London, England — a few years later.

British Airways, Boeing 747, flight 3154 landed on the tarmac with a thump, then a series of bumps that sent teeth rattling. The engine cowlings opened on a piercing cry of thrust reversers.

The first thing Nadia noticed was grey. It was so bloody grey. Puffs of mist swirled about the plane, and the sky strained under leaden clouds. Outside, the wet bitumen had deepened to the almost-black shade of charcoal that came after rain. Thomas had warned her about this. Told her London could be depressing in winter. But it was barely autumn.

At least there is some colour, she thought, noting the bright-green grass surrounding the landing zone.

Who cared? This was London. One of the greatest cities in the world; the home of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn and the Beatles, for Christ's sake. What was crappy weather compared to so much culture? Plus, Thomas assured her they didn't have to stay in London. He had an apartment here, but his family spent much of their time in the country, close to Winchester. Winchester! The roundtable was there, right?

Nadia pressed her nose to the window and huffed as the glass fogged. Her heart wanted to jump out of her chest. Would his parents like her? They'd never met, let alone spoken.

Her stomach did a cartwheel, and she slammed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe.

A hand squeezed her shoulder. "Are you quite okay?"

Nadia turned in her seat and melted into the depths of Thomas's bright-blue eyes.

His hand traced up her neck to cup her face, the thumb rubbing back and forth against her cheek.

"Yes," she said, smiling, "just slightly shitting myself."

Thomas' face sobered, eyes darkening and lips pressing together, making small lines appear at the corners. "They'll adore you, as do I, my love."

The two words made her heart leap, just like they had the first time he said them.

When they'd first met, she'd joked that she wouldn't sell her soul by becoming a lawyer. As they continued to travel south, Thomas had opened up about his internal conflict. He didn't want to be the type of lawyer who only helped the rich get richer. It was rich, coming from a rich man, true. The way he told it, much as he enjoyed the law, property acquisition held no place in his heart, so, when they got to Antarctica, and he'd asked her where she wanted to go next, she had no hesitation in telling him.

"You took me to the ends of the Earth, now it's time for you. I think you should do some practice in land rights, and I know just the place."

After separate stints home — she because Thomas insisted, and he because he'd essentially dropped his responsibilities and ran to South America — they'd set up in the city of Bucaramanga in the west of Colombia's Santander department. He'd gone to work as a volunteer lawyer and she as a private English teacher.

His father had not been happy. She knew this because of the heated conversations Thomas tried to hide.

They'll blame me, she thought and cringed.

"Love?" Thomas' words pulled her back to the present. His hands locked around hers and he pulled them to his mouth, kissing them as he studied her.

"No decent human being who knows you couldn't love you. My father lets off plenty of steam, but I've come to realise it's nothing more than hot air."

Nadia nodded and swallowed a lump. "It's just a bit confronting, is all."

"I know." He reached out and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. Her whole body tingled under his touch. "How are you — apart from that?"

"I'm fine." She shrugged. "Nothing a hot shower and a proper bed won't fix."

He kissed her on the temple and pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. "I wish you'd let us fly first-class."

Nadia grunted and watched the ground still as the aircraft docked.

She let Thomas herd her off the plane, through immigration, luggage collection and an empty customs checkpoint.

"But Thomas, we've got feathers, wood and dairy products in our bags!" she cried out, trying to stop him as her head turned side to side, searching for the official who was bound to haul them off for questioning. No one came, and they kept moving.

As they made their way through the white corridor, Nadia's heart beat like a hammer and, despite the coolness of the terminal, the air rolled over her, hot and clammy. Thomas pulled her along with his right hand, his left pushing their luggage trolley as she yanked her finger from a gnarl of hair.

She looked down at her clothes: newer — but thoroughly scuffed — Converses, faded jeans and a knitted llama sweater with holes in the sleeves.

A shame Thomas had no social media, she hadn't the foggiest what his parents were like — only the muted echo of his father's shouts and the coolness of Thomas' mood following this. If his looks were anything to go by, then they were beautiful. She was sure of that much. She lifted her right arm, sniffed, and screwed up her nose. They probably smelled amazing too.

