Destiny and the Devil, page 8
“What in tarnation,” Mathilde says, throwing her hands up in the air with exasperation. “Are you two lovers or something? Is this why I’m up at the crack of dawn making bacon smiley faces? You better give me a big bonus for this, sir. This was not in my job description.”
I laugh and ignore her, just hugging June back. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. But I’ll be home for a while, now.”
“Good,” she says. “Uh, can we talk privately—before the girls wake up?”
“Sure,” I tell her, allowing her to take my hand and lead me away from the kitchen, into the study. Well, here it comes. I bet she’s going to be angry at me. Furious. But I deserve it.
“Your name is Spruce?” she asks in confusion, still half asleep.
“It’s like Bruce,” I explain. “But a bit more arboreal. Spruce Wintergreen.”
“Like Bruce Springsteen?” she asks in confusion.
I laugh softly. “A bit. My whole family is named after trees, except one lucky brother of mine who has a normal name. Adam—but we call him Fig Leaf, anyway. You’ve met Willow, my sister. I have another brother, Douglas—like the Douglas Fir. And then there’s Ash. My mother’s name is Poplar, but everyone calls her Poppy. And you know my daughters, of course.”
“Can I call you by a nickname?” she asks, chewing on her lip as she tries to think of how to turn my unusual name into something cutesy. “Sprucey? S.P.?”
“I have some middle names,” I tell her. “It’s Spruce Leo—”
“Bruce Lee?” she mumbles, still rubbing her eyes.
“No,” I tell her with a chuckle.
“I need more coffee,” she grumbles.
“It’s Spruce Leo Theodore August Wintergreen,” I tell her.
“I like Theo. I could call you Teddy,” she suggests.
“I thought you would like August. It sounds a lot like your name—June.”
“August and June. No, I don’t like it at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s July between us,” she explains.
I smile. “Would you prefer if there was nothing between us?” I step closer, pulling her into my arms again.
“Yes,” she responds. “I would like that a lot.”
I hold her close, inhaling the scent of her. I can’t believe she’s here with me, living in my home. And she’s not even angry at me. At least she’s not yelling and screaming at me.
“I think I’ll just call you Mr. Wintergreen,” she decides as she nuzzles against my neck. “Since you’re my boss and all.”
“Well,” I say awkwardly. “You can’t call me that in bed. Mr. Wintergreen is my father.”
“Sorry, it’s just too late,” she says with a shrug. “That’s what I’ve been calling my boss in my head. You should have told me your name sooner, and we could have avoided all of this difficulty.”
“I offered to tell you the last time we met, and you didn’t want to hear it, June.”
“I can find a better name for you,” she says with determination, as she plays with the buttons on my pajamas. “I could call you… strange man who rescued my Cheetos.”
“That’s kind of long,” I tell her.
“Strange man who fingered me in a closet. Strange man who used his tongue in a Tesla.”
“These nicknames are not getting better,” I tell her with a grin, but her playful teasing and the memories of our intimacy make my dick grow hard. “Maybe you should just call me Spruce.”
“Look,” she says with annoyance, as she begins to undo the buttons to my pajama top. “This is all very complicated, and it’s very early in the morning. Whatever your name is, just take your pants off.”
“June,” I say with a groan as she massages me through my pajama pants. “Are you sure you’re not mad?”
“No. I’m deliriously happy. I told you I didn’t care what your name was. I just like you. And I’ve missed you. Now you’re here with me—and it’s like a dream.” She continues struggling with the buttons and trying to remove my pajama top, but she is very tired. She suddenly pauses, and a flicker of fear dances across her eyes. “You’re going to be around a lot more, right? The girls need you, too. And we have a lot to discuss about them.”
“Yes,” I tell her, aware that she’s taking the nanny job very seriously. “I took a huge sabbatical from work. I’m aware that I haven’t been home enough. I want to be with them more—and you.”
