Of course, Nick isn't a gangster.  He works for an advertising firm; one of the largest advertising firms in the world actually.   They look after record companies, film & TV production companies, hotel chains and restaurant groups.  It meant that the occasional freebie and string-pull wasn't too difficult for him.  A phone call here or an email there and he could get concert tickets, hotel rooms and dinner reservations.  He took me to a film premier once too; a terrible action movie about alien robots from outer space.  It had been an experience.  We'd been sat next to a boyband who I'd never heard of but who Nick informed me, were a pretty big deal.

In any case, there was only one person I knew who could ever possibly be described as a gangster.  The term had been used multiple times in the news story I'd read about Danny Ward's attempted murder.  Without much effort, it could be used to describe Kevin and some of the other men around Jake; the doormen at the club, Paul; the large silent babysitter with the neck tattoo, the grey-haired weather-beaten driver who'd dropped us off here — maybe even the blonde Russian I'd seen with Jake in his office a few nights ago.  

The article had also used the phrases 'crime syndicate',  'London gang wars' and 'bloody vendetta' too.  Phrases that didn't really mean much to me and which seemed unreal but which painted a picture all the same.  Phrases which seemed to fit the dark parts of Jake's life.  Who he was and what he did when he wasn't with me.  It also served to illuminate some of the vague revelations that had unfolded that day in my kitchen and which we'd never really spoken of again.  It wasn't a world I understood but I supposed it was one that I belonged to all the same.  Because I'd decided I couldn't live without him.  I'd also decided that I wouldn't lose him to it either.  So I'd stay here and anchor him.

Jake stares back at me, looking devilishly handsome under the dim lights.  A dark, sensual handsome that makes my breath short and my tummy flip.   To the casual observer I suppose he looks like every other good-looking guy with expensive tastes out to impress a girl.  From the neatly combed hair parted slightly to the side, to the freshly trimmed rich brown beard leading down to the expensive shirt which is pressed and tailored to his muscular frame.   The relaxed open collar offers the only hint that he might not be the well-mannered city worker that most of these men probably were.   The flash of the dark arresting tattoo that covers the left side of his chest and most of his shoulder peeks just above the pale blue fabric.   It makes my mouth water with a different kind of hunger.  He was nothing like these men.  He was far far more.

The lights of Hakkasan are of a low amber hue thanks to contemporary Chinese lanterns hanging above each table and affixed at intervals around the walls.  Intricately designed violet and silver silk wallpaper matches the contemporary placemats and napkin rings and dark wooden chopsticks are propped up in little custom designed holders just to the right of the matching cutlery.   If you aren't gifted enough to use the chopsticks then the wooden knife and forks will make it look like you are.  The place is designed to within in an inch of its life. 

"Fucking hell, it's flash isn't it?" He says, reaching across to lift one of the complimentary spiced crackers posed like a mini sculpture in the burnished brass bowl between us.

"It is.  Nick says it's been Michelin-starred since 2011."

He nods, impressed.  "Was kind of hoping he'd get us into the Dorchester though." He scrunches his nose up in faux disappointment.  

"The food isn't very good there — or so I've heard."  I smile, reaching across to take his hand. 

"Well, I'll take you one day and we can find out for ourselves yeah?" 

"Expensive jewellery and a love letter too?"

He smiles.  "Jewellery I could do... Love letters aren't really my thing."

"Actions not words?"

"Yeah.  Exactly..." he nods. 

I bask in the weight and heat of his eyes for a moment until I sense a presence to my right.  The waiter has appeared seemingly from nowhere, a silent but graceful presence from the dark. 

"Nǐ hǎo," he says, tipping his upper body down into a restrained bow.  "Welcome.  Can I get you some drinks?" He's Chinese, young, and has slicked back striking silver hair. His cheekbones look like they could cut glass.  He looks like a vogue model. 

"I'm going to have wine with my main," I tell him with a polite smile.   "..but if I could have some oolong and some bottled water, for now, thank you."

