Her arms go around my neck, pulling my head to her shoulder. It’s a tragic truth that the simple yet genuine affection melts something inside me.

She doesn’t disagree with me or tell me that surely, I’m mistaken. No, she just accepts my word and comforts me through it without meaningless platitudes.

“So they’ve got eyes and ears all over and you want them to hear how rich and successful you are, hence, the fancy car and fancy hotel.”

“Something like that. Does that make me superficial? All these trappings are shallow, but . . .”

“Is it their language?” At my raised brows, she explains. “Like, are they people who would see you happy and equate that with success? Or are they people who are only going to see success in dollars and cents? Or is there something else? What’s their language?”

“Money. At least, that’s true for my parents.”

She’s perceptive, and I wonder if she’s applied the same insights to herself. It’s a gamble to ask, but I do anyway. “What about Daniel? Are you speaking his language?”

Her lips purse and she quiets. “Actually, I think I am, though he’d never admit it. Dad’s always wanted to keep me in a bubble, but he’s this forceful powerhouse and set that example for me my whole life. For me to truly be an adult in his eyes, I think I’m going to have to piss him off royally by giving him a taste of his own medicine. It’s gonna hurt us both a lot, and it’s going to be so damn hard. But in the long run, he’s not going to let me go without a fight, and he won’t respect me unless I fight for my independence.” She smiles sadly, and I think she just realized all that herself.

She shakes her head. “Enough about me. Tell me the rest of it about your family. Are we going to meet them while we’re here?”

There’s more, so much more.

That my dad takes being an asshole to a whole new level of boorishness. That my mom lets him walk all over her. That my brother is a douche canoe. That I want to steal Lizzie away and let her stay in the States with me so that she has a fair shot at normalcy away from my father. That Nan is getting older, and losing her is probably the scariest thing I can think of.

I don’t say any of that.

“Yes, we will, but I think we’ve had enough share and tell for now. And after the long flight, we probably should catch a few winks so that we’re fresh. We’ve got work and family stuff looming, and being jet lagged won’t do us any favors.”

“Show and tell,” Elle says, correcting me. She kicks her trainers off, flopping back on the bed again. Her arms are spread wide, taking up most of the space, but I lie down beside her. “Cat nap times two, coming up. Good night, Colton . . . or good morning . . . whatever.”

I chuckle at the cat nap, thinking it’s another idiom, but after everything else, I just let it pass without comment. Elle seems lost to her thoughts and will hopefully get some rest. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until I see my family.

Half dozing, Elle says, “Hey, did you see the lady downstairs glaring at my sneakers?” She brings one hand to her nose, turning it up snootily. “Apparently, my shoes do not meet de riguer standards for the Rosewood. Pretty sure that means I don’t, either.”

“Definitely not,” I agree. My eyes are closed so I don’t see the pillow coming, but it hits me square in the face with a whomp. “I meant it as a compliment,” I say, trying to explain and bat away her follow-up swings.

I give up on defensive maneuvers and tackle her, the pillow smashed between us and her arms pinned at her side. “I bet she’s never played putt-putt, never bungee jumped, never shagged in an airplane. I bet most people haven’t done half the things you’ve done. So who gives a fuck about your shoes? I know I don’t.”

She smiles like I just gave her the sweetest compliment. Or like she’s proud of all the crazy dares she’s done, so I give her one more.

“I dare you . . . to have a kip, a nap,” I say in both English and American, translating before she even asks. “Boring, I know, but needed.”

She lifts her head, and I think she might be about to headbutt me since nothing about Elle would surprise me at this point, but instead, she presses a soft kiss to my lips. I take that as her acceptance of my dare.

Just like on the plane, she’s softly snoring within minutes, and I lie awake next to her, both of us still in our traveling clothes. My mind plays over strategies and outcomes, procedures, and possibilities of meeting my family and getting my proposal through to the finish line.

Time to put up or shut up, Colton.

Chapter 22

Colton

“Just a quick visit to the fam, right? We’ve got work to do, Boss.” Elle’s teasing today is a bright spot of fun in the nerves tensing my spine.

“Yes. Just what we need to do.” There’s more I should say, but I don’t. Not yet. I want to pretend just a bit longer.

After a few oohs and ahhs, Elle falls silent. I can feel her eyes on me, but I continue looking out the window of the Ghost.

I suppose it must be clear, the expression on my face. I see so many things that are familiar. There’s the Tesco’s I’d stop by after boxing practice, and the chippy shop I’d frequent for lunch on the go. Even just the street signs, the people on the sidewalks, and of course, the pubs, all bring back memories. They all feel like home.

Oliver makes a turn, and I see one change that pierces my heart . . . the gym’s gone. Sure, it was old, a dilapidated brick and concrete box built with public funds and barely kept together, but I loved that place.

The roof leaked when it rained, and it was a sweltering sweatbox in summer and a dank, half-frozen icebox in winter.

But it was real. It was a place where money meant nothing, social class meant even less, and the only way to prove yourself was through blood, sweat, and skill.

“Do you know what happened to the boxing club that was there?”

Oliver’s eyes look to the corner where the club once stood before turning back to focus on the road. “It closed a few years ago. It was a bit of a kerfuffle, but then some minted hen tossed a coin at it, and Bob’s your uncle, the jammy bastards got a fresh place. It’s north of the High Street.”

Elle laughs and then leans over to whisper in my ear. “What the fuck did he just say? I know he’s speaking English, but I got lost after ‘it closed’ and didn’t understand a word.”

I lean into her ear, not because I need to but because I’ll take any opportunity to nibble them. “My best idea? Nan bought the boys a new club.”

She pulls away before I get my taste, her eyes wide and jaw dropped. “As in, funded a boxing gym? Minted, indeed.”

My lips quirk, amused that she understood a bit more than she let on.

My attention turns to the land rolling past us as we find our way closer to home. By the time we make the last turn toward the compound, my heart is racing. Elle holds my hand, and I trace a line along her skin with my thumb, not in affection but in distraction. It gives me the smallest grounding to something beyond home, beyond London, beyond . . . my family.

The twin hedges that line the lane come to a halt, and we can see my ancestral home for the first time. Elle is transfixed, and I wonder what her first impression will be. Will she be impressed or disgusted by the obscene showiness? Will she think it charming and posh and dance around like at the Rosewood, or will she shrink under the weight of history and high society rules?