Destiny and the Devil, page 7
Maybe I’m just an expert at pretending. Maybe I’m just not one of the lucky ones. Maybe the best I get in life is just to borrow a little piece of other people’s happiness. Borrow their children, borrow a husband, borrow some parents.
I try not to think about it too much.
Thankfully, the nanny duties have kept me so busy that I haven’t had much time to dwell on my personal problems. And the gorgeous man that I slept with, who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. He said he would be traveling for business, and I believe him—but it’s still not easy to deal with the distance so early in a relationship. If it even is a relationship. I’m not so sure.
It doesn’t matter. I try to focus on the twins as I help them get ready for bed.
“I hate these pajamas,” Holly complains. “I want to wear the Christmas pajamas Auntie Willow got me.”
I nod and search for them. Thankfully, the housekeeper has completed the laundry, so I am able to find the pajamas in question easily.
“I could design way cuter PJs for you,” I tell Holly. “These are kind of boring, don’t you think? We need some glitter.”
“And some unicorns!” Hazel adds.
“Tomorrow can we make shiny new unicorn pajamas, Miss June?” Holly asks with big eyes.
“Sure,” I tell her with a smile. “Don’t tell Mathilde—but maybe we can even use the curtains to make them.”
“That would be the best!” Hazel says. “I wish we had a mother like you, Miss June.”
The comment sobers me up slightly. “So, where is your mother?” I ask the girls
“We don’t have one,” Holly explains. “But we have Daddy and he’s the best. He’s just very busy sometimes. We hate it when he’s gone.”
“Where does he go to?” I ask the girls.
“Oh, all over the place. Maybe Canada, maybe Europe.”
I frown. It’s a bit unsettling that I have never even spoken to this man. Usually, I am not given so much free rein with parenting. Especially with wealthy clients. They usually have a strict set of rules and direction for what books they would like their kids to read, and what lessons they would like us to study. This house is basically ours to explore, with perpetual playtime.
But I have noticed some odd things… like how family portraits seem to have been removed from the walls. Some rooms are locked so I can’t enter.
It’s almost like a lot of care has been placed into me not finding out some things. And I don’t want to pry or dig for information that isn’t given to me, but sometimes I can’t help being a little frustrated, and tempted to search for a tiny bit more…
I guess it’s similar to how Holly and Hazel used a fake last name at the daycare. The family is very private, and I haven’t been working here for long. It’s understandable that they don’t trust me. Mathilde did mention that I was hired with a probation period at first, and that I would have to meet with the family lawyer and sign and NDA, promising not to reveal any information about the kids or the family to outside sources.
“Miss June! Can you read us the bedtime stories we asked for?” Hazel reminds me.
“Uh—you mean the entire set of The Chronicles of Narnia?” I ask weakly.
“Yeah!” Holly says cheerfully. “Books 1-7. We’re gonna read it all.”
Merciful Zeus. They never run out of energy. Now I see why I’m getting paid the big bucks for this. My voice is going to be very sore after all these books. Oh, well. It’s totally worth it.
“Sure, come on, bring the books and get cozy,” I tell them.
“Can we go down to your room?” Hazel asks. “I like the big fireplace.”
“Okay, sure,” I tell them with a smile. I do love the fireplace, too. The girls blast out of the room at top speed, and as usual, I struggle to keep up with them. By the time I’m downstairs in my room, the girls have already stolen all the blankets and comforter from my bed and set up a cozy reading spot on the couch in front of the fire. They even have their stuffed animals set up, to join us.
I can’t help but smile as I take my position, seated between them. They are too adorable. When Hazel hands me the book, I arrange the comforter over my legs and begin to read.
“Book 1, The Magician’s Nephew. Chapter 1,” I begin, trying to conceal a yawn.
“No, let’s skip this book,” Holly says. “It doesn’t fit in perfectly with all the others. It’s kind of weird.”
“True,” says Hazel. “Okay, skip it. I wanna hear about Lucy.”
Thank goodness. Only 6 books to go. We’ll get through that eventually. I pick up The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
The girls happily snuggle up closer, hugging their stuffed animals as I begin to read the classic tale. Before long, both of them have passed out. I try to keep reading, so that I don’t ruin the relaxing sound that lulled them to sleep. But eventually, my yawns begin to overtake me, and my hand grows heavy holding the book. It falls to my stomach.
I rub my eyes and put one arm around Holly.
Maybe if I just close my eyes for one minute…
Chapter 17
Spruce
I finally get home, after a week of traveling, and it’s late at night. My driver picked me up from the airport in my black Escalade, and we stopped to grab some Starbucks along the way. I continued to work from my laptop up until the moment we arrived at the house, and the driver pulled into the garage. Then all my fears rushed back to me.
I am not sure how I’m going to tell June the truth, but I’ve decided that I’m sick of this. I need to tell her. I don’t care if diving in too fast is likely to ruin things. Moving too slowly is just as likely to ruin things, before they can even begin.
When I enter the house, my first stop is heading upstairs to greet the twins, but they are not in their beds. For a moment, I panic. Then I see my housekeeper walking nearby.