He bows his assent and turns to Jake.  I've not quite decided how to get around the wine drinking yet - but if I don't order it then it will require another excuse which I haven't thought up yet. So I'll think of something when the time comes.  This was all honestly getting ridiculous now.  I'd see the doctor on Tuesday and then this ridiculous charade needed to be over.  

"A bottle of the Pearlriver," Jake says.  "If you have it on draught then I'll take a pint."   The model waiter confirms that they do have the Pearlriver on draught before silently floating away from our table.  

We peruse the menu in silence for a few minutes before he appears back with our drinks.   Arranged neatly on a bamboo tray, Jake's lager, my teapot and matching teacup, and bottle of branded water are as immaculately designed as the rest of the place.   Jake lifts an eyebrow as the waiter sets down my cup and teapot and begins to pour.   When he's finished he twists the handle so that the teacup and pot are sitting precisely at two o'clock.   Then he does another little bow and disappears once more.  

"You're having tea with your meal?"  He looks baffled.

"Oolong is great with Chinese food.  Plus, I like tea.  You know that."

Jake nods.  "I do know that," he says before taking several long gulps of his chilled lager.

Reaching across the table to take my hand again, he strokes his thumb absently over my fingers as he looks back down at his menu.   It's an impressive but rather confusing selection. Unfamiliar words and flavour combinations jump off the page, wetting my appetite and making my stomach grumble but fuelling my indecisiveness.   Like always, Jake doesn't take long to decide, closing his menu after only a few moments and lifting his glass again.   As he relaxes back in the chair I go on weighing up the potential pros and cons of each dish, scared of making the wrong choice and regretting it immediately.

"Want me to pick for you?" He says.  When I look up at him he looks amused, the side of his mouth quirked up playfully.

"Ugh, actually, yes. Please do," I drop my head back with a sigh.   "I hate deciding things."

He flicks open the menu again and leans forward.    "So, you want meat or veg?" he asks, licking his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.

I giggle. "How on earth do you make the most innocent question sound filthy?" I shake my head.

"Skill?" He suggests.

"Deviant." I shake my head.  "Meat please."  I lift my teacup and sip and he drops his eyes back to the menu.  When he closes it a few moments later and leans back in his chair I simply stare at him in awe.   "How do you do that?" I ask. 

"What?"

"Decide. So easily.  So quickly."

He shrugs.  "Because I know what I want when I see it."  His eyes linger on me a long time.  I think about our first date then.  How different it was but how similar too.   The look he's giving me echoes our first date in so many ways; a deep intense stare that I never knew how to handle back then.   Now I absorb the heat from his attentive, watchful eyes and return it with an equal amount of desire.  

Again, I'm startled by the stealth-like apparition that is 'the vogue waiter'. 

"Ready to order?"  he asks politely.   Smiling, I look at Jake expectantly and he nods at the waiter.

"The hot & sour soup for me and the dim sum platter for the lady," he says throwing a small wink at me.  "Then she's going to have the grilled Japanese rib-eye and I'm having the crab in black bean sauce.  And we'll share a fragrant rice. Cheers."

"Excellent choices sir," the waiter says before turning to me.  "Madam, we cook the beef rare as standard, is that okay for you?"

"Perfect," I say.   I'm over the moon with Jake's choices.  I may let him decide my meals from now on.  One less stress to worry about. 

"And the wine?" he asks me.  "You'd still like some with your main course?"  I'm impressed but also annoyed at his memory. 

"Ah, yes I would.  I'll just have a large glass of whatever you would recommend with the beef. Thank you."

A nod.  "Red or white madam?"

"She'll have red," Jake announces just as I begin to mull it over.   I smile and nod my agreement and the waiter lifts the menus, hiding his confusion well as he refills my teacup and slivers off into the dark somewhere behind me.     

