knew how to get me to say yes to her antics.

About an hour later, her latest lover named Maurizio, because she liked them exotic, came by to get us with his flashy car before driving us to this jazzy, private, members only bar that had recently opened in Park Lane. It was contemporary designed; sleek and understated, but with a lot of glamour and class. The soft purple/pinkish lighting that subtly illuminated the background gave enough privacy for people who were always in the media. Park Lane bars always lured the powerful and wealthy for its discreet stylishness and subtlety.

In the private booth, Maurizio, Allie, and I were enjoying a bottle of vintage red and whiskey sours when something caught my eye. I supposed it was my ear that caught it first before my eye. It was a very distinct sound. That one of a kind, deep, throaty laugh that went straight to the pit of my stomach, making it drop before I felt like someone punched me. I felt faint and about to have a heart attack all at the same time. I paled as my hands shook.

Setting down my glass as cautiously as I could, my gaze dropped, staring at the beading and stitching of my dress as hard as I could. Thinking, rationalizing, that I was losing my bloody mind.

He is dead, my mind persisted. There was no way he was here, in the same bar as I was. And more importantly, he wasn’t alive. The very idea itself was absurd.

He was dead. He was gone. Yet, that very same throaty laugh made its way into my gut again, making me shiver as if I was cold.