Page 92 of Worth Every Risk

For a few moments, we hold eye contact, then I lean in, making a show of examining his face. “You’re looking at me differently.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

I wave my index finger in spiraling circles over his face. “Yeah, you are. I can see it. You think I’m different now, because you know I have a degree. You’re re-evaluating.”

He rolls onto his back and blows out a breath, fingers interlinked, hands resting on his broad chest.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask him.

He glances sideways at me. “That’s a trick question. Whatever I say, you’re going to accuse me of judging you. But you know what? This is what humans do. We form judgments based on the little pieces of information we gather, and as we learn, our perception changes. So yeah, you do look different now.”

“Different, better?”

He smiles to himself. “I’m not answering that.”

“Okay. Fine. But I can tell you like it more than thinking I’m ‘just a nanny’.”

He sits up. “You aren’t ‘just a nanny’. No one is ‘just’ anything.”

I chuckle. “Wow. Such wisdom. You should print that on tea towels.”

One side of his mouth ticks up like he wants to smile but isn’t sure he’s allowed. “You think I’m an arse.”

“Maybe a little bit,” I say, smiling. But then my tone shifts. “There is one thing I do need to say…” He rolls his eyes in a plea that seems to say ‘don’t make me feel worse than I already do’.“If you don’t want to be an arse, then you can’t mess me around. None of this ‘it’s over’, ‘it’s not over’, bullshit. You could have run with it being over if you hadn’t come in here last night and fucked me like the world was ending. But you did, and if you pull back a second time, then you are a shitty arsehole, no question.” I feel his gaze burning against the side of my face, and I know I’m blushing. “I should have said this before you kissed me, but… I didn’t want to stop you.”

He nods as though this is all perfectly acceptable. “I love how forthright you are. I’m very glad you didn’t stop me.” His gaze turns heavy. “I don’t want to mess you around, but the kids cannot find out. When I was a teenager, I walked in on my father screwing the housekeeper. It’s fucking seared on my retinas, even now.” He grimaces. “I won’t do that to my kids.” He stares into the distance for a moment, unfocused, and I’ve lost him to whatever thought is crossing his mind. He drags his gaze back to mine. “It was Oxford, by the way. PPE. Balliol College. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

His eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe me, but he smiles and glances at his wristwatch. “We need to get up.” He nuzzles hisnose against my neck and presses a kiss to my throat. “Can you go check the kids? Make sure they’re up? Bring them to breakfast on deck. Charlie, especially. He has a tendency to fuck about. Waste time. You know what it was like trying to get him here.” He stares at the ceiling of the tiny room, probably recalling Charlie snoozing his alarm clock yesterday morning before we left, having only half-packed his suitcase. The kid wasn’t remotely prepared to head to the airport. It was like he was already in a different time zone. I thought Matt was going to lose his shit, but he didn’t.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” he says. “Boat’s leaving at half 9.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stands and pulls on his clothes from last night, having to bend to avoid the overhead beam. “I’m going to shower. And I’m moving you into a bigger room. This is fucking ridiculous.”

I run to the kids’ rooms, waking Lucie first. She bounds out of bed, hugs me and leaps to the floor, pushing the interconnecting door to Charlie’s room open. I’m right behind her when the door swings wide, revealing Charlie standing in the middle of the room, a towel wrapped about his waist.

His eyes flare with alarm when he sees me, but I’m sure mine are the same because Charlie’s torso is covered with livid bruises, some fading, some still dark.

“Get the fuck out of my room.” His tone is hard, angry, and it reminds me so much of his father that a sickening sensation crawls up my throat.

Lucie begins to cry and I scoop her up, carrying her back to her own room. Charlie slams the interconnecting door behind me, and I hear the lock fall into place.

My heart hammers as I stroke Lucie’s hair, soothing her hiccupping tears. I kiss the top of her head. “That was scary, wasn’t it?”

She nods against my chest.

“It’ll be all right. Charlie wanted some privacy. That’s all.”

I’m trying to be present with Lucie, to focus on her as she burrows against me, but I keep thinking of the bruises over Charlie’s chest. No wonder he didn’t take off his rash vest at the pool yesterday.

My mind spins with ideas about what might have happened to him. Rough sport? A beating? Is he being bullied? Did he get attacked and never tell his dad?

An unpleasant sensation settles in my gut. What the hell do I tell Matt about this?

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