I smile. “Coming, dear,” I call.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I mutter to myself. I grab my briefcase and head downstairs.
Hayden is sitting at the kitchen counter; the heavenly aroma of omelet and coffee fills the apartment. The American news is on the television, and as she sits there in her robe, all disheveled and just fucked . . . a calm falls over me.
And suddenly all my fears disappear.
This is where I’m meant to be and exactly who I’m meant to be with.
London, my home. With my beloved, sweet girl.
Hayden raises her eyebrow. “Look at you being all hot CEO.” She stands and runs her hand over my behind. “Meow.”
She sits back down as my eyes hold hers.
“What is that look?” she asks.
“What look?”
“That twinkle in your eye.”
I cut into my breakfast. “I have a lot to be grateful for.”
“Like what?”
“Like omelets and coffee.” I hold my coffee cup up to her in a salute with a wink.
She giggles. “Glad I can be of service, Mr. Miles.” She holds her coffee cup up right back.
“What are you going to do today?” I ask as I cut into my omelet.
“Hmm . . .” She looks around the apartment. “I have no idea, to be honest.” She shrugs. “I guess I’ll putter around here, and then I might go for a wander.”
I frown. “Where are you going to wander to?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Your driver will take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Or . . . I could just catch an Uber.” She widens her eyes.
“Yes. You could,” I agree. My natural instinct is to ask her to stay close to home, but I know I can’t do that.
The story in the paper has ruffled me more than I care to admit. I know I can’t keep her wrapped in cotton wool. If this is to be her home, she needs to find her own way. The mere thought of her not doing that makes me sick to my stomach.
We eat our breakfast, and I take her into my arms and kiss her softly. “Have a good day.” She smiles up at me.
“I don’t like the idea of not seeing you.” I hug her tight. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own?”
She giggles in my arms.
“Good grief, I’m pathetic,” I mutter into her hair.
“Little bit.” She pinches her fingers up in the air, and I grab her roughly on the behind and slam our hips together.
“You better fuck that out of me tonight,” I warn her.
“Okay.”
I kiss her softly and grab my briefcase. “See you tonight, babe.”
I take the elevator downstairs and walk out to see my car waiting. “Good morning, Mr. Miles.”
“Good morning, Hans.” I get into the back of the car and stare out the window as we pull out into the traffic.
This all feels so . . . foreign. Even though I’ve been doing it throughout my entire adult life.
Those twelve months away felt like a lifetime.
As we sit in the London rush hour traffic, I dial my favorite number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”