“Okay, good,” she says, nodding. “Later—we have to sit and talk.”
“We will, June. God, I’m happy to be home with you,” I say softly, tilting my head down to place a hungry kiss on her lips. She softens immediately, giving me access to her mouth, and our tongues wrestle and tangle with each other. Her small hands roam over my chest, and I grasp her hips, pulling her soft body tightly against my hard dick.
She moans against my mouth as I slide my hands over the curve of her bottom, squeezing her ass through the thin fabric of her little nightgown—it’s becoming more challenging to think. I need her so much. But there was something important I wanted to say to her—what was it? Oh, yes. I break our kiss to speak. “June—this may be weird to ask… but I was wondering if you’d like to move out of the nanny’s quarters and into my bedroom.”
She leans back to look at me with confusion. “The girls might be suspicious. They’ve been spending a lot of time there with me.”
“We’ll just tell them that you’re Daddy’s new girlfriend. And that we need some private time, sometimes. Is that okay?” I stare at her carefully, awaiting her reaction.
She looks at me with surprise, for several seconds. Then a small smile touches her lips and eyes. “I’m your girlfriend now? I just learned your name two minutes ago. Slow it down, buddy.”
“You just told me to take my pants off one minute ago.”
“Do I have to be your girlfriend for you to take your pants off?” she teases. “It didn’t stop you before.”
“Well, that was before,” I tell her with a grin, still squeezing and kneading her ass. “Now I only get naked for my girlfriend.”
“Okay, then I’m your girlfriend,” she tells me, placing a kiss on my lips. “Take these off, please. I know you made bacon, but I’m in the mood for sausage. We don’t have much time.”
“We never seem to have much time,” I tell her as I grasp the hem of her nightgown and pull it up off her body.
“Now that we’re suddenly and surprisingly living together, I’m sure that will change. Welcome home, Bruce Lee.”
“That’s still not my name,” I inform her.
“It’s close enough,” she says tiredly, tugging off my pajama pants.
Chapter 19
June
It’s been a whirlwind of a few weeks. I moved in with my boss, who became my boyfriend, and I read five of The Chronicles of Narnia books to the girls, spending hours on it together every night before bed. I basically inherited an instant family, and it has been hard to believe, but quite easy to adjust.
Waking up on Sunday morning, I find myself in Spruce’s bed, with the girls cuddled up between us. Most nights, they still fall asleep with me after story time. The only difference is that Spruce helps with the reading, and it saves my voice from getting too sore.
The girls are old enough to read the books on their own, of course. But they probably need the love and affection more than they need the stories. So, sadly, Spruce and I haven’t even gotten much time alone. Just stolen moments, here and there. Precious stolen moments, wherever we can—it seems to be the theme for our entire relationship. (And now, I’m confident it is a relationship!)
But Spruce has dedicated himself to spending time with us 24/7 for a few weeks, to make up for our awkward start, and to make his girls happy—and he’s doing a great job of it. He’s told me a little about how demanding all his jobs can be, and I am understanding. I just wish I had a little more time with him, but it seems selfish.
Besides, I’m really quite happy. Waking up with this beautiful little family, I couldn’t really ask for more. I just stare at them all, filled with joy, my heart bursting at the seams. It would be greedy to nitpick about how my happiness could be a bit happier.
When Spruce wakes up, he looks over at me with a sleepy smile. He also stares for a moment, and reaches out to trace his fingers across my cheek. I wonder if he’s as happy as I am. “Hey June, can I ask you a weird question?”
“Sure,” I say, turning my head to the side to nuzzle against his fingers.
“Would you like to get married?”
The question takes me by surprise. I’m not quite sure how to respond. I’m a bit dazed. “We haven’t even finished The Chronicles of Narnia,” I inform him, gesturing behind me at the books on the nightstand.
He grins. “Well, after that, of course.”
