2. Chapter Two #3
“Your kid… okay?” The young woman’s voice startles me, and I turn abruptly.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to keep my composure. The bartender slides the shot in front of me. I stare at it for a moment and hesitate. After a sharp breath, I take the glass and down it in one go.
“I have a friend who could be of help to you,” she says, taking a slow sip of her drink.
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her directness and willingness to admit she was eavesdropping. “I’m in no need of such a friend,” I respond.
The young woman chuckles. “She’s a child psychologist. She’s currently searching for a job, and you appear to be in need of a nanny.”
“Is she Eastern European?” I ask.
“No.” She narrows her eyes. “Were your other nannies Eastern European?”
“Who said there were other nannies?”
“A man who dismisses his child’s nanny so quickly must have some experience doing so,” she says matter-of-factly.
I don’t realize how desperate I am until I find myself giving her a quick, assessing look before reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out Nadia’s business card. “Have your friend call this number,” I say, sliding the card onto the bar counter.
She grabs it and tucks it into her purse.
“I’ll try to overlook her lack of Eastern European background,” I add. When I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of a genuine smile spreading across her face.
By the time I’m back in the car, the traffic is lighter even though it’s Friday night, so I get home quicker than expected.
The apartment is mostly dark, except for the foyer and the kitchen, where a single light above the sink casts a warm white glow over the immense, modern space.
Nadia is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea.
“Is he sleeping?” I ask, placing my phone and wallet on the counter.
“Yes, finally quieted down. He kept getting out of bed and into his closet but eventually got tired and stayed put.” She slides the baby monitor over to me. “He’s a good kid.”
I nod and hang my jacket on the back of a chair. “Thank you for watching him. Again.”
“My job is to take care of you, and by extension, him,” Nadia replies as she gets up and walks toward me. “He’s been through a lot recently, losing his mother like that…” She gives my shoulder a reassuring pat. “Let me know if you need me to watch him again.”
“It’s not your job,” I say.
“I don’t mind. It gives me some practice before Larissa gives birth. I can’t believe I’m going to be a babushka.” Nadia claps her hands in excitement. “What are you going to do about Misha?” Concern flickers across her face.
“Well, Svetlana was the last nanny on that list.”
“I didn’t like that woman. She was unkind. I could tell by her eyes. You can read a lot from someone’s eyes,” Nadia says, reaching up to turn my face toward hers. “Your eyes are kind.”
Instantly, a lump forms in my throat. Nadia has a way of knowing exactly what I need to hear, even when I’m not aware of it myself. The beauty of her words is their authenticity, at least from her perspective.
“There might be a woman reaching out to you in the next few days about the position,” I say.
“A woman?” Nadia raises an eyebrow.
“A nanny. For Misha.”
“I see.”
“She’s not Eastern European, though.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. And it might be a good time to start dating again,” Nadia adds in the same breath.
I grunt in response. “I bet my lawyer and publicist would vehemently disagree with your advice. I’m busy enough with the hotel and with Misha,” I say, shaking my head. “Also, stop mothering me.”
Even though Nadia and I don’t always see eye to eye, I was struck by her confidence the moment she marched into my office with a résumé lighter than a feather and no real experience, insisting she would be the best assistant I ever had.
Since then, she has become more of a mother figure to me than my own biological mother ever was.
“Have a good night,” she says, patting my cheek before heading out.
The moment the elevator closes, I hear a door open, followed by the soft patter of footsteps. A slow smile warms its way across my mouth. “Misha?” I gently call out as I step into the hallway.
My son barrels into me, and I scoop him up.
The scent of jasmine fills my nostrils as he wraps his arms around my neck, resting his sleepy head in the crook of it.
I tighten my hold on him, pressing his small body to my chest as I carry him back to his room.
After tucking him in, I lay beside him, listening to the ocean sounds of his noise machine and his deep inhales.
God, let him be okay. Let me be able to take care of him. Don’t let me mess things up for him—more than I already have.
I press a soft kiss to his forehead, brushing his brown curls off it.
The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling twinkle above me.
I know I should get up, but the thought of spending a few more minutes next to him glues me to the bed.
My eyes flutter shut under the day’s exhaustion, and I drift into sleep, knowing it’ll likely be filled with nightmares again.
She’s dead. It’s my fault. I killed her.