Page 137 of Trouble from Abroad
That ugly voice in my head doesn’t whisper; it roars.There’s no guarantees you get to keep this.
By the time we make it upstairs, I’m barely holding it together.
Preston sits on the edge of the bed, eyes soft in that unbearable way that right now makes me want to cry and scream and kiss him all at once. God, I’m a mess.
“They know,” he says. So happy, so relieved. The final piece of a 799-piece LEGO project just found and placed.
My stomach drops, pressure suffocating my lungs. “Of course they do. Callie couldn’t keep it in, could she?”
“Not in her nature, no. And I couldhide itfrom them, but I’d never lie to them.”
He watches me, confused. His smile falters. “You okay, baby?”
That’s what does it. That question. His softness.
“No,” I snap. “No, I’m not okay.”
He watches and waits, ready to calm a storm.
I pace, hands in my hair. “None of this was supposed to happen, Preston. I was supposed to be a Band-Aid, remember? Temporary. Help you heal, help Lily laugh again, get you both going,then leave.”
My voice breaks, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
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.”
