Page 28 of Trouble from Abroad
As we get closer to the Brooklyn side, the doctor turns me around and points out the Statue of Liberty. He says we can go there one day with Lily—she loves riding boats.
It’s golden hour, and the view knocks the air from mylungs. I step back, blinking to make sure I’m not making this up. It takes me a few embarrassing seconds to realize I’m leaning against the doctor’s chest.
I turn around. “Oh, my God. Sorry, it’s just…” I gesture toward the culprit: the lady with a torch.
“Don’t apologize. The view does that to people. Good thing I caught you.”
He steadies me with both hands on my shoulders, then takes a respectful step back. My skin pebbles under his touch. Weird. The temperature must have dropped. I don’t overthink it.
“Would you mind taking some pictures of me?”
“Not at all.”
I’ve barely hit my first pose when a woman—maybe a few years older than Dr. Preston, with a girl maybe a few years younger than me—stops and turns to him.
“Would you like me to take a photo of you and your daughter, sir?”
Fantastic. The last pic in my photo gallery is one of my chin rolling across the Brooklyn Bridge’s asphalt.
Preston’s arms drop to his sides. His grip on my phone looks strong enough to crack the screen. He seems both pissed and embarrassed, and something in me snaps on his behalf.
How dare she?That woman doesnotget to ruin our day, not when he finally started to loosen up. Oh no, ma’am.
My accent slides straight into East London’s finest—fullLove Islandcontestant.
“’Xcuse me, babe?” I’m so in character I could pop an imaginary bubblegum bubble. “Youmean my fine piece-of-ass boyfriend? No, thanks. We can handle our own selfies.” I stroll back to Preston, giving her a once-over. She still doesn’t move, only gasps. I lay a possessive hand on his pec—God, the man is solid. “And stop checking out my man. Scurry on now.” I shoo her away with my free hand.
She leaves, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, I step back.
“Okay, in my defense, she was rude and way out of line. I saw how uncomfortable her stupid comment made you. I had to set her straight.”
“Iamold enough to be your father.”
“No, you’re not. Stop being weird. Thatwasnot about you. I look way younger than I am. Do you have any idea how many times I was mistaken for Liam’s kid? So demeaning.” I fake a laugh and change subjects fast. “Where are we going next?”
“Huh. Okay.” He huffs a laugh as fake. “There’s this bar a colleague of mine wouldn’t stop talking about. It’s supposed to have amazing views of the bridge. I thought we could watch the rest of the sunset there?”
“Lead the way, doc.” I’ll get his good humor back or get drunk trying.
* * *
We get to the bar and have to wait a bit before they can seat us somewhere with a proper view. Dr. Preston wouldn’t accept just any table.
The bar is on a rooftop, but not on one of those skyscraper buildings. It makes everything feel moreintimate, like you’re hovering just above the city, up close instead of miles above it.
Every wall is floor-to-ceiling glass, and I linger by one of them, watching the sky change colors over the bridge and Manhattan. I keep as far away as I can from the mean-girl club—loud, annoying, and also waiting for their table. They stare at me and whisper to each other. Not bothering much with discretion or my feelings.
Story of my life.
Preston comes over and stands close to me. “Our table is next. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be seated.” I exhale long and hard.
The loudest and drunkest mean girl—who looks like she stepped straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog—declares, “Oh, please. That’snother boyfriend. A hot guy like that with a girl that size?” Then she makes an exaggerated gagging noise and the whole gang laughs. Heat floods my face. I fix my eyes on the bridge and pretend I didn’t hear her, because reacting in front of Preston might kill me faster than the insult.
The doctor’s upper body jerks back, eyes horrified, hands flying out of his pockets. Oh, man. What a day. We should probably agree never to leave the house together. Although, it is kind of cute, the way we take offense on each other’s behalf.
He turns back to face me and catches my glossy eyes. I’ve mastered the art of not giving people the satisfaction of seeing me crack. No tear will fall. But there’s a flicker of rage in his. It’s gone in the next second.
“Love?” he says, a thumb and anindex finger under my chin, tipping my face up, turning my body to his in one swift move.
