Page 5 of Trouble from Abroad
The silence is so thick I have to sidestep it, like clutter ina cramped room. “Lily is at her grandparents’. She’ll be back on Sunday,” I say after she’s swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet long enough to give me motion sickness. “Let me give you a tour of the house and then you can settle in.”
She just nods.
I may live in a meticulously decorated 4,000-square-foot home, but I have a feeling it’s about to get pretty claustrophobic living under the same roof with this woman.
My career thrived on following my instincts, and my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. Is it too late to send her back to London? Because I already regret this arrangement.
I’m a practical man. She hasn’t unpacked. This would certainly be the best time for it.
But I'm also reasonable and know beggars can’t be choosers. Lily will be back in a couple of days, and I need help. A lot of help. I hate it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. If April trusts Mia, then I’ll have to trust her too.
The clock is ticking, and I need to go back to a very demanding, very time-consuming job, and I need to figure out how to do that and be here for my kid too.
I also need to prove to two very obnoxious friends that I’m not a drunk who needs a babysitter myself.
Oh, fuck.All that alcohol must’ve killed my brain cells because I’m only now realizingwhyApril picked a friend of hers to look after my daughter.Mia’s here to keep an eye on me too.I glance back and glare at the new nanny.
My skin prickles with outrage.How could I be so stupid?Well, to be fair, I’m on a roll. And now I’m welcoming a damn spy into my own house.It takes all I have to keepmoving forward instead of turning around and tossing her bags out on the street.
How the hell did I let things get this far?I used to have everything under control—my marriage, my career, my daughter’s future. Now? I’m outsourcing parenting to someone who looks way too young for the job, and worse, I’m handing her a backstage pass to watch me fall apart if I fail.
I park her bags near the sofa and exhale a gulf of fire through my nose before mustering the bare minimum of politeness to address her. “It’s a three-story house. Four, if you count the basement.”
She nods again, fidgeting with her hands, but she doesn’t reply. Good. I’m not in the mood to chat either. “Here’s the living room. Kitchen’s in the back, dining room to the right.” I point to the rooms like a fucking steward who doesn’t care if the plane is about to crash.
“Your room is on the second floor. So is Lily’s, along with the bathroom we’ll all have to share for the foreseeable future. It’s an old house with only two full bathrooms, and I just fucked up mine.”
I glance down at my soaked clothes, feeling stupider by the minute. “Third floor is my room and said fucked-up bathroom.”
She squints, her mouth curling into a shy grin.Riiiight. She won’t laugh at my jokes but finds my misery amusing. Noted.
“And the basement?” she asks, her voice feminine and curious.
“It used to be my wife's yoga studio.” The mention of her stretches the edges of my mouth down, but I pull themback. I refuse to give that woman any more power over me. “But I turned it into a gym you’re welcome to use. And a library.”
Her eyebrows rise at the word library, and this time, she makes no effort to hide a full-blown smile.
“Thank you,” she adds, her chest expanding with a thrilled inhale—drawing my attention where it has no business going.
It’s my turn to nod before turning away. I grab the heaviest suitcases and signal for her to follow. I lead her to her bedroom, the carpeted stairs muffling my angry steps on the way up.
Opening the door for her, I catch the quiet wow that leaves Mia’s lips. She seems more than pleased with what she sees.
The room has massive windows overlooking the back garden, a super-king bed, fresh flowers and a candle April left as a welcome on the bedside table. There’s also an office desk, a decent-sized closet, and one of my favorite spots in the house—a hammock swing chair.
That’smyreading chair, and I’m going to miss the hell out of it. But moving it made no sense; Mia won’t be here long anyway. Good, I tell myself. Less time to stare. Fewer opportunities to slip.
“I better get back to fixing my bathroom. Do you need anything else?”
“Just sleep. This is…” Her eyes scan the room with awe. “Perfect. Thanks.”
I grunt a goodbye and head upstairs, eager to put space between us.
I keep telling myself it’s fine. She’s just a nanny. A guest. It’s all temporary.
I’m not a man who gets distracted easily, but I can’t shake the way Mia’s smile lit up when I mentioned the library. It’s more than just another room in the house; it’s my new favorite part. There’s something about it… and something about her… I can't quite put my finger on it, and I sure as hell don’t want to.
I grab my hammer, and my knuckles blanch.
