Page 120 of Worth Every Risk

I pick the glass up, swill the liquid and take a huge gulp.

Kate gasps.

I rinse my mouth with it, then swallow. Wait for a moment. Tastes fine. A little sweet, perhaps. I drink the rest and set the empty glass down and turn to face them.

“Should we… call an ambulance?” Jack asks, sounding as though he doesn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“No. It’s fine. The champagne is fine.”

“Do you need help?” Nico asks.

Jesus. All these people, watching me, worrying about me, all the fucking time. I go to the cupboard, grab a glass and fill it with water. I take a gulp, rinse and spit in the sink and that’s when I see it: the tiniest little piece of yellow.

I stare at it. Prod it with my finger so it sticks to the tip and bring it closer so I can see it.

A fucking strawberry seed.

I knew it.Rage rises like a beast as I turn back to the others, and I know Nico can see it, because his eyes flare and he sticks an arm out to shield Kate, or stop her approaching me. I’d never hurt Kate, but I must look feral enough that Nico thinks he needs to protect her.

“Strawberries,” I explain. “Those fucking boys put strawberries in Charlie’s drink.”

“Shit,” Nico mutters, but I don’t hang about to hear his thoughts on the matter, and the four of them blur as I push past, making my way up the stairs. They’re swearing and cursing behind me, muttering amongst themselves. Nico calls out to me. “Wait, Matt.”

I spin back to face them all, crowded on the stairs behind me like something from a comedy sketch. “Let me handle this.”

“Don’t lose it. The party—” Jack urges.

“I’ve got this,” I growl, and they must accept it because they don’t immediately follow as I barge back into the drawing room, scanning it quickly for the twins. Neither of them are here, but Charlie’s still talking to his friend and the mother, and this time Igrab him by the arm. “With me,” I command, and Charlie barely has a second to excuse himself before I drag him away.

“Dad, what—”

“Where are they?” I whisper. “Ben and Hugo. Where the fuck are they?”

“I don’t know. How would I know?”

They must be here somewhere. I know it. I stride into another room just off the drawing room, where the staff are pouring out champagne, lining glasses on tables, preparing to serve them.

I hear a noise; a loud, malicious sounding chuckle, and I know it’s them.The fuckers.Still dragging Charlie with me, I enter the boot room, where coats hang from the walls, and shoes are lined up neatly beneath. More shoes than we’d ever need.

Standing in the corner of the room are the twins, huddled over, conspiratorial. Hugo has a glass of champagne in each hand, and Ben is holding a punnet of strawberries. He’s running one around the edge of a glass, and in the liquid itself a lone strawberry floats.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice booms in the small room, and next to me, Charlie shudders.

The twins jerk their heads up at the same moment, like a pair of rabbits in the headlights, and a brutal, murderous impulse to run them down in one of my cars blasts through me like a heartbeat.

I storm over and grab the strawberries, the plastic box crunching in my hand. “Get out of my house. Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

“Mr Hawkston,” Ben begins. “We aren’t doing—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know exactly what you’re doing. What you’ve already done.” I’m simmering with anger, struggling to hold it together. Charlie is still standing at the door, trying to make himself smaller. “You’ve hurt my son. Tried to harm him. And I will not allow it. You will never,ever, enter thishouse again. And if you dare come near him, I will personally make you regret that you were ever born.” My voice is shaking with the effort of holding myself back from beating the two of them to a pulp. “Get your stuff and get out right now.”

There’s a moment of stillness where the twins are still frozen in place, but then it breaks like someone pressed play on a film, and everything moves at double speed. Hugo places the champagne glasses on a side table, and they grab their coats, shuffling into them.

“Charlie, mate,” one of them starts, his voice weak and fearful. “It was all in good fun. We—”

“Don’t fucking talk to him. You’ll leave, now, in silence, or I will drag you both into that party and publicly shame you for what you’ve done. There is nothing you could say that could excuse this. Out. Now.” My empty hand is a solid fist at my side, the other still clenching the strawberries, juice dripping between my knuckles and down my fingers. Charlie’s head is lowered, but his eyes are huge, peering at all of us from beneath his hair.

I focus on trying to control my breathing as the Charlton twins sheepishly leave the room, hunched over and—hopefully—ashamed of themselves.

---