Page 217 of My Ruthless Husband

“This is Matt,” I explain, brushing my hair out of my face. “He’s a friend. We bumped into each other by chance.”

Her attention shifts back to me. “And what were you doing wandering out alone? Don’t tell me you were sneaking off to see Damian!”

Heat rises to my cheeks as I fumble for a response, but Matt speaks before I can.

“She just needed some fresh air,” he says smoothly.

Mrs. Hawthorne huffs, crossing her arms. “Fresh air, my foot. Now don’t stand there. Get inside.”

She steps back to let us in, muttering something under her breath about reckless behavior. Matt helps me to a chair in thesitting room while Mrs. Hawthorne bustles off to find the first aid kit.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” I murmur as he kneels to inspect the scrapes on my knees.

He glances up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Seemed like you could use the backup.”

Mrs. Hawthorne returns moments later, setting the first aid kit down with a loud thud. “Let’s see how bad it is.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Matt offers.

Mrs. Hawthorne gives him a once-over. “Fine, but don’t botch it up. I’ll get tea.”

She leaves the room, grumbling softly to herself, and Matt turns back to me with a small chuckle.

“She’s quite the character,” he says, carefully dabbing at the scrapes with a damp cloth.

“She means well,” I say, smiling.

“This might sting,” he warns gently.

I wince but stay still, watching as he works with careful precision.

“You’re good at this,” I murmur.

He glances up and winks. “Lots of practice.”

He then excuses himself. By the time Mrs. Hawthorne returns with a tea tray, Matt has charmed her completely. Her earlier irritation has melted away, and she even offers him a smile as she sets the tray down.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you were there,” she says, begrudgingly. “Though I still don’t approve of her sneaking off.”

I keep my eyes on the teacup in my hands, avoiding her pointed look.

Later, Matt and I sit on the bench in the back garden. “So,” I ask softly, “how are you, Matt?”

“Miserable,” he says, his voice low and honest. “My mother... she passed away a couple of months ago.”

“Oh, Matt.” My heart clenches. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “It’s... it’s been a lot.”

“Is that why you flew to London?” I ask gently.

He shakes his head. “No. I flew to London to get some space. While I was there, I got a call from the institution where she was staying—her health had declined. She passed in her sleep.”

I place a hand on his arm. “That must’ve been so hard.”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He just stares ahead for a moment. “We weren’t close… but she was my only family.”

I hear the pain in his voice and squeeze his arm. But then he sighs, like he’s pushing it all away, and turns toward me. “Anyway,” he says, his tone shifting, “you asked me what I was doing here. I came to see you.”

---