Page 78 of Boiling Point
I stilled.
“This isn’t just a trip,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled against my shirt. “It’s…stepping into your world. One I don’t know the first thing about.”
“You’ll be with me the whole time,” I said quietly.
She nodded once. “I know. But let’s be honest—your family isn’t going to see me as…” Her eyes flicked to the envelope, then back to me. She ticked off each point on her fingers. “I’m thirteen years younger than you. I’m your student. I grew up reasonably well-off, but my ‘status’ doesn’t come close to yours. That’s three strikes, and I don’t even know their names.”
I started to speak, but she lifted a hand.
“I’m not asking you to defend them,” she said. “And I’m not saying no. I just…want to be clear about what we’re doing.”
“I understand.” I stepped closer, voice low. “And for what it’s worth, they don’t deserve you.”
That made her laugh, soft and unexpected.
“I’m not worried aboutme,” she said. “I’m worried about walking into a room full of people who’ve already decided I’m not good enough foryou.”
I reached for her hand again. “You don’t have to prove anything—to them or to me. You already belong with me. That’s the whole point.”
She looked at me, eyes searching—then handed the envelope back.
My heart thudded. “Gabrielle?—”
“Relax,” she said with a smirk, her dry wit threading back in. “You really think I don’t know how to renew a passport online?”
Relief hit me like a wave. But before I could speak, she added, “I’ll come with you. But you’d better not let me fall on my face.”
“I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s the part that scares me.” A smile graced her lips. “But in the best way.”
The envelope fluttered to the kitchen floor as I took her face in my hands and kissed her—tender, earnest, pouring every unsaid word into her.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not getting on that plane without a full cultural crash course.”
“I’ll start drafting a syllabus.”
I held her to my chest, grazing my thumb over her cheek.
After a few satisfying moments, I pulled back and clapped once. “Right. Time for pudding.”
She blinked. “Pudding?”
I hesitated. “Sorry—dessert.”
She smiled. “God, you really are British.”
“You say that like it’s a character flaw.”
“Jury’s still out.”
I made for the freezer, trying not to grin. “I usually remember to code-switch,” I said over my shoulder. “But you make it too easy to feel at home.”
Behind me, the room went still.
Then her beautiful, soft voice cut through the air. “That’s how I want you to feel.”