"I'm glad we did this," I tell him.  I enjoy being with him in public.  I enjoy the way other women look at him.  I enjoy that he's the kind of man women looked at with desire.  The kind of man that looked like he could make every single fantasy you'd ever had come true.   I'd realised pretty quickly that this was, in fact, the case.    As though he knows what I'm thinking, the side of his mouth lifts up into a self-assured smile, the turquoise fire in his eyes glittering wickedly in the low light of the restaurant. 

"Me too."  He says   "And you look fucking incredible by the way.  Did I say that already?"

"You said wow," I smile.  "And then you swore..."

"Meant every word..." he smirks.

I don't even have the grace to blush.  "Well thank you,"  I tilt my head to the side and smile back at him, drawing my eyes slowly down his body and back up. "I was thinking the same thing about you, actually."

"Yeah?" His nod is as cocky as his smirk.  Sometimes Jake turned shy at my compliments, other times he took them as though they were merely confirming what he already knew.  He pulled on that sexual arrogance like a favourite t-shirt whenever he wanted it to.   "Thinking anything else I should know about?" He licks his lips again. 

I lean my elbows on the table and rest my head on my hand. "Hmmmmmm, well, I was also thinking about how different this 'date' feels to the last time...  but also how similar.  Okay,  that doesn't make sense."

He nods slowly.  "Well, I'm less nervous this time," he says.

"You were nervous? You?" I grin. 

He drops his eyes, shrugs, nods again.  "Yeah."

I squeeze his hand and he lifts his eyes.  "Why?"

He runs a hand over his mouth as he meets my eye. "Because it was you," he says.

My breath falters slightly.  "I made you nervous?"

A faint smile.  "Yeah, Alex, you do." he nods.  "You still do."   

"How?" I'm not sure I even understand how or why I made him nervous before.

He stares at me a long time.  "Because you're still you," he says simply.   My heart feels pinched and squeezed tight and beats fast.  I have no clue how to respond, so I don't.   The ease with which he rendered me speechless was truly amazing at times. 

The ninja waiter doesn't startle me when he brings out our starters.  Jake's soup looks divine.  A hot steaming bowl of goodness, from which wisps of fragrant steam rises temptingly.   As we eat we talk about Caleb and about Rob's honeymoon and we talk again about how we should go away together somewhere, just the two of us.   The destination moves from Scotland to Europe to California to visit Tash.  I need for her to meet him, Nick, too in fact.   

Though whenever I try to imagine their reaction when I tell them about the baby, it isn't a picture filled with anything warm and fuzzy and joyful.  But Nick and Tash were both pragmatists like me.  They'll say it's too soon, which of course it is, and then they'll ask if I've really thought about things properly.  Which of course I have.  Which they should know I have.   So maybe they won't ask me that.  Maybe they'll just trust that their pragmatic baby sister knows exactly what she's doing.   Which I do.  For once in my life, I know I've made the right decision about something.  In fact, this decision to have Jake's baby, more than any other in my life, was one that I'd made quickly and with the assured clarity of thought.   It was the right decision.  I felt it.  I knew it.  And Jake was the only person who's opinion mattered. 

The main courses are even more extravagant than the starters and since the moment it's set down next to my plate, the rich dark glass of red wine hovers at the side of my vision, tempting me, torturing me.  Finally, I lift the thing and sip a minuscule amount, screwing my face up in an absurdly exaggerated fashion.  It makes me feel awful because it's beautiful.  It's a perfectly balanced, full-bodied red with a spicy undercurrent which goes perfectly with the savoury peppery beef. 

"What's wrong with it?" Jake asks, frowning as he swallows a mouthful of his succulent looking king crab. 

"Corked I think.  Ugh."  I push the glass away and lift my water instead.  To my eternal frustration, Jake signals the passing waiter. 

"There's something wrong with her wine, mate," he tells him.  The waiter looks horrified.  And surprised.  I can't blame him. 

"Really?  You don't like the choice, madam?"

