Page 110 of Worth Every Risk

“Are you?” he spits. His breaths are fast and angry, his entire torso heaving with the force of them. My blood beats a heavy pulse, and for a few seconds, it’s all I’m aware of. That, and Charlie’s ferocious glare bearing down on me. “Are you fucking my dad?” he hisses, just as Lucie reaches us and grabs my hand.

“Can we go home?” she pleads, looking anxiously between me and Charlie.

“Yes, honey,” I tell her, giving her hand a squeeze.

Charlie rolls his eyes, then fixes his gaze back on me. Hard. Angry. “Are you going to answer the question?”

Lucie’s tiny fingers grip tighter to mine at the furious resonance in her brother’s voice.

I take a deep breath. “This is a conversation you should have with your dad—”

“Oh, my God.” His hands come to either side of his face before falling away just as fast. “You are. You’re fucking him,” he cries, then storms off before I can reprimand him for his language.

“Why did Charlie use the f-word?” Lucie whispers, tugging on my hand. I turn to see her big brown eyes peering up at me.

“He had a bad day at tennis camp,” I say, adding yet another lie to the mound I’ve already told.

We turn and follow Charlie as he marches up Kensington High Street like a thundercloud, me and Lucie trailing behind.

Halfway up the street, Charlie stops again, then marches forward, then stops. It’s as if the intensity of whatever thoughts are passing through his mind drive him on, then hold him back, alternately gripping and letting go. Shoppers and pedestrians begin swerving him, casting him confused looks. As if he knows we’ve nearly reached him, he spins round.

“Why?” he yells. “Why did you do it? Is it the money?”

“What? No. Of cour—”

“Do you think he’s going to marry you or something? Because he won’t.”

I haul Lucie into my arms, settling her on my hip because she can’t keep up with Charlie’s pace, and hurry forward until I’m alongside him.

“This is not appropriate,” I whisper-hiss. “Not in front of Lucie. And not in the street.”

“Ha!” Charlie’s voice is loud and brash. “And jerking my dad off in the middle of Covent Garden is appropriate?”

Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck.

People are actively staring now, appalled at the scene. My throat is swelling, and tears well up behind my eyes as Lucie burrows her head into my shoulder. I feel so helpless, so stupid… so completely ashamed that I’m at a loss as to what to do.

“Charlie, please. Let’s get back to the house. We can talk then.”

He laughs, but the sound is bitter. “I actually thought you were nice. Maybe Mrs Minter picked a good nanny this time. But no. Just another gold-digging slut.”

Each word off his tongue is like another strike of the whip, flaying bits of my heart. I don’t even know what to say to defend myself.

“That’s not true,” I reply eventually, restraining the urge to fight back. This isn’t what he thinks it is, and I want to yell that in his face.

I force myself to remember that Charlie’s a boy… One who feels betrayed by his dad. By me. By every adult figure he’s had in his life. This isn’t personal. But his words cut like a blade honed specifically for me.

“I’m sorry.” There’s a tremor in my voice. It’s pathetic, and I hate it, but I can’t hold it steady. “But it’s not like that. You don’t know what’s going on. I like your dad. This isn’t some seedy—”

“Oh, fuck off.” He rolls his eyes hard and tosses his hair off his forehead, scowling at me before continuing his march down the street.

Panic sears through me, but I try not to let it show as Lucie’s arms tighten around my shoulders.

“He said a bad word again,” she says. “He’s just like Daddy.”

And I swear, a piece of my heart actually breaks right off and drops onto the street like a lost button. No matter how hard I look for it, I know I’ll never find it.

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