Billion Dollar Stranger

Slowly, we built confidence.

When I asked Nicole to marry me, I asked her if she'd be prepared to relocate to Atlanta. I needed her to be in my bed for more than just weekends and vacation time. I needed some certainty, and leaving my company behind just wasn't an option. I promised her that she could spend as much time in England as she wanted. She agreed without hesitation.

But when we spoke about starting a family, she told me she wanted to have the baby in London so she could be near her family. I agreed because I understand the sacrifice that she's made to be with me.

We'll be in London for six months. Two months before the baby is born to get my Kensington house ready for our family. Four months for Nicole to have the support of her mom and dad. I told her I'd pay for her to have the baby at a private hospital, but she's opted to use the local hospital. "We have great free healthcare, and anyway, it’s safer for me to be in a large hospital with a cardiac ward," she told me. That’s my wife. Always so down to earth and sensible.

As we wait for the food Ryan tells me about a new deal that he's pushing through, while Jessie and Nicole talk strollers and cribs and all the other necessary baby items that we're going to need to buy. Jessie can't believe we haven't found out the sex of the baby. Nicole wants it to be a surprise, and I'm happy with it too.

"There aren't many truly beautiful surprises in life," my wife says. "I want to enjoy this one." When someone holds such a touching perspective on life, who am I to argue.

Sean arrives with our dinner. It smells delicious, but I have no idea what it is. He has a strange expression on his face when he uncovers the food. "Toad in the hole," he says with gusto.

"Toad in the what?" I ask in horror.

Nicole laughs so hard, she bends at the waist, clutching herself. "Toad in the hole. It's an English specialty."

"I know the French eat frogs, but toads…that's just…"

"It's not made with actual toads." Her eyes are streaming with tears. "It's sausages."

I glance at Sean, wondering how my award-winning chef has been encouraged into making such a strange meal for us. "It's my first time," he says. "I hope I did it right."

"It looks perfect." Nicole has so much glee in her voice that I could just wrap my arms around her and squeeze.

"Your mom used to make this, didn't she?" Jessie asks.

"It's one of my favorites. I just had a crazy craving, and I thought I'd let you all experience a new dish."

"Well, I'm down for that."

"I don't want to eat a toad," Abbey says sadly.

Ryan scoops her up and places her on the booster seat we bought for their last visit. "It's just normal sausages, honey."

"And look, they're hiding," Nicole says, pointing to the tray.

They are actually hiding in what looks like a crispy shell. I raise my eyebrows questioningly. "It's Yorkshire pudding," Nicole giggles, her eyes now puffy from all the laughing. "Just sit…I know you're all going to love it.”

What can I say, I trust my wife, but sometimes the culinary differences between our home nations baffle me.

But she's right. It’s delicious in a homely comforting way.

We could have had anything to eat tonight: lobsters, steak, sushi, risotto with truffle, caviar. You name it, Sean could make it, but this is what my wife wanted. A traditional family meal.

I know Nicole will raise our children with the kind of down-to-earth values that my own childhood lacked, and they'll be better people for it.

We spend the rest of the evening talking and playing games. Fluffy the rabbit finds a den under our dining table, and Ryan and Jessie tell us all about their most recent vacation. All the time I'm watching my wife and the light that radiates from her.

And later, when Abbey is tucked up in her bed, and Ryan and Jessie have retired to their room, I take my wife to bed.

"It was a great evening," she says as she sits up surrounded by pillows, rubbing cream over her belly. The skin is stretched tight, her usually neat belly button popping out from the pressure. She has to wear special soft bras now without underwire. So much about her appearance is different, but everything is still perfect.

I slide into bed next to her, moving close. "I want to talk to Bean," I say.

Nicole laughs, lifting the shirt she already pulled down over her sweet-smelling skin. "Bean is wriggling," she says. "Look."

Her stomach shifts, a section rising as our baby stretches. Is it a hand or a foot? I have no idea.

"Wow…does that hurt?"