by Aria Ford
He was so cold the other day, sending me out of his office, even though I knew he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted him to. And then, the next day, he made a special outing and included me? Stood with me, as if we had known each other for lifetimes. Asked my help.
What is this all about?
As I washed my hair in the shower, loving the scent of the shower-gel I had found in here when I arrived, I tried to understand. Of all the scenarios that marched resolutely through my mind, the only one I refused to consider was that Alexander Carring might have feelings for me. It made absolutely no sense.
He’s a billionaire, for pity’s sake. He could have any stunning starlet he wanted. He’s not going to go falling for some sassy-mouthed nanny because she bosses him around.
I knew I was probably being unfair to myself, but then, I was trying to be realistic. Surely it was just true that he wouldn’t think of me like that? I wasn’t exactly stunning and, in my own mind, I had little else to recommend me.
I sighed, rolling my shoulders as the warm water soothed the tension. Stepping somewhat-reluctantly out of the floral steam, I walked across the smooth tiles and into the bedroom again. I had moved my things into the elegant wardrobe two days after I arrived, and I surveyed them carefully.
When I found myself with two shirts, hesitating over which one—the brown or the red—best brought out the hazel of my eyes, I stopped.
Emma? This is crazy.
I threw both shirts on the bed, reaching for my most-horrid one and pulled it resolutely on, letting my hair untangle down my back.
“You’re behaving like a teen girl,” I told myself harshly, glaring at my reflection. She glared back, hands on hips, but somehow she didn’t seem too embarrassed about that. I sighed.
Assuming that the impossible were true, that Alexander Carring might actually like me, then what? Would I really want to be involved with such a man? Face the media storms, the premieres, the events he had to attend? I was frumpy, inelegant, irredeemable. I wasn’t the sort of woman who could do that. And would I want to walk into his life?
Emma, you don’t even know who his wife is.
It was true. I sighed, sinking into a seat. I looked at the clock, checking the time, then closed my eyes. It was eight o’clock. Still a while until the kids appeared for breakfast. I had time to think. Except that, suddenly, I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to face the idea he might have a wife.
“Of course he does, Emma!”
Well. He must have done, or who was the mother? And who, for that matter, was in the set of framed portraits in his office?
He was probably divorced, in which case there would be the ex to deal with and the children having to see her every other week—well, they hadn’t yet, but this was his holiday, which was presumably why he hired me—and having to know he still loved her.
I shook my head, wondering at my stupidity. Of course he still loved her. Why would that bother me? If he loved me too, that would be enough.
I laughed, standing up and walking to the window. Outside, the trees rustled in the wind. If Alexander Carring truly loved me, I thought, hugging myself and feeling a deep, happy warmth fill me, then I wouldn’t mind if he loved every woman in creation. As long as he loved me too. That would be enough.
I recalled the way his lips drifted over my own, the feel of his hand in mine. The way his eyes sometimes gazed into mine, as though we shared everything, knew each other. It would be enough.
I let the happy giggle that had been building up in me rise to the surface and, still smiling, I fell backward onto the soft, springy mattress.
Lying there for a few moments, I allowed my imagination free rein on the topic Alexander and imagining him with me here, now, while I kissed him and gave him my all.
Then I turned to the bitter alternatives that faced me here, now, in the all-too-real present.
“You should leave.”
I stood up, feeling as if summer had fled, freezing me. I could not even consider doing it. It was, however, the right thing to do. I was sure of it.
If I stay, it will make things harder for him as well.
I did not allow myself to believe he cared, but I could accept that maybe he relied on me. He had changed so much in the last week, his parenting improving. What if he was only managing because I was here? Wouldn’t it be better to leave him now, while he could still forge his own relationship with the two children alone?
And what about them? They liked me and I would have to leave in three weeks’ time anyway. I should make the cut now, while it would still be easy.
I brushed my hair off my face, wincing as I noticed its wildness in the mirror.
One thing is sure, Emma, I told my reflection severely as I finished my makeup, you will never make a billionaire wife.
I was inelegant, totally awkward. I was not the smooth, seductive, elegant lady he needed.
He could have so much better. And he might do. I couldn’t forget that he did have a wife. She was a glamor girl and I was a frump. It would be so much better for him if he at least found someone like her. Someone not like me.
I went down the hallway to the dining-room and was crossing the threshold, tucking hair behind my ears, when my thoughts were shattered by a sudden shout.
“Emma!”
It was Cammi. I ran in, heart thudding, legs pounding, to find her sitting innocently on the chair, smiling up at me with a guileless smile.
“Cammi!” I blurted. “What in Heaven’s name was that?”
“Told you I could fetch her,” Cammi said smugly. Jack grinned.
“Sorry, Emma,” he explained. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
My hand on my chest, stilling my beating heart, I collapsed beside her. For two people who didn’t mean to frighten me, they sure did a great job. Naturals, apparently. I chuckled weakly, still catching my breath after my heroic run to the chair. Both kids were looking at me expectantly. I blinked, then sat up straight.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “What’s up?”
