1. Alice
1
ALICE
If my nerves had a volume setting, they’d be screaming right now.
“Relax, Alice! You’ve got this,” Jenna says through the phone, but I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “It’s just a nanny interview. You’ll charm them in no time, I swear.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, biting my lip. “Easy for you to say. I don’t even know who these people are. Just a cryptic newspaper ad that said, ‘Discreet and experienced nanny needed for high-profile family. Generous pay.’ And, uh, I’m only discreet if I’m on my best behavior.” My laugh is a shaky attempt to calm myself down. “And I don’t think they’ll count the time I babysat my cousin when I was a teenager as experience either.”
Jenna scoffs. “So, you bend the truth a little. You’re great with kids, and you’re fresh out of college with a degree and no job offers. It’s a perfect fit.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “Besides, you need this, Ali. You don’t want to leave New York, right?”
The pit in my stomach deepens at the thought. “Yeah…I don’t. It’s just…if this doesn’t work out, I might not have a choice.” The city that’s been my home, my everything, is slipping from my grasp like sand through fingers. And if I don’t land a job, I’ll be packing up and saying goodbye.
The line goes quiet for a beat, then Jenna speaks up. “So, here’s the plan—go in, be that charming, brilliant Alice you always are, and don’t overthink it. Just—oh, and breathe.”
“Right. Breathing.” I take a long, deep inhale, exhale, and try to shake the jitters away. It doesn’t really work. “Thanks, Jenna. I’ll call you after, yeah?”
“You better.” She hangs up, and I slip my phone into my bag, eyes on the road as I approach the address in the posh, leafy suburb just outside the city.
But when I pull up to the place, for a moment I could swear I must have made a wrong turn. The house—no, mansion —is like something out of a luxury magazine. A sprawling estate with high, wrought-iron gates that gleam under the afternoon sun, and a garden that looks meticulously sculpted, like each shrub and flower was placed with precision and care. Beyond the gates, the driveway snakes up to a stately stone facade, complete with pillars, balconies, and windows so large they could probably double as doors.
I can barely make out the figure of a guard by the entrance. He’s tall, wearing a black suit and earpiece, his attention snapping to my car as I hesitate in the street. My pulse quickens as I roll down the window, trying to gather some sense of calm. I give him a tentative wave, which feels a little ridiculous.
“Miss Parker?” he asks as he approaches.
“Yes, um…Alice Parker. I’m here for the nanny interview.”
The guard’s gaze is steady, unreadable. “Pull in. Follow the drive to the main entrance.”
As I ease the car forward and the gates swing open, I feel like I’m crossing some invisible line into a world entirely unlike my own.
I take a shaky breath as I pull up to the entrance, my car dwarfed by the sheer size of the place. It’s a mansion built for a movie set, something grand and intimidating with the kind of old-world charm that makes you want to whisper and stand up straighter.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, smoothing down the wisps of dark hair that refuse to stay tucked back. Green eyes stare back at me, wide and slightly panicked. I need to pull it together. No one hires a nervous wreck.
Before I can psych myself out any further, a tall, slender woman in a fitted navy suit steps outside, waiting with perfect composure as I climb out of the car.
“Miss Parker?” Her voice is polite but crisp, like she’s used to people doing as she says.
I nod, trying to stand a little taller. “Yes, that’s me.”
She doesn’t waste any time. “I’m Marta, the household manager. I’ll be conducting the first part of your interview. If all goes well, you’ll meet the family.”
The family. I’m not sure why, but the way she says it makes my nerves prickle.
“Follow me,” she says, turning toward the front doors.
The entryway is even grander up close, with tall columns and double doors that look like they could withstand a battering ram. As we step inside, I catch a whiff of something faintly floral and impossibly expensive, mingling with polished wood and leather. The foyer opens up into a vast space with marble floors and an arched staircase that spirals upward, framed by iron railings. Art I can’t even guess the price of lines the walls, and a chandelier so massive I could probably sit in it hangs overhead.
I’m pulled back to the moment by Marta’s brisk voice. “The family keeps a low profile, but they are discerning about the people they employ. Their expectations are…high.” She glances at me, as if sizing me up.
I swallow, nodding. “I understand.”
We make our way down a long hall, passing rooms I can only glimpse through half-open doors—a dining room with a table big enough for a banquet, a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, and a living room that looks cozy despite the grandeur. It’s all impeccably put together, as if no one has ever dared leave a book or a glass out of place.
