Page 286 of Trouble from Abroad
2. Help you—if you’ll let me—find the kind of work that proves being Liam’s PA wasn’t your peak. That was only your launch. I want to see you fly higher than you ever thought possible. Save me a seat in the cockpit—I’ll be your loudest supporter when you soar.
3. Teach you to drive on the ‘wrong’ side of the road so we can trade off between chauffeuring and cuddling in the backseat with Lil.
4. Share my pancake recipe with you, so it’s yours too. Sunday mornings should smell of flour, syrup, and the family we’re building.
5. Plan a trip where you don’t have to plan a thing.
I stop reading as laughter bubbles out of my chest at that one—it would be a first for sure. Oh God, there’s more.
(Yes, I’ll let you mock my plain, black-and-white bullet-point itinerary.)
My eyes prickle, salty and ridiculous.
6. Take you to the hospital roof at night—the place I go to breathe. In case you ever need one too.
7. Buy a Christmas tree together. It’s Lily’s favorite holiday. Fair warning: she always picks the ugliest one, convinced it’ll be left behind. And we couldn’t possibly have that.
8. Learn more awful songs to belt out with you two until the day the neighbors call the police.
9. Make you tea when you’re sick, without being asked. Make you tea when you’renotsick. Just because I can.
10. First-day-of-school photos; last-day-of-school all-you-can-eat ice cream.
11. Reverse my vasectomy—if you ever want kids of your own. No pressure. Just a door I’d open for us.
PS: Tonight isn’t a one-off. I want to give you the kind of life that feels like an apology for everything that came before. Every day, I want you to know you’re chosen. I choose you. I want you. And I’ll cherish you, Mia. Every day.
When I reach the bottom, my hands are shaking so bad the paper crumples where my fingers clutch too tight. My laugh gets tangled up with something wetter, because what even is this? Who vows things with glitter, pancakes, and bullet points? It’s ridiculous. And perfect. And so him. My throat’s tight, my chest’s doing gymnastics, and all I manage, looking back at him, is, “It’s… really not very filthy,” along with a single hiccup.
He doesn’t rush to answer. Doesn’t joke, doesn’t tease, doesn’t even blink. He carries on with the massage, watching me, being the steady, patient Preston he knows I need. He watches me closely, listens too. He’s gotten to know me so well.
The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s warm, mixing seamlessly with the steam and bubbles until it settles over us, soft as a blanket.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says at last. “I just want to spoil you tonight. Show you what our nights will be like.”Will, not would. God, I love his confidence. There’s plenty for both of us. “I want you to feel at home in this house. It belongs to you as much as it does to me.”
He’s making it impossible to fight this, isn’t he?
“I feel…” I choke and try again. “I feel safe, Pres. And happy. Really happy.” I treasure the paper in my hands, setting it carefully on top of a towel. I tap a dry finger on top of the paper. “And this feels really tempting.”
Pres bends forward and kisses my shoulder once. “Good.” He doesn't push for more. “We don’t have to decide on anything tonight. I just wanted you to know where my dreams lie. Even when I’m awake. And they’re yours for the taking.”
We let the room fill with quiet, orange and jasmine.
How can something this good be more than a dream?
* * *
The next morning, before he leaves with Lily for Saturday drama school, he steals a good morning kiss when she’s busy skipping down the front steps to the car. The following day, when I crawl back into my room in the early hours, there’s a Post-it note.
Let me stand beside you and tell the world we’re together. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms, and start every morning with you still there, in our bed.
A few days later, my phone died in the middle of shopping, and I struggled to get home. In a matter of hours, I found a brand-new portable charger inside my purse.
He never lets me head out the door without a thermos of Yorkshire tea—my favorite British brand that he keeps endlessly stocked.
There’s no denying Preston is a man of his word. I’m thoroughly spoiled, feeling loved, and maybe getting a little high on it.
The question is—where does that leaveme? My future? The one I thought I’d return to after my three months as a nanny were up.