Crowds packed the arrivals lounge to capacity. Well, in spite of a few hiccups, the last time she'd arrived at a foreign airport, things had turned out all right. She could do this.

Nadia tilted her weight to her heels and straightened her shoulders as she trailed Thomas through the throng. A man caught her attention, dressed in the uniform of a chauffeur: black suit and tie, starched white shirt and driving cap, holding up a tablet that read Waterhouse.

Thomas stopped, and Nadia tried to hide behind him, without success.

"Good morning, Peterson," Thomas said and stuck out his hand.

"Good morning, My Lord."

The world spun. My Lord?

Thomas moved to the left, wrapping an arm around Nadia and drawing her stiff body to his side, sighing. Hells.

"Peterson, may I introduce Miss Nadia Romanowski."

The chauffeur's right brow rose for a moment. He extended his hand. "A pleasure, Miss Romanowski. Welcome to London."

"Umm ... call me Nadia, thanks," she said, returning the shake with a limp hand.

Peterson nodded. "Allow me." He took the baggage and began to walk. "If you would."

Nadia didn't move. Thomas flinched as her eyes started to swirl.

"A frickin' lord? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Thomas felt like acid had escaped his guts. "An — er — courtesy title." For the moment.

Nadia rolled her eyes as he took her hand and she began to follow him, but a moment later she stopped again.

"Thomas?" He registered her nervous laughter over the noise of a bustling Heathrow Airport. "Please tell me that your Allegra isn't Allegra Fortescue."

This time Thomas froze. Bollocks! Well, at least she'd moved on and married a Duke.

A dazed Nadia shadowed Thomas into the hazy air of outer London. Peterson was already loading their luggage as they approached the black Bentley. Thomas' throat constricted at the sight of the passenger door opening. A tall, slender man, with broad shoulders and ash hair, stepped out. The immaculate navy suit his father wore shimmered faintly in the wan light. Aquamarine slits turned on Thomas and narrowed, holding him in his tracks.

'We're not done talking,' they seemed to say.

They were far from it. Though Thomas had set up Richard in his place — who was doing an admirable job, or so his mother had told him — his father expected Thomas back in the office the following Monday. Thomas had dug in his heels. He'd set stipulations: ones that ranged from the nature of whom he represented to the hours of pro-bono work he was entitled to do. They remained at loggerheads.

For the first time in his life, his father broke the eye contact, and a muscle twitched in Thomas' cheek. The Earl twisted around and assisted a blonde woman with large doe eyes.

"Sweetheart!" His mother rushed forward, bracelets jangling around her wrists as she made toward him. He returned the embrace with one hand, feeling Nadia tremble with the other. After a time, he patted her back.

"Hello, Mother."

"Sorry, dear." Her gaze darted from him to Nadia, and back again as she joined her husband. Lord Waterhouse harrumphed and straightened with his hands clasped behind his back.

Thomas cleared his throat, feeling his head pound and the air vibrate around him. He drew Nadia up tight against him.

"Mother, Father, may I introduce you to Miss Nadia Romanowski. Nadia, my father and mother, the Earl and Countess of Watermain."

A plane flew overhead, followed by silence. The atmosphere could have been cut by a knife. Then above, the clouds parted, and the emerald on Nadia's left ring finger winked in a green flash. His parents' eyes widened, though the pregnant silence stretched on, until, for the second time in Thomas' memory, his father gave way.

"Ahem, I see we are soon to welcome a new member into our family. Er ... delighted, my dear."

Thomas gulped. "Well, you see ..." From the corner of his eye, he took in Nadia, who's hands had moved protectively to her just-distended belly. "The thing is, there's going to be more than one addition."

He nodded at her and heard her mutter, "Fuck," under her breath. She pulled her lips back into something between a smile and a grimace as she raised her right hand to his parents and waved.

"Umm, g'day."

The End...

Well, almost. I have four bonus chapters following (in case you're not quite ready to say goodbye).

Image by Luca Micheli on Unsplash.com