Finally, we reach a smaller room, still elegant but less intimidating. There’s a polished mahogany desk, and Marta gestures for me to sit in the leather chair across from it. She takes her seat on the other side and opens a sleek tablet.
“So, Miss Parker,” she begins, her tone professional but watchful, “tell me about your experience with children. The position requires a certain level of discretion, loyalty, and patience. We’re looking for someone who can handle high-pressure situations and keep a calm demeanor, regardless of circumstance.”
I take a breath, trying to muster all the confidence I have left. “I’ve worked with children in various capacities since I was a teenager—babysitting, tutoring, and more recently, during a summer internship running historical programs for kids at the museum.”
“What about any recent experiences,” Marta says. “Do you have any letters of recommendation?”
I shake my head no.
“But I know how to keep them engaged, and I’m not easily rattled. I take my responsibilities seriously, and I understand that working for a high-profile family requires discretion. I can promise that.”
Marta studies me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if testing my honesty. “That’s a good start. But we do require someone with prior experience. You need to understand that this job won’t be like anything you’ve experienced before. The family has young children—twins, age six. They are…unique, and sometimes challenging.”
I nod, though I’m curious what she means by “challenging.” But I keep my face neutral, trying to show that I’m up for anything. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
My stomach sinks. I can already feel her rejecting me. But I can’t lose this. “I can prove myself, I promise.”
She considers this, then taps a few things on her tablet. “The family also values boundaries. It’s important that you respect their privacy.”
“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady.
“Very well.” Marta pauses, glancing at the screen again. “Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”
She stands, leaving me alone in the room. As the door clicks shut, I feel a ripple of nerves again. This place feels like something out of a dream—both beautiful and a little intimidating, like it’s hiding secrets behind every door.
A few minutes pass, though it feels like an eternity. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I’m about to be sent away, the door opens, and a figure steps inside. A tall man, with a dark, commanding presence that immediately fills the room. He’s dressed in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, his face carved with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through me.
“Miss Parker.” His voice is deep, smooth, with a slight accent I can’t quite place. He holds out a hand, and I take it, surprised at how warm and firm his grip is.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’m Ivan Morozov.” He releases my hand but doesn’t look away, those ice-blue eyes assessing. “I understand you’re here for the nanny position.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
His gaze is intense, almost unnerving, but there’s something magnetic about it too. He’s not just looking at me—he’s measuring me, as if deciding whether I’m worthy of being here at all. “This position requires more than just childcare skills. We need someone who will protect our children, who can stay calm under pressure. Do you believe you’re capable of that?”
I meet his gaze, trying to push aside the nerves fluttering in my stomach. “Yes, sir. I believe I am.”
What the fuck is this supposed to be? It feels less like a nanny position and more like a CIA interview.
Ivan’s gaze flickers, and I feel my heart start to race. But then his phone starts to ring and he steps away. “I need to take this.”
I nod.
As Ivan leaves, I find myself staring after him, momentarily stunned. He’s tall—easily over six feet—with a powerful, broad-shouldered frame that fills out his suit perfectly. The dark fabric clings to his physique, emphasizing his strength and control in a way that’s both intimidating and…undeniably attractive.
He has one of those faces that would make anyone do a double take—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that could have been sculpted from marble. His hair is dark, almost black, combed back with an effortless sophistication that feels just a little dangerous. But it’s his eyes that keep me rooted to the spot—pale, icy blue, striking against his tanned skin. They hold a kind of quiet power, a cold intensity that makes it clear he’s not someone to be crossed.
And yet, there’s a flicker of something else there too, something that feels almost…haunted.
The seconds stretch as I sit, hands folded neatly in my lap, waiting for Marta to return. Time ticks by, and the silence starts to feel…loaded. Am I supposed to just sit here and wait? The walls are decorated with intimidating portraits, stern faces staring down at me, almost like they’re warning me to mind my place. I start to wonder if I’ve been rejected already, and this is their way of making it clear without saying a word.
Maybe they looked into my resume and realized I’m not their ideal candidate. I mean, a degree in history and a few babysitting gigs aren’t exactly nanny-of-the-year qualifications. The longer I sit here, the more I feel my confidence slipping. With a sigh, I decide I can’t just sit around forever. Marta would probably be horrified, but a little peek around won’t hurt, right? If they’re sending me away anyway, I might as well see a bit of this gorgeous place.
I step out of the room, moving down the hall and taking in the grand decor—the pristine artwork, marble floors, and hallways that seem to go on forever. The place is even bigger than I first thought, with high ceilings and elegant chandeliers, exuding an opulence that’s both beautiful and a little overwhelming. I can just make out the shimmering surface of a pool through a pair of glass doors up ahead, and I drift toward it, momentarily distracted by the sun-dappled water.
