Page 115 of Trouble from Abroad
“That was nice of you, setting the alarm.”
“Did you even sleep?” I ask after a yawn.
He smiles like a fool, and I fail miserably trying not to do the same.
“And miss the view?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, mismatching the stupid smile on my face.
He tuts. “So much less convincing when I’m not inside you.”
I fake outrage with an open mouth and a hand on my chest. “Come, let’s get ready. You need to put some clothes on if there’s any chance we’re ever leaving this room.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
preston
We leavethe hotel around five-thirty. Mia’s hair is still a bit damp from the shower, pulled into a messy bun, and I can smell her citrusy shampoo from across the center console. Lucky me, she takes it everywhere.
My hand has found new residency on top of her thigh, and I don’t dare move it. We’ve barely turned onto the main road when Callie calls. I pick it up on speaker.
“Preston. You better not be screening your calls just because you’re having an existential crisis.”
“Hi, Calista,” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“I’m good, thanks for asking. How areyou, my dear friend?” Sarcasm drips so thickly, I worry for my car's sound system.
“Mrs. Romano said you left the house to go on some important calls? What calls? Are you talking to the board again?” Callie presses, more bite in the question this time. “You’re coming back? When? And how come I’m not in the loop?”
“Calista, where are you? Inmyhouse?”
“Obviously. By the way, love the plan for your bedroom. Zaha is amazing, isn’t she?”
I rub my forehead, feeling new lines form there. “Those prints were in my office.”
“Yeah, I got bored. Then broke. Mrs. Romano beat me in seven rounds of poker and took all the money I had on me. And two rings too. Any chance you can convince her to give me my jewelry back?”
“Consider them pawned already.”
“Damn it. That woman is a grifter in pearls. She probably bluffed seven times.”
My patience is wearing thin. “What do you need, Calista?”
“A slice of that lasagna in the oven. And good news. Were you settling the details of your return?”
“No. But you can stay for dinner. I’ve arrived at Lily’s school. See you in a bit.” I hang up before she comes up with more questions I’ll have to make up answers for on the spot.
Mia jumps in the passenger seat. “Oh no, she’s calling me now. What do I do, what do I do?” she asks at twice her normal speed, and I calmly take the phone from her hands.
“Ignore it. You’re busy. Look, there’s Lily.”
Miraculously, there’s a parking spot right across the gate. We step out just as the bell rings and kids start to pour out. I spot Lily before she sees us—her wild hair bouncing, backpack askew.
“Lily,” I call, and she runs straight toward us. My arms are open. But she barrels past me and throws herself into Mia’s legs. Again.
I’m about to play chauffeur one more time, but today it doesn’t sting. I open the door for them myself.