“Mmm,” I say thoughtfully. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
“I was thinking we could go on a little honeymoon, and spend some time alone,” he suggests. “Without little ones always getting between us?”
“Oh, god, yes, definitely,” I say with gratitude. I reach for his hand and squeeze it with excitement. Then I feel a bit guilty, because I love the girls so much. But I really, really need some time alone with him. It’s like he can read my mind.
“Also,” he says softly. “The girls need you. As more than just a nanny, or as my girlfriend. They need you to be their mom, for real. For good. Just like you already have been—but I think it would make them so happy to have the security of knowing you’re not going anywhere. I need to lock you down, and make sure you’re stuck with us.” He grins at me.
Tears touch my eyes. “Yes, yes, lock me down.”
“I’ve got a ring for you over there,” he says, “but I’m a bit too comfortable to get up. I promise, it’s a really nice ring.”
“Anything works for me, you goofball. I’m even okay with the little wires we use for hanging Christmas tree ornaments.”
“I think I can afford a bit more than that,” Spruce says with a laugh. “I want my girl to be proud of marrying me.”
“Pfft. You don’t have to work very hard for that. I’m eager to marry you just for the cool honeymoon. But I’ll stay for the cute kids.”
“Perfect,” he tells me, pulling my hand closer so he can kiss it. “And maybe someday… some more kids? If you’d like that?”
My heart soars, but I try to conceal the stupid smile from my face as I look around thoughtfully. “Hmmmmmm. I guess there’s still some room in your California King bed. We could make a few more babies to snuggle with.”
“Maybe we can get started on that honeymoon,” he says softly. “How do you feel about Fiji? Bora Bora? The Maldives?”
“I’ll go anywhere with you. Closets, cars, couches, California King, Costa Rica, Cancún—it doesn’t matter as long as you’re getting me knocked up properly.”
“Well, my dear, I am a very thorough man. I take great care with everything I do. I would never knock you up only halfway.”
“That’s a relief,” I tell him with a giggle.
“I can’t wait,” he says softly, and very seriously.
“Me too,” I tell him, with a deep sigh of contentment.
Later that day, I call my mother to tell her the good news. I stare at the shiny new ring on my hand with great joy. I’m so happy that I almost don’t believe it’s real.
“Mum, I’m engaged to Bruce Springsteen.”
“Oh, honey! But he’s so old.”
“No—wait. I always say that wrong. Sorry. I mean Spruce. Spruce Wintergreen.”
“Oh, I see. That’s much better, dear. He’s only the hottest and richest man in town. And he basically owns the hospital, and so many other things. I think he will make an excellent husband for you. But there’s some sadness in his past. Have you two talked about everything that happened with his wife?”
“No, we haven’t,” I say with surprise. “Why—what happened?”
“Oh, it’s a tragic story,” my mother says. “I think it’s what caused him to become so private, and hesitant to share his name. He’s had some difficult times many years ago.”
“Well, I don’t care what it was,” I tell her. “He’s been so good to me, and I adore his children. I really believe that we’re going to be happy together. I think this is actually really real. I think it could last.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will, honey. Sometimes you just know these things in your gut. When it’s good and when it’s right, you just feel it.”
“It feels good, and it feels right,” I say confidently.
“Then that’s all that matters to me,” my mother says. “Trust your gut, baby. But sometimes it’s worth it to have the difficult conversations now. It might be easier to lay all your dirty laundry out in the open… all your cards on the table, before diving in.”
“I’ll ask him to share it with me,” I tell her. “He’s been more open and communicative lately. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I hope so, dear.”
But I never really get the chance.
Chapter 20
Spruce had to take the kids out of town, and I got the house to myself today. Which means I get to do my favorite activity—sleep.
He knew I needed it too, so he sent all the staff home. He even had the good judgment to make love to me before they left, to help me get better rest. One of our precious, secret, stolen moments, that left me blissfully happy and satisfied. After all, I’ve still been a full-time nanny, and now a full-time girlfriend, and now a mother-in-training. Frankly, it’s been exhausting.
