Page 57 of Trouble from Abroad
No response.
Not right away, anyway. Maybe she's asleep already. But I imagine her lying in bed, catching her breath. Still panting, if I did my job right.
And, fuck, I hope I did.
I sit with the afterglow of it longer than I should—the image of her spread out and gasping, while my hands stayed firmly above her waist. My body still aches from holding back. My head swims with the sound of her voice, the way she fell apart with her legs shaking and my name on her tongue.
I shouldn’t be this hard over a memory. Especially not ten minutes after jerking off.
And yet, here we are.
I head to my room, ready for a lonesome round two.
* * *
It’s early morning, and Lily and I eat in easy silence, broken only by the flip of pages. This kind of quiet only happens when she’s truly focused—and it never lasts long.
She chews her peanut butter toast thoughtfully, eyes locked on the storybook she brought home from school. But when the silence stretches a few pages too long, I know something’s off. If I had to bet, she’s sulking about Mia being away this morning.
Lily doesn’t say it, and I don’t press. Some feelings are easier to chew through with toast.
Still, I nudge the open bag of chocolate-covered raisins a little closer to her side of the table. Not subtle, but effective.
One brow lifts. She takes two, then turns another page, like I’ve barely earned her forgiveness. I’ll take the small victory coated in chocolate.
“When is Mia coming back?”
Ha. Knew it.
“She’s just helping Auntie April and Uncle Liam find a new house. She’ll pick you up from school—I promise.”
Will you look at that? The nanny’s got the whole house wrapped around her finger.
She doesn’t say anything after that. Just nods and goes back to her book, flipping another page like the conversation never happened.
Then she starts humming—low and tuneless, just a thread of sound.
But I recognize the cadence.
Mia hums like that when she’s focused.
It’s a small thing, but it hits hard. Too hard to ignore. Too deep and complicated to rationalize. Mia’s woven herself into our lives so quickly. There’s a thread tying her to my daughter now. And there’s no denying it: we’re happier with her around.
“I thought you liked Tuesdays,” I offer gently. “Less pressure than Mondays. And you’ve got gym class too.”
Lily shrugs without looking up. Great. I’m getting the silent treatment. Apparently, giving the nanny the morning off without consulting her first is grounds for rebellion. I’ve explained Mia’s absence multiple times already, but the logic fell on deaf ears.
Still, her brows twitch when I stand. “I forgot something,” I say, grabbing my phone.
She narrows her eyes, looking suspicious.
I gesture toward the stairs. “Just upstairs. One minute.”
She exhales, full of the long-suffering sigh of a child forced to tolerate adult incompetence, then slides off the chair with exaggerated effort. “Fine.”
God, I love this kid.
I swallow a laugh out of respect for her feelings and theatrical talent.
