My throat goes tight. "I love him too. And Lilliana."
"We can tell." He smiles warmly. "And for what it's worth, we're thrilled. Jane's already planning the wedding in her head."
"Robert!" Jane calls from the porch. "Stop embarrassing them!"
He winks at me. "Welcome to the family, Maren."
After they leave with Lilliana, the house feels too quiet. Henry and I stand in the driveway watching them drive away until the car disappears around the bend.
Then we're alone.
Really alone. For the first time since this started.
"So," Henry says, sliding his arm around my waist. "We have two days. Just us. What do you want to do?"
I turn in his arms and give him a wicked smile. "I can think of a few things."
He raises his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"
"You said you wanted to fuck me in every room of this house, didn't you?"
He groans and lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. "I did say that. And I'm a man of my word."
He carries me back inside, kicking the door shut behind us, and we spend the rest of the afternoon making good on that promise.
We christen the kitchen first—he bends me over the marble island and takes me from behind while I try not to leave handprints on the expensive surface. Then the couch in his office, the shower in his bathroom, even the floor in front of the fireplace.
By the time evening rolls around, we're both exhausted and starving and thoroughly satisfied.
We order Thai food and eat it on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, wrapped in blankets, talking about everything and nothing. About the future, about logistics, about how to make this work.
"You should move your stuff into my room," Henry says. "Like, today.”
"Yeah. I want to be here," I say softly. "With you and Lilliana. That's all I want."
He pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head. "Then that's what we'll do."
We're quiet for a moment, and then I ask the question that's been nagging at me. "What about my job? Am I still your nanny?"
"No," he says firmly. "You're my girlfriend. My partner. Someday, my wife, if you'll have me. But you're not the help, Maren. You never were, really."
"But I still need to work. I need to send money home."
"About that." He shifts so he can look at me. "I want to help your parents."
"Henry, no. We talked about this."
"I'm not giving you money. I'm givingthemmoney. A gift. Anonymous, if you want. They don't even have to know it's from me.” He squeezes my hand. “You've been killing yourself trying to save them, sending every spare dollar home. Let me help. Please."
Tears sting my eyes. "That's too much. I can't ask you to."
"You're not asking. I'm offering. And it's not too much. It's nothing to me, Maren. But it's everything to them. And to you."
"Why?" I whisper. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I love you. Because your family's important to you, which makes them important to me. Because I can, and it would make you happy." He brushes away a tear with his thumb. "Let me do this. Let me help."
I think about my parents, about the weight they've been carrying, about the house they're about to lose. About how this would change everything for them.
