Nola

Darius drove us all back to his Hampstead home, and even though I desperately wanted to go back to my apartment and pretend this hideous night had never happened, I didn't dare object.

I was already second-guessing my decision to call Darius instead of trying to arrange taxis for everyone, but even if I'd done that, I couldn't have forced Bianca into one. And I doubted any taxi would have taken Leighton in her current state.

I glanced back at her. She was awake at least, but her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and she reeked of booze and vomit. For the first time, I wondered how old she was. Younger than me, for sure, maybe even younger than Bianca? She had to be at least eighteen or she'd never have got into the club, but that was still far too young to be like this.

"Should we call Penny?" I asked Darius.

His hands tightened on the wheel as he pulled up in front of his house. "I'm not waking her up at this time of night because her sister's got trashed again. She'll have to stay with me."

Darius opened the window, then reached through to enter the code on the keypad. The gate slid open and we pulled into the driveway. Darius climbed out of the car, opened the passenger door, and reached in to lift Leighton out, but she batted his hands away.

"I can walk," she grumbled.

Watching the way she wobbled in her heels, I was less sure of that.

Darius led the way to the kitchen doors, unlocked them, and ushered us all inside. I was starting to wonder why I was here, but still I said nothing. I couldn't tell if Darius was mad at the situation in general, or mad at me for involving him.

He'd only just closed the door when Leighton lost her balance. Darius caught her before she fell and hoisted her into his arms, muttering something under his breath that sounded like Italian.

"Bianca, come with me," he said shortly, and carried Leighton out of the room. Bianca trailed sullenly after him.

I had no idea what to do with myself, but my feet were starting to ache so I kicked off my heels and sank into the nearest seat, waiting for Darius to come back.

Darius

Leighton grumbled as I laid her down on the bed, but I had no idea what the fuck she was saying. She rolled over, her heels catching in the covers, and I sighed. Probably not a good idea to let her sleep with those on.

I crouched down and examined her shoes, hoping I'd be able to slip them off, but nope. They had a little strap running around each ankle, with a buckle that looked too small for human hands.

"Next time you pull this shit, at least wear sensible fucking shoes," I muttered.

She wouldn't though.

And there would be a next time.

I swore under my breath as I struggled with the stupid fucking straps on her shoes, wondering if I should call Nola in here to help. No, she'd probably suffered enough for one night.

Finally, I got the damn shoes unbuckled and pulled them off.

Leighton's eyes were closed, her breathing heavy, and I straightened up and shook her shoulder. "Hey, you still with me?"

Leighton grumbled and swatted my hand away. "Fuck off," she slurred.

At least she hadn't fallen unconscious. I leaned over her and put a hand on her forehead, testing her temperature. She wasn't cold or clammy, which was good, and when I timed her breaths, there was no sign that she was struggling to breathe.

I'd been in this position with Rhydian before, but the symptoms of a cocaine overdose were different to alcohol overdosing. I was turning into a bit of an expert with this shit, whether I wanted to or not.

Leighton's eyes fluttered shut. I moved her into the recovery position and pulled the covers over her. Her dress had ridden up around her waist, and I kind of felt that I should pull it down so her entire ass wasn't hanging out, but that would mean touching her ass, which definitely wasn't fucking happening. Not even if she was stone cold sober.

As I backed out of the room, Leighton started to snore. I'd have to check her on throughout the rest of the night, make sure she wasn't choking on her vomit or some shit like that, which meant I could kiss goodbye to any chance of getting any real rest tonight.

But I'd pretty much known that from the moment Nola called me.

Bianca was hovering outside the door, her arms crossed, looking sulky as hell.

"Whatever you're thinking about saying, fucking don't," I warned. "I'm not in the mood."

Bianca pushed out her lower lip. "Why are you acting like this is my fault?"

Because it usually fucking was.

"Are you mad at me?" Bianca whispered, and my anger wavered.

She sounded so lost, so young.

"No, I just . . ." I scrubbed my palms across my face. "I need you to stop doing this."

"But I didn't do anything," she cried. "Leighton got us kicked out, not me."

"And if she hadn't, you would have," I said, because that was what always happened. The two of them were fucking toxic together.

"That's not fair. Ollie was being a bastard."

I guessed that was the name of the latest fucking loser she was hooking up with. I doubted he'd be back after tonight, but that wouldn't change anything. She'd just replace him with another one.

"Right, and you had nothing to do with it at all," I said, leaning against the wall.