Jack looked as though he was about to burst with anticipation. Cammi drew a deep breath, clearly the chosen spokesperson.
“We saw Daddy at breakfast,” she began slowly. “An’ he looked very happy. And we saw you yesterday, and Daddy, kissing under the trees.” She looked down when she said it, seeming shy. Then she smiled up at me, a gap-toothed grin.
My hand flew to my face. The surprise made my cheeks warm. Had they seen? The thought was wonderfully shocking. That kiss had not been suitable for children. And the little minxes! Had they been hiding behind the trees, watching their father and I as we…as we…
“You two!” I blurted, suddenly laughing, my cheeks flaming red. “What were you doing, spying?”
Jack giggled and Cammi blushed. I guessed it had been his idea. Jack cleared his throat, looking suddenly solemn.
“What we wanted to ask you, Emma, is if Daddy is going to get married again. If you and Daddy…” he trailed off, looking at his hands. “If you…”
I stared at him. Married? To their daddy? To Alexander…
I stopped the train of thought, unable to even consider it. My heart thudded with the delicious possibility. What were they thinking? We had known each other for almost a week now, a little longer. Why would they assume that I…that he…that we would do that?
“Kids?” I said, feeling suddenly weak. “Where did you, get that idea from?”
Cammi looked at me, suddenly shy. “We just thought that…I mean, we’ve never see Daddy do, you know, grownup things, with anyone. Not since Mommy…” she trailed off with a shy smile at me.
I couldn’t help the flush of happiness that flowed through me. Alexander had kissed me in front of the kids, and he had really never done that before? With anyone? My cheeks were flushed, but this time with happiness, not shock.
“Well, I don’t know, kids,” I said after a long moment, during which I let the wonderful possibility of Alexander being interested in me, really, as a per
son, play around my head. I imagined for a few brief moments what it would be like if they were right. If we were married, and we were sharing a bed. My body had wanted his from the moment I saw him, I realized now. I imagined him as the lover I had longed for, and myself, lying below him.
My happiness was not that long-lived. Two solemn faces looked up at me, eyes round with expectation. They were looking at me as if I had just magically solved all their problems and it was a huge amount of pressure. Pressure I couldn’t, in the real world, actually redress. I knew that. I just had to tell them now.
“Kids,” I said, feeling suddenly weary. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. “I really, really, really like you. And your daddy. Really. But I don’t think I’m…I just don’t think that’s going to happen. Okay? I’m sorry. I really am. But not possible. Okay?”
The expressions on their faces told me it was not okay at all. Jack looked up at me with big sad eyes. Cammi looked away, suddenly confused.
“But Emma…” she protested, lip wobbling and blue eyes cloudy with sudden tears.
“You don’t think that maybe…” Jack began, “that you could make it happen? I mean, we haven’t seen Daddy so happy for years, and…”
I stared at him. They wanted me to somehow force marriage with a reluctant, reclusive billionaire? Really? They wanted me to make their lives happier? They were seeing me as some kind of cure-all. There was no way, seeing as I was only going to be in their lives for about a month, that they should be seeing me like that. It meant that they were going to feel betrayed when I left, that they would feel like I let them down. I had, in short, broken the first rule of kid-support, my first rule: don’t make them rely on you.
“Okay,” I sighed, half-standing. My head was spinning and I suddenly couldn’t think straight, so I sat back down. “I think there’s something I need to say,” I began as they looked at me expectantly. “Marriage has to come from both sides. And, because of a thing called culturally-ingrained sexism, which I won’t discuss now, the man is the one who asks for there to be a marriage. So, you see, I can’t make your daddy marry me. Or anyone else. I just can’t.”
“But why?”
Cammi sounded truly upset. She came and leaned on me and I wrapped an arm around her, feeling a sudden chill in my heart. I couldn’t stay here. I just couldn’t. With the kids, seeing some future based on me—a future I would never be able to give them—and Alex, with his switching his temperament between affectionate and cold, I was hopelessly confused. I screwed up.
That was all I could think of just then. How canonically and entirely I had screwed up. I should never have interfered. So what if Alexander Carring was a cold, miserable father? That was his problem, not mine. My job was simply to supervise the kids, make sure nothing happened to them in his absence. Not to try and be their mother. Or to seduce Alex.
I sniffed, feeling a tear prick at the edge of my eyelid. I would start crying now, and really confuse the poor kids. I looked at the ceiling, willing myself to become more cheerful. What the heck was my problem?
“Emma?” Jack asked quietly.
“Yes?”
“We know you’re only here for a month. Father explained that,” he said carefully. I nodded, impressed by his maturity. He was only nine, and yet he had guessed at least part of my concern. I inclined my head to him, inviting him to continue.
“Yes?”
“Well, we know you’re not here for long. So we were thinking maybe we could help? Like, do something to make things simpler? Father might listen to us?”
What? I felt broadsided for the second time. Did they mean they were planning to persuade their father to marry me?
