Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
preston
The latch gives with a soft click, and I step into the dark, still smelling faintly of sanitizer and hospital air. I pause and listen for any sign of Lily. Nothing. Good. She must be asleep.
I toe off my shoes and move through the house on quiet feet.
Then I see Mia on the sofa in the living room under my favorite blanket, the Kindle glowing soft across her face, and something in my chest loosens. She looks up, startled for a heartbeat.
“You’re back.” Her smile is pure candor, and it’s impossible not to return.
“I missed you,” I say, bare as a man can get, too tired to waste energy pretending otherwise.
Her gaze darts away, pink spilling over her cheeks. “Please don’t play me, Doctor.”
I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tip it back toward me. “I’d never, Mia. You know me better than that.”
It’s easier to see myself when she’s looking at me. Mia is a kind mirror to look at.
She stands all of a sudden. “Oh. You left before we could reveal the big surprise. Lily gave me permission to show it to you once you got home. Come with me.”
She hooks her fingers through mine and holds on tight.
I soak it in—how natural it feels, how easily we fit together.
And the way she said it. ‘We.’ Not just her.
Not just Lily. The two of them together.
That ‘we’ doesn’t mean the nanny and my kid.
No, for me, that ‘we’ means family. The family I want.
The word slams into me hard, and my chest answers with a pull I can’t ignore, because for a moment, I believe we can be just that: a family.
She leads me upstairs, not toward her room like I expect, but higher, another flight. “Where are you…”
Mia pushes open the door to my bedroom, unveiling the finished space before I can complete the sentence.
“It’s ready, Pres.”
I stop at the threshold, but she doesn’t let me stall, tugging me inside. “Come on.”
I take it all in. Not just the room, but the fact that she started this. She made it real. For me. For Lily. For us. She gave us a fresh start.
“It’s…” My eyes land on Mia. “Perfect.”
I step closer to the bed and Mia follows.
She stands behind me, keeping about three feet of distance between us, giving me space to process.
My hands roam over the soft duvet, then fluff the massive pillows.
My poker face is on point when I turn around.
“There’s something missing, though. Something crucial. ”
I give her new stress lines in her forehead as she gets closer, examining the spot I was staring at a second ago.
“What? It looks exactly li—”
I sweep her off her feet, fling her onto the bed, and land on top of her, my hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the squeal.
“You.” The word comes out raw, and I press it into her like an admission. The rest I whisper into her ear as the tension leaves her body. “That’s what makes this room mine. Complete. And fucking perfect.”
“Preston Jett, you can’t say things—”
I shut her up with a kiss. I know this speech by heart: I can’t say things like that. I don’t have the patience to preach how wrong she is tonight.
Too bad for her. I plan to serenade and seduce this woman—now, for the length of her stay, and if I can do anything about it, for the rest of my life.
“Shhhh,” I whisper, easing her down beside me. “You don’t want to wake anybody up, do you?” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep here tonight. We’ll set an alarm so you can tiptoe back to your room before Lily’s up.”
Her eyes flicker, want wrestling should.
“Why?” she jokes softly. “You’re in a hurry to christen the new bed?”
“No, baby.” I pull her closer. “I just want to hold you. Possibly trap you in my arms when you try to flee after I’ve talked your ears off.”
“I don’t see myself trying to get away from your arms, Pres.” She says it more quietly. “I want to hear everything you have to say. I want to stay.”
“Good. I need you to.” Relief hits so hard my arm must weigh double on her waist. “I breathe better when you’re close. I sleep better if your body is touching mine.”
I shift until our foreheads touch, and I close my eyes. “Today was intense. I’ve never been away from a scalpel for that long.”
Mia’s hand slides up my chest, slow. My words snag.
“Kate is too close a friend. I shouldn’t have operated on her.” Her thumbs brush my jaw. “But I couldn’t say no.” I swallow. “I understood where she was coming from. I’d do the same.”
Mia’s palms cup my cheeks, steadying me, and I lean in. “It doesn’t make today any easier on me, though,” I admit.
Her hand traces my entire face, then combs through my hair, and I breathe her in. Her scent always settles something in me. “It’s easy to talk to you. To be with you. I think you know this, but I need to be sure. I’m not ashamed of you; I’m protective of Lily. You understand that, right?”
Mia holds my face with both hands and holds my gaze. “I do, of course I do. I’m protective of her, too. And Pres, I know this is just—”
“Stop.” I keep it calm, but firm. “This isn’t ‘just’ anything.”
“What are you saying?” Her head draws back, and her mouth twitches at one corner. “That we are… something?”
“Are you pretending we’re not?”
She moves her lips, then swallows her silence.
“Mia, I know this has been fast. Crazy. Overwhelming at times. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Nor will I pretend I’m not falling for you.” Her lips part on a quiet breath. “So tell me, baby. What do you want this to look like when we’re not hiding in a hotel room?”
She presses at my chest, trying to make space, but I don’t give an inch. I warned her I’d trap her in my arms.
“Preston, we can’t dream of hypotheticals like that. I’ll have to go home soon.”
“What kind of visa did you come in on?”
“Tourist. Ninety days total. Liam kept me on his payroll back in London. I’m not officially working here as your nanny.
Like I said, he asked for a favor and I came to help.
” Ninety. My brain starts tearing calendar pages by the fistful.
Meetings, school drop-offs, breakfasts, bedtime stories—her ghost fading away from all of them.
A loud clock sets up residence in my head, tick-tocking my sanity away.
The noise spikes so high I want to punch through it.
My arm bands tighter around her before I can stop it.
“That’s not enough,” I say, too fast.
“Pres…” Just half my name, but it carries so much—sadness, warning, not now.
