Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
A car pulls up outside. Vadka glances toward the window, then back at me.
“It’s the nanny,” I tell him.
“Oh. Right,” he says, his tone a little too heavy. Did he forget?
“You going into the office?” I ask.
“No,” he says, jaw tensing. “I’m not. Rafail wanted me to go to London—there’s something urgent over there—but I’m not leaving you and Luka. Not with the Irish still out there. I don’t trust they won’t show up again.”
I nod. “Makes sense.” Then I realize what I look like—bedhead, yesterday’s clothes, last night’s sin still clinging to my skin. I’m not presentable to meet this nanny. Especially not if she’s the judgmental, old-school type.
I mutter, “I look like a mess.”
His eyes spark, and he kisses my forehead. “You’re beautiful.”
I walk toward the room like I’m floating. I’m still grieving, still wrecked by guilt—but part of me feels seen. Desired. I need to talk to someone. Someone older. Someone who won’t crumble under the weight of it.
I wash up as best I can and throw on my clothes.
Then I hear the nanny’s voice. Sharp. Cold. She’s snapping at Luka, and I pull in a breath. This is not going to last.
I walk into the kitchen just as she barks, “Put your plate in the sink.” She’s dressed head to toe in black, arms crossed like a judge ready to deliver a sentence.
“It does no good to coddle him,” she says, stiff. “I’ve taught children his age for forty-five years. The sooner they learn independence, the sooner they stop relying on you.”
Vadka winks behind her back. “Yes. I think you’re right. That’s exactly what independence means.”
She continues, unfazed. “I understand young mothers these days like to baby their children. And I know your wife is no longer here, but she didn’t do your son any favors by cleaning up after him.” She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she still wiped his bottom.”
A muscle jumps in Vadka’s jaw. My fists clench at my sides.
“My sister was an excellent mother,” I snap, my voice cold steel.
The woman spins around, eyes raking me down without even a pretense of subtlety. She’s assessing me—my messy hair, my crumpled clothes, the way I don’t match the polished facade she and Vadka both wear.
I smile sweetly. “I’m Ruthie.” I extend my hand. She doesn’t take it.
“Heard about you,” she mutters.
My eyebrows lift. “Oh, did you? Did Luka tell you about me?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
Charming.
“I’ve got a few things to do around the house today,” I say lightly, “but I’ll be in and out, running errands. Let me know if you need anything.”
I move to the fridge and start taking stock of what we’ve got. Groceries, chores, the usual. But underneath all that, there’s a spark. A slow-burning fire that I know is only just getting started.
I don’t want to leave my nephew here—not with this battle-axe of a nanny I’m apparently responsible for hiring.
“You working tonight?” Vadka asks, his voice low and quiet, the kind of tone he only uses when something’s gnawing at him. His lips are pressed into a flat, unreadable line, and there’s a furrow between his brows that tells me he’s deep in thought—probably spiraling with all the ways things can go wrong.
I know that look too well, even as I write out a simple grocery list. I write down just the basics—things to cook and grill.
Something to feel normal again.
“Yeah,” I tell him, not looking up. “I have to work, Vadka. I’m almost out of sick time.”
His jaw tightens like he wants to argue, but we both glance at the nanny, who’s watching us with that cold, flat look I hate. The kind of look that makes you feel like a problem she’s been paid to tolerate.
Luka’s little lower lip sticks out.
Oh no.
“Don’t go, Papa,” Luka pleads, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around Vadka’s legs like he can physically anchor him to the ground. My heart aches. I hated this when Mariah was still alive—how Luka would sob and beg her not to leave, how she’d cry after closing the door. It hasn’t changed. It’s still gutting, and I know it’s just part of having a small child.
Still, no one said I have to like it.
I don’t miss the shadow that crosses Vadka’s face, the way he holds his little boy as if he doesn’t ever want to let him go. I guess parting from each other holds a different kind of weight these days.
“I’ll be back soon, buddy.” Vadka kneels and kisses Luka’s forehead, but his voice falters. He doesn’t want to go either.
We finally peel Luka off, and of course, Vadka does the rounds—checks in with the security team, glances at the surveillance feeds, and reads the angles like a general prepping for siege. He finally exhales, long and hard, shaking his head.