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We sit on the couch together, wrapped up in soft blankets. His arm is draped around my shoulders, his fingers drawing sweet patterns on my skin. We both know we’re not going to be able to stay awake to watch the raunchy comedy he’s picked out for us, but that’s okay. We don’t mind enduring the endless cartoons and princess movies for the sake of our daughters’ enjoyment.
This life of ours is cozy and perfect. If you’d asked me ten years ago where I saw myself, I would have only dreamed that I was sitting on a couch in a house on the San Francisco Bay, snuggling with my husband after a passionate quickie.
But I couldn’t have dreamed of such a life at the time. Everything I knew then was violence and chaos. I had no control over my life, and I was a pawn in someone else’s game. Now I’m the mother of three perfect little girls, the wife of a kind and loving man, and the owner of a successful tech company.
I sigh against Johnny’s chest and snuggle further into him. It’s because of him that I have this wonderful life, and I will spend the rest of my days showing him just how grateful I am for it.
The End
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THE ENGLISH BILLIONAIRE’S OBSESSION
CHAPTER ONE
Amelia
I’m almost glad when the plane lands and it’s raining. Whenever I dreamed about my internship in England at one of the world’s biggest advertising agencies, I always pictured rain. Mom said it was my artistic side coming out each time I talked about dark clouds opening to lash down to drench me on my way to the next meeting.
As I wait for the flight attendants to tell us it’s time to disembark, I take out my phone—flight mode still on—and watch the video I submitted to earn this internship. Instead of a resume, Realization Global asked for a custom video.
I cringe as I watch myself standing in the kitchen’s light, the least cluttered place for the video. The wall is clear of debris, photos, or other distractions behind me.
I’m wearing a form-fitting skirt and a shirt. After I sent the video off, I wondered if the outfit was too much.Ihappen to like my figure, which isn’t something I go around advertising since the rest of the world doesn’t seem to agree, and it’s an invitation for negative comments.
Cringe or not, the video got me the internship, so I can’t be too self-pitying about it. I will work as a graphic designer for a huge advertising agency, or maybe I’ll mostly make the coffee ortearun with milk and lots of sugar. That’s what Mom said since she’s visited England a few times for her work as a stylist.
Walking through the airport, I feel like I’m in a different world as I listen to the accents around me. I keep wanting to stop people and say, “Oh, wow, you’ve got thebestvoice ever.” I don’t think that’s the best way to start my England journey.
Realization Global arranged a car service to take me to the small room I’m renting on the outskirts of London. They paid for travel, but the accommodations were up to me, and I didn’t want to borrow a lot of money from Mom and Dad.
I record a video message for Mom in the back of the car. “Hey, I’m here, in not-so-sunny England.”
I turn on the camera and aim it out the window. Rain lashes down in such thick sheets I can hardly see the tall buildings and, just about visible, the London Eye. It’s so loud I have to yell to be heard.
“The flight was great. No cranky guy sitting next to me demanding all the leg room, so that’s a plus. Now I’ve just got to settle in my room, and tomorrow…”
I grin for the video, but I can’t hide the nerves from myself, the bitter notion that somehow I’ll ruin this. Somehow, I’ll revert to the awkward kid I was in high school, hardly able to meet people’s eyes and reluctant to raise my voice because that brings attention.
No! This is a chance to reinvent myself—owning my personality and appearance. Now, here…
“Andplease, Mom, in your reply, no more talk about finding a nice British boy, okay?”
I can already see her rolling her eyes at that. She mentioned it countless times, the idea that I’ll find the man of my dreams over here. He’ll thoroughly sweep me off my feet, and then we’ll give Mom and Dad a bunch of grandkids.
“Speak soon. Love you.”
Thespeak soonpart isn’t exactly true. Well, it is. I’m not going to ghost my parents, but what I mean is I’m going to limit contact with home as much as possible. Being over here, I want to pretend it’s a new world where the rules of the old reality don’t have to apply.
“Doing anything exciting here, miss?” the driver asks as we stop in traffic.
Again, I have to stop myself from beaming at his accent. Mom says there are more accents in a ten-mile span in England than in some entire states back home.
“I’m here for work,” I tell him. “I’m going to be a graphic designer. Well, I’m an intern.”
“What exactly is one of those, then? Sounds fancy.”
