Page 198 of Trouble from Abroad
She watches in awe as I pull off a double, five-strand braid. I’m absolutely showing off right now.
Since she likes my British accent so much, I narrate the hairdo, doing my best David Attenborough impression. My plan kind of backfires when she can’t sit still from chuckling. Nevertheless, I thrive as a child’s hairdresser. My CV keeps getting funkier.
“Mia, it’s… beautiful.” She pulls the braids over her shoulder, admiring them. Admiringherself. Mission accomplished. “I’ll be the coolest kid in class.” Her eyes practically twinkle.
“Oh, Lils. I bet you were already the coolest.” I kiss the top of her head as I stand up, then pull her hand, making her twirl in front of the mirror.
That’s when I see him—Preston rounding the corner. His shirt is only halfway buttoned, towel hanging from his arm, hair damp from the shower.
He looks like the regret I haven’t had yet.
“Oh wow, you’re dressed already, Lil.” Preston gives her a proud smile, then shifts his gaze to me, giving me a nod.
My first instinct is to twist my legs together like a pretzel. I’m not built for poise. I’m built for public embarrassment.
“Good morning, Miss Thorne.”
Oh, fuck. Now he’s made Miss Thorne sound dirty. My thighs clench tighter. I don’t dare move—I’ll faceplant if I do.
He leans down and kisses Lily on the cheek. “Give me a second, Lil. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears down the hall toward his room, and I exhale so hard I almost topple backward.
Lily heads for the loo, and the second that door shuts, I’m back to tidying socks, narrating nonsense, and unleashing mayhem one word at a time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
preston
I’m buttoningmy cuffs when the baby monitor on my nightstand crackles to life.
“And here we see the rare and exotic Nanny Thorne,” Mia narrates in an overly posh accent, pacing Lily’s room with a hairbrush as a mic. “Roaming the fairy forest, fighting the primal urge to shag the fine doctor…”
My fingers freeze.
I fly down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. My heart’s hammering. From mortification? From guilt? From hope that I heard it right?
The first thing I do is check the bathroom. The door’s shut. Lily’s humming inside—probably peeing to the beat of her own soundtrack. Definitely not within earshot.
Only then do I breathe.
I pivot to her bedroom to find Mia mid-curtsy, brush-mic still in hand. She startles when she sees me. Her eyes dart past me to the hall.
“Where’s Lily?” she asks quickly, scanning the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
She thought of Lily first. Even now. That counts for something.
But my heart is still drumming against my ribs. My hands clench. I’m not madather, but I am furious, stuck on the idea that Lily might’ve heard any of that.
“Mia.” I jab a finger toward the discreet camera above Lily’s bed. “That’s a baby monitor. I can hear everything from upstairs. I haven’t turned it off yet.”
She doesn’t blush—she ignites. The flush on her cheeks is pure, maybe justified, rage. Great. Now I’m the asshole who wiretaps his nanny.
“Why the hell does a grown child have a baby monitor?” she snaps.
“Because she has nightmares. And I’m a heavy sleeper. On a different floor.”
“Of course you are.” She scoffs. “And of course you just came from your room.” She waves a hand, walking from side to side, eyes on the smiling sun rug. “There are laws about this. You need to disclose cameras in your house. It’s my right to expect privacy within these walls, Dr. Preston.”