“Jack, no,” I said. My voice was level and soft. I had to appreciate the sentiment of what he had said: Effectively, they were inviting me into their family. I couldn’t possibly be cross.
His face fell and I reached out, laying my hand on his shoulder. “Jack, look at me.”
He looked at me. His hazel eyes were dry, but very solemn. They regarded me with the beginnings of uncertainty. Soon, he would learn to mistrust me. Good, I thought harshly. Better that than betray him later.
“Yes?” he asked tentatively.
“Jack, I appreciate that. What you and Cammi has said has really touched me.” Dammit, was I crying? I smoothed over a tear with my fingers and started again. “But truly, no. If you did, that would make everything harder. It would make everything worse. Trust me. Your daddy doesn’t want to marry me and I wouldn’t make him happy. I promise.”
“Really?” Cammi was looking at me with extreme doubt.
I sighed and nodded. “Truly. I promise.”
Jack didn’t comment for a long while. At length, all he said was, “Okay.”
I sighed out a long breath. “Guys,” I said after a while, “I really love you both for thinking of me like that. I really do. But it can’t happen. Can we just have breakfast now?”
Jack looked down, but whispered a soft agreement. Cammi sat down next to me, giving me a sharp-eyed glance.
“Yes,” she said, as Jack settled into the chair opposite her slowly. “But only if you tell us a story.”
I smiled, chuckling under my breath. “Okay.”
I told a story and we finished our meal. I had little appetite and less imagination that morning, but I did my best. We sat there in a sort of cloud of shared melancholy. Even the sky outside looked somber and scared.
After breakfast, the kids went out to play. I followed, taking a book to read. The day passed until lunchtime in a sort of haze and I was pleased when lessons followed, it being a Thursday. When the night finally arrived, I fled up to my room and packed. I would be leaving the day after tomorrow. I had decided.
Chapter 7
Alex
I came home from work around seven pm. And when I did, it was quite surprising. That was because I walked into a silent house. It was a surprising change, even though it had been more or less normal until this.
Where are the kids? Where’s Emma?
Even during the brief week that she had been here, I had become accustomed to arriving late from work to a house of raucous laughter and fun, with Emma playing upstairs with the children, making them shriek with giggles. Their bedtime was at seven, but I usually caught the tail-end of their fun and games, the sounds echoing through the house as she played with them before she took them to their rooms and supervised bedtime and sleeping.
I really liked that. I wonder where they’ve got to?
I walked through to my office and put the bags down, then I flipped open my notebook and tried to work. I stayed there for about two minutes just scanning my mail. Then I couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.
It was seven o’clock at night, and I had to find out what was going on. I felt worried, with Emma not being there, with no noise. It was unnatural.
I felt myself hurry through the hallways, heading for the stairs. The playroom, which had been until recently the site of their revels, was clean, shiny. Entirely devoid of life. Where were they? Heart thumping, I felt a wave of panic course through me. I knew I was probably being stupid, but I couldn’t help it. It seemed so sinister, so wrong. I closed the door, feeling a pang of sadness. I didn’t realize until now how I had come to enjoy and expect the flushed, happy faces and the childish laughter.
I was also starting to get worried.
I walked briskly along the hallway, pausing outside Cammi’s door. I heard nothing. I opened it a crack, but all but the pink lamp on the dressing-table was off. I peered in, nervous to switch on the light in case I woke her, but I had to know. Where was she? I switched on the light. There was no one in the bedroom. I shut the door as quietly as I could. I was walking up to Jack’s room, really scared then, when he heard the sound of running feet. It sounded like children running, which was a relief. Still, I grabbed the handle, opening it with some force. Inside, I saw Jack sitting in bed, gazing at me. His eyes were round and he looked about as scared as I felt.
“Son?” I asked quietly. Jack said nothing, but he was looking away from his father, across the room. Following his gaze to the wardrobe, I saw Cammi emerge from the door.
She froze when she saw me and Jack cleared his throat. “I can explain,” he said.
I suddenly wanted to laugh. They sounded so deadly-earnest. Like they had been caught in some terrible crime. A week ago, I noted with some amazement, and some shame, I would have acted as if they had been. Not sticking to bedtimes would probably be the worst thing I could imagine, the worst act of disobedience and disrespect. Now, I just thought it was funny.
“Go ahead,” I said to my son, keeping my voice neutral. Probably better if he didn’t know just how funny I thought it was.
Jack cleared his throat. “Cammi couldn’t sleep. She was having nightmares.”
“Oh?” I was surprised. Not only because I was fairly sure the kids had only just gone to bed but because I had never known Cammi had nightmares. Heck. How bad a father was I?
Of course she does, Alexander. You’re not the only one who lost someone four years ago.
I felt fresh shame that I had not thought of it before now. Wondered how much the kids had kept secret from me, how much I had failed to help them when they needed me so badly. I had shut myself in with my own grief and it had been wrong.
“Yes,” Jack said, finishing somewhat-lamely. “She does.” Cammi, not to be outdone, crawled out of the cupboard and ran to me.