Page 295 of Trouble from Abroad
When I stop, he stands and takes a cautious step forward, but I shove him back. Hard enough that his big, stupid, solid body actually stumbles back onto the bed. Because he lets me. Because he respects my need for space. Because he’s too damn good, even when I don’t deserve it.
“And now?” My throat closes around the word. “Now I love that kid with every fiber of my being. I’m losing my mind over the idea of waking up and not getting her laugh with my tea. And you”—I jab a finger at him—“youmade me believe I belong here.Youshowed me a future you can’t even guarantee. How dare you?”
He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak. It’s my turn. I can’t keep this inside any longer.
“Have you evenreadthe immigration rules, you romantic asshole? I can’t just renew my visa and stay for brunch. I’d have to go back home and waitthree monthsbefore I can even apply again. Three months away from you two.” My lungs—no, every organ hurts to even imagine it. “How am I supposed to survive that, huh?”
My throat burns. I’m shaking, can’t stop pacing in front of him. “You selfish bastard. You didn’t think of that, did you?”
He exhales, slow and steady, careful not to disturb me or too many air molecules. Pres just sits there, eyes full of something too gentle to bear, letting me unravel.
“I’d like to change my answer, if it’s not too late.” Heat stings behind my eyes. “Back at that rooftop, in the pool, you asked me what scared me the most. Fuck my career. It’s losing you. Losing Lily. I’m fucking terrified of having to leave her behind after what Blake did to her. I don’t want to make that kid cry, Preston. Ever, if it’s up to me.”
That’s what finally cracks him. His shoulders drop. He stands, slowly, purposefully, as if any sudden move might break me completely.
He gets up and kisses away my tears—the ones on my face, anyway. Too many others have pooled on my shirt and toes. Jesus, I’m weeping. I wipe my nose on my sleeve.
“You’re fixed.” A hiccup. “Cock is working just fine. Plenty of women out there to prove you’re very much wanted.” Two more very embarrassing hiccups. I wanted to sound much more confident and unshaken saying that, but that’s not happening today. “You’ll have no problemsfinding a younger, more qualified nanny. You’ll move on. I’ll be the one stuck, alone, hurting.”
The motherfucker laughs, and I turn homicidal. “Are you la…”
He holds my snotty face in his hands, thumbs sliding behind my ear.
“Mia, there’s no moving on. There’s no one else for me. I love you. I. Love. You. Will you please let me love you?”
I sob at his words. “I’m so scared, Pres.” I sniff as more tears dampen my shirt. “I’ve never been so happy. Never felt so cherished.”
“Do you trust me?”
I rub my nose clean again as best as I can before kissing him silly.
We break for air, and he asks again, “Do you trust me, Mia Thorne?”
“I do. I don’t know what you’re talking about now, but I’ll take the leap with you.”
“I do,” he echoes, smiling. “Those are the words I long to hear.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
preston
Same as everymorning since moving back to my room, I wake up with my hand drifting across the sheets, reaching for what isn’t there. I’m convinced I’d sleep longer if I’d find Mia’s body. If I could hook her in, tuck my face into the curve of her neck, breathe her in until I dozed off again. That day is coming, this I know. She already said her first “I do” yesterday. I smile, delusional and absolutely fine with it.
Her absence makes me toss and turn, something different about it this morning making me uneasy. That’s when I spot the note on my nightstand. Her handwriting reads:Gone to pick something up. Back before breakfast in bed.
We made a plan. Start Lily’s birthday with a small banquet in bed, follow it with a whole day built around her favorite things. Our presents are hidden in my closet, so I can’t imagine what Mia needed to run out for at this hour on a Sunday.
There’s no chance I’ll get back to sleep. No rest will be found without her under my covers. Or my roof. So I throwthe duvet back, pad downstairs, and put my restlessness to use—start the special menu for the special day.
Oranges get squeezed and sieved. Fruit sliced. Pancakes are stacked in the oven on low. Bread lined up for the toaster; eggs whisked smooth in a bowl. They’ll hit the pan any second now. A scoop of strawberry ice cream topped with sprinkles waits in the freezer. I think that’s it. If I can get all this balanced on one tray and up the stairs, we’re off to a good start.
I’m pouring eggs into the hot pan when the front door clicks open. Mia slips inside, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair wind-tossed. She kisses me good morning over the sizzle of butter, lips soft, smile brighter than the sun through the window.
“You already did everything?” she asks, impressed, glancing at the spread.
“Sorry,” I mutter, scrambling the eggs, “but we don’t have much time. Lil’s liable to wake up on her own any second.”
Her grin fizzles out. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. It wasn’t supposed to take this long. But it was worth it.”