So, when a noise wakes me up from my sleep, and the blinds are thrown open, I am startled by the sudden assault of sun. “Mathilde?” I say with surprise.
“No,” says a strange woman’s voice.
The light pours in through the window, illuminating her wispy, platinum-blonde hair.
I shield my eyes against the sharp glare which feels like it’s stabbing right into my brain like knives. I pull the blankets around my chest, because I fell asleep naked. “Uh. Well, who are you? Why are you in my bedroom?”
“It’s not your bedroom,” the woman says. “This is my bedroom, and that is my bed. You’re just some whore. Now get up and get out of my house.”
A prickly sensation of dread touches my neck and shoulders. “What on earth…” I say quietly, still holding a hand over my eyes and trying to get a good look at the woman. I can only see blindingly blonde hair and a slender silhouette. “Who are you?”
“I’m his wife,” she says in a point-blank way. “I’m their real mother.”
These words chill me to the bone. I pull the blankets around myself more tightly.
“I… haven’t heard anything about you. I thought you were dead, or… at least divorced.”
“Did he ever say he was divorced?” she asks me. “Did he say I was dead? Think carefully.”
“Well… no. I guess. He said… you were gone.”
“And now I’m back,” she says with a shrug. “So, you’d better leave quickly. And I never want to see you again. This is my house. Those are my kids. You’re not welcome here.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I say awkwardly. My heart is pounding fiercely. I feel frozen, confused, and afraid.
“You don’t need to understand. My family is complicated. But we’re family. And you’re not part of our world. You’re an outsider. You’re nothing. Please get out of my house, or I’m calling the police,” the woman says. “Now.”
“I—I’m employed here… I’m the nanny. I live here,” I tell her. “All my belongings are here.”
She grabs a vase of flowers that Spruce got me, and smashes it against a piece of furniture, causing me to gasp. She then takes a shard of broken glass, and holds it against her neck. “Grab your car keys and go now, or I’ll call the police and tell them that you assaulted me!”
“Oh my god. Okay—I’m going,” I tell her quickly, rushing to my feet. “Please, don’t hurt yourself. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Then go,” she whispers.
“Can I at least get dressed?” I ask.
“No!” she shouts. “And take off your ring.”
“Okay,” I respond, my hands shaking with terror. But I do as she says. I slide the ring off my finger and place it down on the dresser. Then I grab my car keys. I keep the bedsheet wrapped around me for modesty as I leave. All the while, she has the sharp glass pressed against her skin. I don’t even grab my purse or my phone. I don’t even put on shoes. I just rush to get the hell away from her.
I’ve experienced a lot of low points in my life. But I’ve never been kicked out of my boyfriend’s house, wearing only a bedsheet, holding only my car keys.
By his wife. Who I thought was dead.
Fuck.
I’m in too much shock to cry as I sit in my car, wearing the makeshift toga. I am not sure where to go as I drive away, staring at the strange blonde woman in my rearview mirror. How was I ever so dumb? How did I just let myself step into the life belonging to someone else, that she could take back so easily? I thought that was my home. I believed that was my family.
But all she had to say was go and I left. Without even the clothes on my back.
I couldn’t even fight to stay. Because it wasn’t mine to fight for.
They aren’t my kids. He isn’t my husband. I was borrowing them, from her.
I was just pretending, again. Temporarily. But I thought it was for real. I thought it was for good. I really believed it, this time. I fell for every sweet word. I thought I mattered to them. But I’m just an outsider. I was just a placeholder.
I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I’m overheating. I think I’m going to throw up. I pull the car over to the side of the road, and stumble out, barely managing to keep the bedsheet wrapped around me. The tender soles of my bare feet are scraped by the small pebbles on the asphalt, as I move around the car to weakly throw up. And then I realize that I’m crying, because hot tears slide down my face too.