“Mathilde, where are the girls?”
The old woman shrugs and smiles. “They are glued to their new nanny at the hip. Where did you find that woman? I swear, she’s like magic for those little demons. She must shit rainbows.”
“But where are they, Mathilde?”
“Check the nanny’s quarters.”
I frown, and head back down the stairs in that direction. I notice that the door is already ajar, and I push it further open gently. I am greeted by the most beautiful sight. June has fallen asleep in the couch, with a book open on her stomach. On either side of her are my Hazel and Holly, snuggled up peacefully. I stand here, watching in amazement, and it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
How could I get so lucky, and find the woman that was the best suited in the universe, to raising my little hellions? I wish that I could walk into that room and join them. Kiss all of their foreheads and snuggle up beside them. My girls.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Still, I stand here and stare for a moment longer, just gazing at June’s face. I want to go to her so badly, and touch her. I never should have concealed so much from her.
But if I went over there now, she would probably be startled and shocked and upset. She would probably feel lied to, tricked, and enraged. It might start a fight. I don’t want to ruin this peaceful and perfect moment, and turn their restful night into something traumatic and scary. I would understand if June wanted to yell at me, and I probably deserve it. Just not in front of the girls. I step back and slowly shut the door.
Well, I really messed this up.
I hope she doesn’t hate me.
I’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to her.
June
* * *
A noise causes me to stir, and I wake up with a start, thinking someone has entered the room. But the door is closed. I groan, realizing that I fell asleep on the couch in an awkward position. With two cute, but heavy little girls on either side of me.
Stretching, I reach up and touch my neck, which is a bit sore and cramped.
“Okay, girls,” I say tiredly. “You should probably get to bed.”
But they are fast asleep and completely dead to the world.
Sighing, I lift the blanket and try to climb out of the cozy little cocoon we made, without waking them. I don’t have much energy to shower, but at the very least I am able to change into my nightgown. I look around for my eye mask, which is almost essential for me to wear to avoid waking up too early—but I can’t seem to find it. Then I realize I probably left it in the kitchen beside the coffee machine. I have a bad habit of not wanting to even open my eyes until I get some coffee in me, so I usually wear my eye mask all the way to the kitchen in the morning. Sliding on my bunny slippers, I yawn as I exit the room and shuffle toward the coffeemaker. I find the little blue mask, covered in stars, exactly where I left it.
I am thankful that the housekeeper didn’t move it somewhere.
But then I notice something odd.
There is a new set of shoes in the mudroom leading toward the garage. Men’s shoes.
Is someone here? It could just be the driver bringing Willow over, or more of the staff. But it’s rather late at night. Walking forward in my bunny slippers, feeling a bit confused, I open the door to glance into the garage to check the cars. It looks like there is only one new vehicle parked there.
A black Escalade.
So many cars come and go from the house, that it’s hard to keep track of them all. But an odd memory comes back to me as I stand here, half asleep. It was months ago. I was working at the daycare, and Holly and Hazel were being picked up by someone driving that same vehicle. And then one of the girls ran back to give me a rose.
It was such a lovely gift.
I can’t help walking over to the Escalade to examine it, then. It has the same bumper sticker I remember. I place my hand on the vehicle, and it is still warm. It has definitely been driven recently. I feel a little nervous, because the windows are tinted so dark—someone could possibly be inside, and I wouldn’t know. That’s a bit scary.
But my curiosity is too strong. I can’t help standing on my tip toes to peek inside, anyway.
Then, I notice the oddest thing.
A tiny, empty Starbucks espresso cup. A chill runs through me. All the hair on my arms stand up as goosebumps prickle my skin. I frown. Could it be? My heart skips a beat as my imagination runs wild. And a tiny bit of hope stirs in my stomach. Their father is away on a business trip, right? Just like my mystery man. I don’t know many people that drink espresso from Starbucks. In one shot. And my mystery man knew Willow, and sent me to her restaurant for free. Like she was family. Like she was his sister. Is this possible?
I remember that Mrs. Merriweather told me about this job interview immediately after my first date in the closet with my mystery man. Could it be? I stare at the tiny Starbucks cup, feeling anxiety flood through me. I remember the way my sexy stranger tossed the entire contents of a similar cup into his mouth, consuming it with one gulp. I haven’t been able to get the image out of my mind.
It was such a masculine way to drink an espresso.
Is that his cup?
I realize that my hands are splayed against the car and my breath is fogging up the glass as I stare. Then it occurs to me that—even if it is his cup, he could be a business associate of the girls’ father… or Willow. They could have had a meeting together, or grabbed coffee together. There aren’t many wealthy businesspeople in this town, and it makes sense that they all know each other.
Maybe it’s just a dumb coincidence.
Maybe it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.
But—someone in this car did give me a rose.
It could have been just to thank me for doing such a great job with the girls. I’m probably just seeing what I want to see. Wishing that my mystery date could end up being my mystery employer so I could live in the same home with him. Be forced to spend more time with him.