As I pass by, I catch a quick flash of movement—a figure disappearing around the far end of the pool. Before I can process who it might be, I hear a sound that jolts me to attention. The unmistakable splash of water, followed by a shrill, panicked scream.
My heart stutters, instinct kicking in before I can even think. I drop my bag and rush to the pool, not hesitating for a second as I dive straight in. The cold water shocks my system, but I push forward, my eyes scanning until I see her—a tiny figure thrashing in the water, struggling to stay afloat.
I reach her in a few strokes, wrapping my arm around her and guiding her up. She’s small, maybe only five or six years old, her little arms reaching out desperately.
We break the surface, and just as I’m hoisting her up, a strong hand grabs me, pulling both of us out of the water with an ease that surprises me. I tumble out of the pool, gasping, clutching the child close to my chest, and only then do I realize that I’m staring up at a man.
His hair is damp, dark curls clinging to his forehead, and his brown eyes—intense and piercing—are fixed on me. He takes the child from my arms, cradling her.
“Mila, Mila.”
Mila coughs up some water.
He’s visibly shaken, one hand smoothing down her wet curls as he murmurs something in Russian, voice filled with concern.
“It’s okay, Mila. You’re okay, baby girl. I’m right here.”
Mila coughs, sputtering, but as she sees his face, her fear eases, little hands reaching to clutch his shirt. He holds her close, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles, his focus entirely on her.
After a moment, he glances up at me.
“Are you alright?”
I blink, realizing that I’m still dripping wet, shivering in the cool breeze that’s cutting through my soaked clothes. “I…I’m fine,” I manage, still catching my breath. “Is she…is Mila okay?”
He nods, but his gaze lingers on me, something like admiration flickering in his dark eyes. “She will be, thanks to you. That was…brave of you. Most people wouldn’t have reacted so quickly.”
The warmth in his eyes softens his otherwise intense features. He has a strong jawline, softened only slightly by a shadow of stubble, dark hair that curls damply around his temples, and piercing brown eyes that seem to hold both gratitude and curiosity.
I take a shaky breath, feeling both proud and slightly embarrassed. “I just did what anyone would do.”
“Anyone?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slight smile.
He looks me over, clearly noting my drenched clothes and the absence of a swimsuit, and a flicker of something almost like approval crosses his face. “I’m Nikolai Morozov. Mila’s uncle.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a strange mixture of relief and…something else I can’t quite name. I suddenly feel a pang of shyness under his intense gaze, and my cheeks warm as I realize the way he’s looking at me.
His gaze returns to Mila. “What were you doing so close to the pool, Mila?”
“Amanda fell in,” she says, pulling out a raggedy doll from her arms. “I had to save her.”
Nikolai says something under his breath that I don’t quite catch.
He sighs, his expression softening. “It’s okay, Mila. But you know better. The pool is dangerous if no one’s with you.”
“What’s going on here?” says a voice. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. Ivan walks up to us, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Nikolai answers before I can. “Mila slipped into the pool. Miss Parker here pulled her out.”
Ivan’s eyes land on me, and for a moment, I feel as if he’s reading right through me, weighing every possible detail. His face softens, but only slightly. “Miss Parker,” he says, his voice softer but still firm, “thank you.”
His gaze lingers, and though his expression remains composed, there’s a glint in his ice-blue eyes—a flicker of respect or maybe something else, something that makes my heart thump even harder.
“It’s…it’s no problem,” I manage, swallowing back a fresh wave of nerves. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”
Ivan nods, then looks at Nikolai. “Why don’t you take Mila inside to get changed? Miss Parker and I can continue the interview.”
Nikolai hesitates, his gaze flicking back to me with something almost like regret. “Of course. Come on, Mila.”
She glances back at me with a shy smile as Nikolai leads her away, disappearing into the house, leaving me alone with Ivan. I stand up, wringing out my wet clothes, feeling all too aware of his piercing gaze on me.
“Why did you jump in after her?” he asks, studying me with that same quiet intensity.
I frown, surprised by the question. “Because she needed help. I didn’t stop to think about it.”
He gives me a long look, something shifting behind his eyes. “Not everyone would do that. You risked your safety without a second thought. That kind of instinct…it’s rare.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just nod. Ivan holds my gaze for a moment longer before his expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“Well, Miss Parker, it seems you’ve made quite an impression already.”