"Um, yes the choice is fine -- it just tastes a little, bitter perhaps?  Corked maybe.  I'm so sorry."

"Please don't apologise," he says.  "I'll replace it immediately."  He lifts the glass and goes to walk away. 

I put my hand out to stop him.  "Actually it's fine. I don't really feel like it now," I press a hand to my mouth, like I may be about to gag, and give him as innocent a look as possible. I'm going to hell for this.  "I'll just have some more water thank you."

"Are you sure, it's absolutely no trouble at all."

I groan inwardly. "No, thank you.  You know how it is when you have a bad wine."  Yes, definitely going to hell. He does his customary bow and disappears. 

He reappears with my water and another apology a few moments later and the incident passes without any further comment from Jake, too absorbed in his delicious looking crab and fluffy fragrant jasmine rice.  He finishes first and at my request helps me with the rest of my rib-eye, which though a fine choice, was far too much for one person.  

With both plates polished I sit back in my chair and sigh contentedly. I could sleep now.  Curled up in his arms in the warmth of his bed, his fingers stroking my hair as we look at the view.   The perfect end to an almost perfect day.  Except there's something I want to try and broach again.  I'm hoping he's as contented and relaxed as I am right now...  I don't get a chance though.

"That was amazing. " He says with a lick of his lips before standing up from the table.  "Back in a minute," he announces.  As he passes behind my chair he skims his fingers over the back of my neck, squeezing gently.   The ripple courses downwards to my nipples and settles comfortably between my thighs. 

While I'm waiting for him to come back from the bathroom,  the waiter appears to clear the plates. He apologises again about the wine before placing the dessert menus down in front of me and throwing me a smile of encouragement.   I couldn't possibly fit in another thing, but clearly, he wants me to find a space.   

I peruse it anyway for something to do while I wait for Jake.   There's a spiced plum pot which looks tempting, and by the time Jake sits back down I've just about convinced myself I could squeeze in the cashew and chocolate parfait.   As he settles back into his seat I notice a woman a few tables away, watching him intently, a covetous far-off look in her eye.  With a sigh, she drags her eyes back to her decidedly less appealing date.

"You having something?" he asks, flipping the menu over.

I shake my head.  "I don't think so.  I'm stuffed.  You?"  I close the menu push it away from me, watching his eyes roam the silver card. 

"It all looks fucking good." he groans without looking up.

"It did.  I couldn't decide.."

He flicks his eyes up briefly and gives me a knowing smirk before looking back down at the menu. 

"Actually," He says, closing the menu to give me the stare.  "...what I want isn't on the menu."

I stare at him a moment before laughter erupts from me.  "You're unbelievable."

"I know..." he grins, chuckling softly.  

"Well.  What a day..." I say when the laughter has died down.   

"Yeah," he says evenly.  He knows what I'm doing.  Or trying to do.

"Eventful." I prod. 

A look of warning comes over his eyes, darkening them a little.  "Alex." 

"Jake."

He sighs and looks about;  over at the bar, at the woman a few tables away who wants him, then finally back at me.   "Let's not ruin this, yeah?" he says.   "Nothing's changed baby, I still don't want to talk about it."

"I don't want to ruin it.." I say, reaching across to take his hand again.   "But can I say something?  Just one thing and then I promise I'll let it go, please." I squeeze his fingers tightly.   He doesn't respond but his mouth opens, nostrils flaring a little as he considers it. Finally he nods, imperceptibly.  I feel a surge of love him for it.

Christ, do I need to make this count.  I take a deep breath. "You told me once," I don't have to say when 'once' was because I know he'll remember.   "...that everything you'd ever done, all the bad choices you made — everything that had happened to you — was worth it the night we met."

His eyes narrow.  "You want me to thank her for you?  You think she had anything to do with that?" he snorts derisively. 

"No, that's not what I meant," I shake my head.  "But you told me then that one of the only things you believed in was that everything happened for a reason.  Don't you think that maybe this is one of those things?  That maybe she's here, in your life again, for a reason?"