"How can you say that to me?" Her mouth was trembling. "He was going to hit me."

"And you probably hit him first. I've told you before, Bianca, don't hit people if you don't want to be hit back."

Anger was sparking inside me again. We'd been in this situation way too many fucking times already, and I was sick of it. Fucking sick of it all.

"You're a bastard," Bianca whimpered.

Yeah, such a bastard that I paid for absolutely fucking everything in her life without complaint. Such a bastard that I'd driven out in the middle of the night to pick her up, again. Such a bastard that I always put up with her fucking shit.

I deeply exhaled. "Go to bed, Bianca."

"No, fuck you," she spat, her eyes blazing.

Her eyes were the exact same as our mum's, especially when she got angry. I looked away.

"We're both tired and this has been a shitty night, okay? Let's not do this," I said. One of us had to stay calm, and it was never going to be my little sister.

"It's shitty because of you," she snarled.

She and our mum shared the same voice too, and when Bianca spoke to me like this, it catapulted me back to when I was a kid, sitting in bed, unable to sleep as my parents screamed at each other downstairs.

But sure, Dad, the divorce was my fault.

"Go to bed, Bianca," I said, managing to keep my voice even.

Sometimes the only way to end a fight with her was to refuse to rise to any bait.

She glared at me, but she was tired too, and drunk and high, and that was enough to take the wind out of her sails. At least for tonight.

Bianca stomped off to another spare bedroom, muttering in Italian. Sometimes I thought she forgot that I spoke the language too, and knew exactly what she was calling me under her breath.

Shaking my head, I went in the opposite direction, back to the kitchen. Nola was sitting at the table, her bag in her lap, her body language tense. She'd taken off her shoes, and one bare foot rubbed anxiously against the other.

"How are they?" she asked.

"Sleeping it off," I replied.

"Good." Nola twisted the strap of her handbag around her fingers. A fresh spot of blood bloomed at the corner of her thumb, where she must have been picking it.

I studied her. Every time she ended up in my kitchen, she seemed to be wearing fewer clothes. When we'd first met on my bus, she'd been covered up with jeans and a plain black tee, baggy clothes that swamped her frame. On her first day as my PA, she'd shown a little more skin in a simple blue dress and flat shoes. Now she wore a skimpy piece of velvet that seemed designed to offer a teasing peek at everything without actually showing anything.

She looked good.

Pretty.

"Are you wasted too?" I asked.

She shook her head, her hair spilling around the pale skin of her shoulders. "I stopped when I realised it was getting out of control," she said.

At least one of them had a brain.

I raked my fingers through my hair, noting the way her gaze went to my arm. I couldn't tell if she was checking out my biceps or looking at my tattoo. "You want to change that?" I asked.

"Sorry?" Her forehead wrinkled up.

I fetched a bottle of cherry gin from the fridge, and two glasses from the adjacent cabinet. "I need a fucking drink."

I headed outside without waiting for a response, and after a moment's hesitation, Nola followed me.

Nola

Darius sat in a padded seat on the patio in front of the kitchen, and I tentatively took the seat next to him. At the other end of the garden, the pool sparkled like a huge sapphire. Recessed lights set into the edges of the patio cast the space in a muted glow.

"You want to tell me what happened tonight?" he said, handing me one of the glasses.

I did. "I'm really sorry," I added. "Maybe I shouldn't have called you –"

"I'm glad you did," he interrupted. "Bianca and Leighton pull this shit all the time, and it's fucking infuriating, but I feel better knowing they're safe."

If he found it so infuriating, why did he keep funding it?

Darius pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it to reveal some neatly rolled joints. "Want one?" he said, offering me the box.

For the first time in months, I didn't feel that familiar indecision. I was tired and stressed, and though tonight had meant to be about relaxing, it had done the complete opposite.

I took one of the joints, and leaned forward so Darius could light it. The first hit of the smoke made me gag, and Darius smiled, but not condescendingly like Bianca.

"First time?" he said.

"No," I gasped, blinking my watering eyes. "It's just been a while."

"Something else your ex wouldn't let you do?" Darius guessed.

"Yeah."

He lit his own joint, and blew a plume of smoke into the air, before uncapping the gin and pouring it into each glass.

"And here I thought you were the strait-laced one of the group," I teased.

Darius grinned. "Compared to the others, I am, but I still need something to take the edge off every now and then."

