Page 79 of Worth Every Risk

A sour look crosses her face. “Maybe we should be. For one afternoon.”

We glare at one another, the air awkward and thick.

“Did Barney Wentworth call you?” I ask.

“Charlie’s housemaster? No. He didn’t call me.”

“Email?”

“No. Is something wrong?”

Part of me doesn’t want to elaborate, but Gemma is still the mother of my children. “He’s worried about Charlie.”

Gemma laughs again. “Oh, the weed. Under his bed. Mark told me about it. Hugo found it, apparently. Stashed away with Charlie’s underwear.” She wafts a hand in the air. “So what? A little weed never hurt anyone. Takes the edge off.” She nods at me like an idea has just occurred to her. “You could do with some. You’re so edgy nowadays you’re like a shard of broken glass.” She walks towards me, and I instinctively back away, but her hand rests a moment on my shoulder as she passes. “I’ll send you an invitation, but we’ll host it here. Your place is bigger, after all.”

I rub my thumb and forefinger across my eyes. “Fine.”

“Night, Matthew. Don’t stay up too late. You look awful.”

I don’t escort her to the door, or turn around once she’s left the room. I stand still until she’s gone. The front door slams, and her heels click down the steps outside the house.

“Sorry,” comes a soft voice.

I turn to find Aries standing in the doorway. Her long red hair is tied in a messy bun, strands falling about her face. She’s in a loose-fitting white t-shirt that does nothing to hide her voluptuous, now braless breasts. Pale blue jeans skim her hips, and her feet are bare. She’s breathtaking in her casual perfection.

“I didn’t know what to do when she showed up,” she says. “I wasn’t going to send her away. She said she’d only take a minute of your time.”

“That’s all right. You did the right thing.”

I blow out a breath, letting the irritation Gemma infused into my blood diffuse, enabling me to focus on the only woman I want to see right now. As I stare, the air buzzes with energy swarming between us. It feels a little like my heart might explode.

She must see the appreciative look in my eyes, because a seductive smile breaks across her face. She steps into the room and closes the door with her foot.

We’re alone amongst the luxury furnishing. Her toes sink into the deep pile of the carpet. I suddenly think of Gemma and how she picked out all this fabric with our interior designer; chose these sofas, these fucking cushions. It’s all so perfect and stylish and I fucking hate all of it.

“Bad day?” Aries asks.

“Not really—”

“Let me make it better.”

She crosses the room, my mind ablaze with ideas of what she’s going to do to me. But she halts a pace away, staring above my eye-line. She holds my gaze as she runs a thumb over my brow, like she’s smoothing out my frown. Her thumb lingers over my eyebrow; the strip where there’s no hair. “This scar,” she whispers. “How did you get it?”

“A fight.”

“In a bar?”

“No. At home.”

“Who—”

“Gemma. We argued. She hit me with a wine glass. There was a fuckload of blood. A few stitches.”

Aries inhales sharply. “Did you—”

“I didn’t touch her, if that’s what you’re about to ask. We fought a lot, but I never hurt her. She broke things. Smashed whatever she could lay her hands on.” I cover her hand with my own, where it still hovers over my eyebrow. “But that was the only time she physically hurt me.”

Aries nods. “I’m so sorry.”

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