I swallow hard. Tell myself not to push.
“What?” It’s an honest question.
“You’re ready to go back to work.” Her fingertip traces shaky circles over my heart.
“Your routine will be tight—stick to what keeps your head and body in check. Lily is doing great.” Her whole face brightens at my daughter’s name, the way it always does.
“She’s in therapy; what happened is out in the open, so she can heal in her own time and way.
Her performance in school has been really good, all things considered.
” Mia looks up at me. “You’re both doing great. ”
She’s pivoting to schedules and structure when all I can think about is losing her. I sit up against the pillows on the headboard and bring her with me.
“Because of you. And you know I’m not talking about the chaos you found and wrangled after your arrival.
” Her finger stills. I choose the next words carefully, defusing the bomb leaning on my chest. “Tell me I’m not out of my mind, Mia.
Tell me you feel it too. Or at least that you know you carved a place in my life only you can fill. ”
“Pres, I…”
I take her hand, kiss every knuckle, then set it against my chest so she can feel what she does to me. “Mia, we’re doing much more than ticking boxes on a list.”
“I’m not ready for this conversation. Not right now. Please.” She lays her cheek back on me, choosing silence over an answer. It’s fear. So I press my tongue to my teeth and opt for restraint. I won’t cage her. Won’t push her into making a promise she can’t afford to keep.
“Okay,” I say, softer than I feel, reaching for neutral ground. “At least you’ll be here for Lily’s birthday,” I say as I turn off the lights.
Her head lifts, chin perched on my sternum; we find each other in the dark. “Oh. When is it?”
“In three weeks.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Which means the party should already be planned. Invitations sent. I’m very late to this.”
She catches my hand, kisses the top of it, and sets it under her chin like a pillow. “Don’t worry. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“I’m glad you’ll be here.” Ha. ‘Glad’ is an insult to what I feel. “Can you imagine if she asked for you as her birthday gift and I couldn’t deliver?”
Mia bites me playfully on my thumb. “You’re silly. So, can I plan the party? What do you usually do?”
“Of course you can. Lily will go wild with joy. And I’m helping.
” One of her eyebrows climbs; I deserve it.
“Fine. Historically, I outsourced it to a planner, or to Calista and April. Blake always hated doing those. Even missed her fourth birthday for a yoga retreat she absolutely couldn’t pass up.
Sometimes we host it here; sometimes at Calista’s apartment—it’s the size of a city block.
We’ll ask Lily what she wants in the morning. ”
“Deal.” I can see the ideas spinning behind her eyes, but minutes later, she’s breathing soft against my chest.
I stare at the ceiling and try to count backward from a hundred.
Can’t. Instead, I picture Lily blowing out candles with Mia behind her, palms on her little shoulders—then I picture the day where Mia isn’t.
My throat tightens. Don’t push, Preston.
Fix what you can. Call someone. Find options. But not tonight.
The alarm drags me up too soon. I silence it and hold Mia tighter. We fell asleep with our clothes on, too exhausted to strip or change. I watch her sleep for another couple of minutes and make a quiet promise: I will not let a date on a federal form decide my family’s future.
And I will not scare Mia off by trying to claim her before she’s ready.
There’s time. I make a call just in case.
* * *
Mia’s trying to make herself useful since I got Lily ready for school on my own. She sets the breakfast table while I plate eggs onto toast.
Lily barrels into the kitchen so fast she nearly takes Mia out at the knees. Mia squeaks, steadying the juice pitcher before it tips, and then there’s just a tangle of little arms and brown locks around her waist.
“Miaaa,” Lily sings, muffled against her shirt. “Dad said you’re planning my party!”
Mia bends down, mock serious. “I sure am, boss. Let’s talk themes. Unicorns? Dinosaurs? Glitter extravaganza?”
“All of it,” my daughter answers, eyes wide, drunk on power and possibilities.
Mia blinks. “All of it?”
“Yes.” Lily rises on her toes, eyes brighter than the morning sun. “Actually, unicorns, mermaids, and fairies. Uh… Fart noises too. And manatees. And slime. But the slime has to have glitter.”
“Obviously. Glitter slime or bust.”
Lily jumps in place, shaking her hands. “And bath bombs that make the tub purple. For the party bags. Oh—and a pinata shaped like a toilet.”
I choke on my coffee. Mia, unruffled, snatches a notepad off the counter like she’s being briefed by another one of her billionaire bosses. “Right, so, we’re having a Unicorn-Manatee-Fart-Fairy-Purple-Bath-Bomb-Toilet-Extravaganza?”
“I dare you to say that again,” I tease.
“Easy.” She rattles it off three times without blinking.
Lily shrieks, climbs on her stool, giggling so hard she hiccups. “Can I have cake pops that look like eyeballs? Just like Halloween?”
“Of course you can, love. It’s your day,” Mia says, solemn as a priest, jotting it down. “Eyeball cake pops. Check.”
They’re both glowing. Lily, proud as if she just reinvented birthdays, and Mia, feeding her joy by the spoonful.
And I can’t stop staring at them across the island, wondering how I ever thought life was full without this.
Other parents will hate us. Glitter will outlive us. The toilet pinata will be legendary for all the wrong reasons. And I don’t give a damn.
Because this—this noise, this chaos, this laughter echoing off my walls—is the future I want. Every messy, slime-stained second of it.
Not one day. Not someday. I want it to start now.
I can already see it: Lily racing to Mia with scraped knees. Mia swearing over math homework at the counter. The three of us crammed on the sofa for bad movies. Christmas trees. Sleepovers. College tours. A hundred little futures strung together like fairy lights.
She thinks she’s temporary. A list. A fling.
But Mia’s already woven herself into everything.