He ponders this for a few long moments.  Or he may not even be pondering it at all, so impassive is his expression, so inscrutable are his eyes.  People are led past us to their seats, plates put down and cleared away from tables by silent efficient waiters, trays of fragrant dishes bob past us.   I fear that Vogue ninja waiter is going to appear beside me to take our dessert order and that it'll prevent him from responding altogether and the moment will be lost.  Then he speaks. 

"Yeah I think she probably is back here for a reason," he states.  "Fucking money most likely.  The club is the only legitimate thing I've ever done Alex... the only thing that anyone could try to take from me..."  his voice is dark and quiet.   "So yeah, I'm betting that's the reason."

I frown.  "You think that, really?"

"Let me tell you something about my mother Alex," he sits forward slightly, eyes narrower still.   "She never cared about anything except where the money for her next bottle was coming from.  Not me, or Jon. She doesn't have a maternal bone in her fucking body, so trust me, she isn't back here for a cuddle." 

Well, at least he called her 'his mother'.  That was progress surely? 

"People change Jake,"  Isn't that what he was doing?  For me?  For us?

"Do they?" He doesn't look convinced.  It causes a shiver to move over me. 

"Yes.  I believe they can."

He gives me a small, sad smile.  "People can change the things they do, baby — they can't change who they are." 

I open my mouth to speak, then close it again.  I don't have anything.  What did I know about people changing?  Had I changed from who I was years ago? Since I met Jake I feel like I have.  I feel stronger and more alive. 

"I don't want to talk about her anymore tonight Alex," he says quietly.  He doesn't say the word please but there's a plea in his voice.  Not tonight.   Not tonight.  I decide to take this to mean that one day he will want to. 

"Ok.  Not tonight."  I reply, squeezing his hand once more.  He relaxes visibly, his shoulders dropping, his mouth softening.  He wraps his fingers around my own and offers me a restrained kind of smile. 

Suddenly his phone, which he'd ignored for the entire evening, begins to rattle loudly on the table.   He turns it over and frowns which makes me think it might be Vicky.   "It's the club," he says.  "I need to take it, sorry."   He lifts it to his ear. "Rachel." He greets. His eyes darken almost immediately, narrowing to slits.   "Are you fucking serious?" he hisses.     He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes closed shut, his shoulders raised and tense again.   "Fucking hell... is she okay?" a shake of his head.  "And where is he?"  He drops his head back and lets out a loud sigh before muttering something under his breath.    "At dinner.... ...Mayfair," he looks at his watch.  "Dunno.  Half an hour maybe if we leave now..."  He looks up at me then, apology written over his face.  "I know, I know.  It's okay.  Just ask her to wait.   I know Rachel, I'm sorry.  Yeah.  OK. Yeah.  Bye."  He just about stops himself from throwing his phone down on the table.   "I have to go in." He says.  

"Everything okay?"  Stupid question of the night because clearly it isn't.

"Kev,"

"What's he done?"

He gives me a look, considers what he's about to say, then lets out another of his loud sighs.  "He was messing about with one of the barmaids, two of them actually..." another shake of his head.  "One of them found out about the other one... Sounds like it got out of hand."   

"I see." is all I say.   I'm having difficulty with the idea that one woman would look at Kevin with anything other than fear and loathing, let alone two.  

"I need to go see her - Rachel said she wants to call the police..." He says. 

Jesus christ.  "What did he do?" I gape. 

"That's what I'm going to find out.   He's fucked off somewhere. Why don't you come with me?  It shouldn't take long.  Then we can go home?"

"Ok.  If you want me to." 

The paying of the bill, heavily discounted thanks to Nick and the 'wine issue' and thanks to Jake paying cash, takes all of five minutes, and then we're outside looking for a taxi.   The hot summer air of today has dissipated, leaving behind something chiller and nippy. Since I neglected to bring a jacket or coat, Jake drapes his own suit jacket over my shoulders and pulls me close as we walk north up Bruton Street.  