I sipped my gin. It was smooth and sweet and rich, chasing away the taste of the weed.

Darius was still looking at me, smoke wreathing above his head. Even lounging in a seat in the dimly lit garden, a joint in one hand, gin in the other, he was all masculine grace and beauty.

"I like your outfit," he commented.

"Thanks. China bought it for me," I said without thinking.

Darius lifted one dark brow. "China bought you an outfit? Why?"

I scrambled to think of a cover-up story. I didn't want to admit my shopping spree to him even though everything had gone back. "I ran into her the other day, and happened to mention that I was having trouble finding something to wear tonight."

"So she just bought you something?" Darius didn't sound entirely convinced.

I shoved the joint in my mouth to avoid answering. That made me cough again, damn it.

"Does this happen often?" I asked when I could speak again.

"With Penny and Leighton? Yeah." Darius swirled the gin in his glass. "Leighton's been going off the rails for a while, but once she turned eighteen and could legally drink, everything got a shit-ton worse."

Did he know about the drugs? He must do – he only had to look at their eyes to know they were on something other than booze.

"Penny's always rushing around after her, trying to keep her from completely fucking up her life, but it's not working," Darius went on. "That's why I didn't want to call her tonight. She deserves a fucking break from this."

"I didn't know you knew her," I said.

Darius shrugged. "She's been getting pretty friendly with Tasha recently, and obviously Tasha's part of my life because she's with Finn."

That made sense.

"What about Bianca?" I asked, hoping I wasn't crossing a line.

Darius was slow to answer, watching smoke from his joint trail into the sky. "Bianca does this regularly, and it's usually a different guy each time. She goes through them like there's no tomorrow."

I wondered if each brief relationship ended as explosively as the one with Ollie.

"Did you at least manage to have a good night before it all went wrong?" Darius asked.

"I saw one of my best friends in the club," I said, and my stomach clenched as I recalled the disappointment on Lily's face. She'd never looked at me like that before.

"You don't sound happy about that," Darius noted.

"I pretty much cut her off when I was living with Mike, and then the first time she sees me out, I'm with a bunch of new people instead of her and Tasha."

"I'm guessing that didn't go over too well."

"It did not."

He didn't patronise me by saying that Lily would come around, and I appreciated that. I wasn't in the mood for platitudes. What had happened with my friends was my fault.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, smoking and drinking, and the tension slowly unwound from my muscles, letting me sink further into my seat.

"Bianca's your only sibling, right?" I asked.

"Yeah. You got any?" Darius said.

I shook my head. "Only child."

Darius chuckled darkly. "Sometimes I think that would be easier."

Maybe this was my chance to get answers to some of the questions that had been rolling around my brain.

"Bianca was born in Italy, right?" I said.

Darius's hand tightened on his glass. His skull ring gleamed in the moonlight. "Born and raised." There was a definite edge in his voice.

"Is it my turn to point out that you don't sound happy about that?" I ventured.

Darius shot me a startled look.

Maybe I'd crossed a line.

"Forget I said anything," I babbled. "I shouldn't –"

"No, it's okay." Darius sighed, dragged another chair close with his foot, and swung his legs onto it. "My parents had stopped getting on before I was born; I think they thought a baby would fix things." He made a wry shape with his mouth. "But when does that ever work?"

"I don't know."

"My mum had moved to England to be with my dad, but when I was four, their marriage broke down, and she packed her stuff and went back to Italy. I used to think it was because she didn't want to be a mum."

I leaned forward a little, wishing he'd look at me. "Why would you think that?"

Darius took a long moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was low and hollow. "Because that's what my dad told me. He said it was my fault."

"Jesus. I'm so sorry. No kid should hear that from their parent," I said.

"I'm not sure he was entirely wrong though."

I reached out and put a hand on his arm. His skin was soft and warm. "Why do you say that?"

"Because barely a year after leaving me, my mum fell pregnant with Bianca. Nineteen years on, and she hasn't abandoned Bianca, so obviously she did want to be a mum. She just didn't want to be my mum," Darius explained.

There was a wealth of hurt in his words, and I closed my eyes, picturing a confused four-year-old Darius, not understanding why the most important person in his world didn't want him.

"How –"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Darius said. His fingers were clenched around his glass.

I'd gone too far, and I held my breath, expecting him to tell me to leave. But after a few tense moments, Darius uncapped the gin and leaned towards me. I quietly held up my glass and he refilled it.

Clearly, this night wasn't over just yet.