Page 128 of Worth Every Risk

“Your mother?”

He gives me a sad little smile, as though he already knows the answer to that question. “No. Aries. Did you love her?”

The question is a tiny dagger tearing at a wound I’ve been trying so hard to heal, and in seconds the blood is flowing freely from it once more, and standing here opposite my son, I find myself unable to staunch it. The life drains out of me, swirling into the ground, and although I haven’t moved, I’m suddenly empty, amazed that, somehow, I’m still standing.

I can’t talk about her. Not here, not now.

“Let’s play.” I thrust the head of my tennis racket towards the courts. “We won’t be able to see the ball soon.”

I pace across the grass, faster than I need to, despite the dimming of the day.

“Dad?”

I turn to find Charlie right behind me. For a beat, he doesn’t move, then he throws his arms around me and squeezes tight. My mind becomes a vacuum. Shock. It must be. We stand like that for a few stretched-out seconds and then, when I gather myself enough to realise what the fuck is happening, I fold my arms around him, feeling the sharp points of his shoulder blades against my wrists.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Thank God. My throat shrinks, and my next inhalation feels like I’m dragging air through the eye of a needle. I hold him tighter, hardly able to breathe as I say, “I love you. I always loved you, even when it felt like I didn't. And when I didn't know how to tell you. Always.”

“I know,” he replies.

“Family hug!”

Lucie’s voice screeches across the lawn, and Charlie and I pull apart to see her running towards us, arms out. We share a quick look and Charlie grins, and something inside me warms as we crouch down to her level at the same time, both replicating her outstretched arms. When she reaches us, she throws herself between us, one hand around each of our necks. The smell ofbaby shampoo wafts off her. I kiss her on the cheek, and she squeals.

“Family hug, family hug,” she chants.

Fuck, I want to cry again.

Behind Lucie, the nanny approaches. “She couldn’t wait,” she explains.

“That’s okay,” I say, standing. Charlie takes Lucie’s hand and together we walk towards the tennis court.

When we finally start our match, I’m relaxed. So is Charlie. He strikes the ball perfectly, and the rhythmic back and forth of our rally is like a Wimbledon soundtrack. The noise of a carefree summer. Straw hats and sandals. And, if we were another family, strawberries and cream. But I don’t miss them. We have raspberries, and those are just as good.

Lucie runs about the court fetching the tennis balls while the nanny looks on. Seeing her there, leaning against the netted wall of the court, I think of Aries. Of how beautiful her hair would look against the green. How it would shimmer in the light. She really did have the most incredible hair.

But more important than any of that, Aries felt like part of my family.

God, I miss her so, so much.

When we arrive back at the house, Mrs Minter is waiting for me.

“Can I have word, sir?” she asks. Prim, proper. More so than normal, and I wonder if it’s the effect of this new nanny, spreading her uptight manner like the vines creeping up the walls of the house.

I nod, and Mrs Minter and I step into the drawing room, trusting the nanny to take the kids upstairs.

I stare at the sofa, remembering how I made Aries come on the floor behind it the night Charlie came back from school. I’m replaying it in my mind—her soft pale flesh, freckles on her arms, her nose; that hair, spread across the carpet—when Mrs Minter clears her throat.

“Sorry,” I say. “What did you want to talk about?”

She assesses me as if trying to work out if I can handle whatever she’s about to tell me. A sinking sensation occurs in my stomach. She fishes into her handbag and pulls out a letter. “This is for you.”

She holds it out towards me, but when I don’t take it, she flutters it. A small encouragement.

My mind buzzes. Never has Mrs Minter handed me a letter with this much ceremony. Post is left on my desk. This, whatever it is, is different.

I take it from her, noting my name—Matt—written on the envelope. My heart lurches, thoughts immediately rushing to Aries. But it's not her handwriting.Foolish.

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