I chew my lip, knowing that I’m being an idiot. This is what happens when you fall asleep reading The Chronicles of Narnia. You end up making up fantastical stories in your head, and imagining that life is filled with magic and serendipity and coincidence, when it probably isn’t.
I tell myself to calm down and drag myself back to bed.
The girls are still fast asleep, and I pull my eye mask over my head to block out the light, and hopefully block out all the ridiculous, farfetched, preposterous ideas that are swarming in my brain.
But I dream of my mystery man. I toss and turn, and can’t sleep, imagining his voice.
How could someone I barely know affect me like this?
It’s a fretful night, and I barely get any sleep.
When the morning light breaks through the curtains, my eye mask doesn’t even protect me, because I know that the light is there. And when the smell of bacon and eggs hits me, I groan.
I’m feeling cranky as hell.
Peeling myself out of bed and putting on my bunny slippers, I know I need to get some coffee in me before the twins wake up. I don’t want them to see me this grumpy and cantankerous. I need to be the sweet and pleasant, lovely Miss June.
Not Miss June with the cavewoman bed hair, who can barely open her eyes.
Shuffling out of my room with sluggish steps, I yawn as I head for the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mathilde,” I say groggily, knowing she will be there cooking up breakfast for the kids. I fumble around for the coffeemaker.
“Good morning, June,” she responds. But there is a weird tone in her voice.
I ignore it and continue trying to get myself some coffee. I am a bit startled when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist, keeping it still. Then a cup of warm coffee is placed in the palm of my hand.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully, lifting the mug and dumping most of the contents down my throat. Oh, god, I needed this. Then I notice something odd. Beneath my eye mask, I spy a man’s house shoes. I don’t think those are Mathilde’s feet…
Then I see the hand that gave me the coffee. And on the wrist, is a Rolex. It’s the same beautiful, masculine hand that once made me a chocolate milk martini. I reach up and tear the eye mask off my face, and I am stunned to see the face of my handsome stranger.
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You!”
Chapter 18
Spruce
It’s extremely early in the morning, and I’ve asked Mathilde to help me cook a great breakfast feast for June and the girls. Complete with smiley-face bacon and eggs, which always make my daughters giggle, and their favorite blueberry pancakes. I am sure the delicious aroma is wafting over to the nanny’s quarters, which are not too far from the kitchen.
I’m a bit nervous, but I somehow have hope that it will all be okay.
Mathilde keeps sending me suspicious glances.
“What is going on with you, sir?” she finally asks. “You seem… strange.”
“I feel strange,” I tell her, with a small laugh. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Then why the heck did you ask me to cook all this bacon?”
“We can’t have smiley faces without bacon, can we?” I demand.
“I suppose not,” she answers, confused.
The suspense is killing me, and I keep glancing at the time, which seems to be moving slowly. It feels like it’s taking hours for the girls to wake up. But in reality, it’s only been a few minutes.
Finally, June shuffles into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She’s half-asleep, and still wearing a sleeping mask over her eyes. Silly girl. It’s a wonder she isn’t crashing into all the walls and furniture. “Good morning, Mathilde,” she says tiredly.
“Good morning, June,” the housekeeper responds, still eyeing me suspiciously.
My heart is pounding in my throat.
I watch as June shuffles over to the coffeemaker, and reaches for the handle awkwardly, while still wearing her eye mask. She looks so adorable in her nightgown and bunny slippers, that I can’t resist walking over to her to help. I have already made coffee for myself, but I have been too anxious to drink it. So, I grasp her wrist, and place the fresh cup of coffee in her hand.
“Thank you,” she says, putting the mug to her lips and drinking half of it before she pauses. She looks down under her eye mask, and she must see my shoes, and know that they don’t belong to Mathilde. She must even see my hand, that gave her the coffee.
She reaches out and rips the eye mask off her face, staring at me with wide eyes. Then she gasps, and nearly shoots the coffee she has been gulping down out of her nose. “You!” she sputters.
I can’t help chuckling at her predicament. “Me,” I respond.
She puts down the coffee cup slowly, with a shaking hand. “You,” she says again, softer this time.
“Yes, June,” I respond, stepping closer to her. I swallow, trying to gauge her response. I’m afraid she will step away. I’m afraid she will be angry. But she doesn’t move. She just stares at me. I can’t resist lifting my hand to brush some of her messy bed-hair behind her ear.
She presses her cheek against my hand, and lifts her hand to touch me tentatively—almost like she’s checking if I’m real.
“You,” she says in a whisper, filled with wonderment, and her eyes shine at me like I’m the best thing in the world. Even better than that coffee she was just guzzling down like she was dying of thirst. My heart aches at the expression on her face, and how much it communicates.
I’m not sure what reaction I’m expecting, but it astonishes me when she throws her arms around my body, pressing herself against me. “It’s you,” she says again, burying her face in my chest and squeezing the life out of me. “I was so hoping it would be you.”
“It’s me,” I tell her happily, as I hug her back. “And it’s you.”
