Page 105 of Worth Every Risk

My heart beats frantically, my mind not daring to fill in the blanks. “The woman you what?”

He presses his lips together and my heart sinks at the idea that he’s not going to reply at all, when he says, “The woman I like the most of all women in the world.”

My insides turn to goo. It’s not quite ‘love’, but it’s somewhere close.

“I like you the best too.” I’m grinning so hard that my cheeks ache.

“Right, well.” He gives a stiff nod, like we’ve just negotiated the world’s most awkward business deal. “Good.” He heaves a breath, then, “Plus, I can’t bear the thought that you’re wasting your time with me and my children when your mother is sick.”

This silences me, and I realise all of a sudden how much of my energy I expend locking away my feelings about Mum’s sickness. It’s been relentlessly hard, all the rounds of chemo and how sick they made her. Losing her hair. Not being able to keep down any food, and then not being able to taste it when she finally could. I grit my teeth. Perhaps if I keep my mouth shut tight I can keep everything locked inside a little longer.

I stare out of the car window, forcing my thoughts away by focusing on the view. “I’ve never been in a helicopter. Is it safe?I’ve never thought those things looked safe. And there was that story about the one—”

He squeezes my hand. “Stop. It’s safe.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. It’s such a small, tender gesture that I’m entirely distracted from my helicopter-induced anxiety and my concerns about Mum.

It only takes twenty minutes to park the car, get out, pass through the lobby of the Heliport where Matt stops to sign a few documents, and out onto the tarmac. The helicopter blades aren’t moving, but I lower my head just in case.

Matt laughs, pulling me close. “You don’t have to duck. You’re not that tall.”

Inside, the seats are cream leather, the floor a rich blue carpet. It’s more spacious than I expected; I can stretch my legs out. There’s a fully stocked hamper set out in front of us, with a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses at the top.

Matt helps me fix my headset, his fingers stroking the skin of my face as he gets it in place.

It’s terrifying when we lift off. So noisy. It feels like I’m rattling around like a bean in a can. I reach for Matt’s hand and grip it so tight he lets out a surprised chortle. “Ow. I need that hand for later.” I hear his voice through the headset; it’s too loud to have a regular conversation.

I giggle and let go, but he immediately takes my hand again and squeezes. My fingers tingle and I wonder if his do too.

When we’re in the air, I stare out the window at the sights of London below. I can make out the Hawkston Mayfair hotel from here, and I get a strange reality shock. I’m in a helicopter withone of the richest men in the world, and I can see one of his hotels from the sky.

What the hell is going on?

By the time we arrive at Mum’s, I’m still buzzing with adrenaline from the flight. Overhead, the sky is dense with grey cloud. Oppressive. Matt stands next to me, looking devilishly handsome and completely out of place in my mother’s little cul-de-sac.

I dig into my pocket and remove my keys for the small, pebbled-dash semi. The glass in the PVC front door is thick with frosted patterns across it. I go to unlock it, but I pause.

“What are you to me? I mean, what am I telling my mother?” I ask, realising I have no idea what the story here is.

Matt looks down at me from his position on the doorstep. “What do you want to tell her?”

“Boss. You’re my boss. My incredibly handsome—”

He cuts me off with a kiss and I melt like ice cream on a hot day. A puddle held together only by the cone. His lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth. My brain sizzles.

“Hello, Aries,” comes my mother’s voice. We break apart to find her in the doorway, smiling as she looks between me and Matt. I’m delighted to find her amused, but she looks so frail that my heart aches. A purple and turquoise turban is wrapped around her head, no doubt hiding what remains of her hair.Maybe I shouldn’t have left at all…

“London’s treating you well then?” she asks, barely holding in her laughter.

“Mrs McClennon,” Matt says, “I’m—”

“You’re London. Yes.”

Matt’s eyes dart to me, one eyebrow raised, like he has no idea what to make of this response. “I’m—

“I know who you are,” Mum replies, pulling me into a hug. She’s so thin, she feels like a bird in my arms. Tiny bones. “You’re the hotel man,” she says to Matt over my shoulder. Then she steps aside, indicating we should follow her into the house. “This is the most wonderful surprise. I’d say it’s romantic, bringing Aries up here, but I don’t suppose it is. Coming to sit with a sick woman for the afternoon isn’t my idea of romance. And I’m quite sure it’s not yours.”

Matt half-smiles, half-frowns, clearly unsure what to say to that. He slides an arm around my lower back and together we walk inside. The narrow hallway seems even smaller than I remember when Matt’s tall frame fills the space. He wrinkles his nose a fraction, noticing the smell in the air. It’s incense, white sage if I’m not mistaken, but beneath it there’s something else… ham soup, perhaps. Maybe a touch of bleach too. It’s not unpleasant, but there’s something about it that reminds me of hospitals or old people’s homes and an edge of panic bubbles up in me. What if Matt hates this… my family home… What if he thinks that none of this is good enough for him?

Guilt and shame strangle my panic.What am I thinking?I love my mum and I love this house, and if it’s not enough for him, then that’s his problem.

---