I'm certain the restaurant would have called us a cab, but that may have taken even longer, and Jake seems tense and agitated and clearly keen to get there and get this over with.   At the end of the street, we spot one for hire on our side of the road coming towards us and Jake steps out off of the pavement and stops it with a wave.  

Inside, he gives the driver the address of Surgery, followed by a brief set of directions that he says is the quickest way to go, which I think is brave.  Especially since it comes out like an order.  London cabbies don't tend to take too kindly to directions from mere mortals on how best to get around London.  Jake though appears to be the exception to that rule; the driver simply nods, mutters his agreement, and then proceeds to do exactly as he's told.   I ponder why this is.  Jake's commanding tone?  The look in his eye that defies anyone to disagree with him?  He had the same bulldozing effect on me once. 

With his hand resting high up on my thigh, Jake pushes me back into the seat and drops his mouth to the side of my neck and presses a kiss to my skin. His lips are scorching hot and the scent of him, spicy and sweet and faintly musky, makes my eyes close over.   "I can't fucking wait to get you home," he whispers, closing his mouth around my earring and sucking softly.  The shiver runs from the back of my neck, down my spine to the very end of my toes. Moaning quietly, I and turn my head to catch his mouth with mine and kiss him hungrily. He tastes of spice and his tongue almost stings my own as it strokes the roof of my mouth.

"Mmmm.  Is that so you can fuck me long and hard like in your fantasy date with me?" I whisper back, smiling against his mouth.

He growls softly and nips at my bottom lip gently with his teeth.  "Yeah. Exactly that."

He moves his hand a little further up the inside of my thigh, slipping it just under the hem of my dress, his fingers massaging before slipping between my legs.    I bite his lip to stifle my moan and melt deeper into the leather seat. I wonder if he'd fuck me here if I asked him to?  Is that illegal?  Probably.  I'm certain he'd do it anyway.   

I'm not drunk at all but I feel it.  He makes me feel intoxicated; his mouth and his touch and the lingering heat from the sun today has sunk deep into my bones and it's a heady combination. With his fingers under my chin, separating our lips, he tilts my head back to stare down into my eyes, keeping his mouth tauntingly out of reach of my own.  The streetlights outside flicker across the green of his eyes, making them look alight with tiny flickers of bright silver.  In no way does it detract from the depth of emotion in them.

"Do you have any fucking idea how much I love you?" he says. 

My heart stutters to a stop for a fraction of a moment, I'm certain of it, before kicking into action, beating dangerously fast.

He's told me that he loves me before of course, many times before.  And I remember every detail of every single one of those times.  I remember the tone of his voice and the look in his eye, and I remember how each time he said it I fell a little bit deeper in love with him.  

I'll remember this time too. I'll remember the smell and sound of the engine, the dull crackle of the driver's radio, the distant prattle of some yapping northern accented DJ.  Right now all of those things seem to have taken on a faint romantic quality as the man I love and the father of my child, as the centre of my entire world tells me he loves me.

I'd always wondered why my whole life, despite being happy and blessed and loved, despite never wanting for anything; I'd always felt empty of something.   As though there was a part of me missing. 

I understood now.  It was him I was missing.  It was him I was empty of. 

How had I ever thought that I'd loved and been loved before this?  How had I thought for even one single solitary moment that Ben was right? To think that I'd had those thoughts when Jake was out there and waiting for me makes me feel cold and empty and anxious all at once.  What a suffocating, needless tragedy it would have been if he hadn't found me.

"I have some idea,"  I manage.   "....I feel exactly the same."

The heat of his stare burns through me for a few silent moments. "Didn't even need a love letter either..." he says proudly, a slight smirk tickling the side of his mouth. He presses his mouth down hard onto mine and moans quietly making my toes curl.