Stalking the Nanny

Prologue

PROLOGUE

FOUR YEARS PRIOR

Anna

The summons comes shortly after the fourth bell rings. Pulling on a dark wool dress, I hurry through silent corridors, knowing better than to delay. The charity of the sisters of Stella Maris always comes at a price, and the summons wasn’t a request . Whatever Sister Ursula demands, I’ll have to do.

My bare feet make no sound on the cold stone, and the few women I pass don’t acknowledge me. They are wise to keep their distance.

We are all sinners here, but some sins are forgivable and some are not.

Not fleeing after graduation was a mistake, but I had nowhere else to go. I have nowhere else to go. The convent is the only home I’ve ever known. Still, staying was a mistake. Sister Ursula said as much before she locked me inside the empty dormitory.

A dormitory that was empty only because the others are gone now. Empty because they fulfilled their contracts. Because they obeyed while I did not and for that betrayal I must pay.

The scent of orange oil and old leather assails me as I enter the library. Pale dawn light streaks through the stained glass windows overlooking the courtyard, but the fireplace is unlit and the lamps are dark—all but one.

A single green-shaded bulb illuminates the polished surface of a sturdy wooden table. A tea service, a plate of scones, and a thick stack of papers sit on the aged wood.

The others left three days ago, and I’ve been confined to the dormitory ever since. While the en suite bathroom provided me with water, I haven’t eaten since the final feast.

Mouth watering, I cross the cavernous room. When I reach the table, I tentatively touch the silver teapot. It’s still hot, and I am alone.

This is a trap. The tea, the food, the papers, the empty library at dawn. It has all the hallmarks of one of the sisters’ sick games. I’d known that I’d be punished, yes, but toying with me like this feels excessively cruel.

But then, what did I expect? The sisters of Stella Maris aren’t known for their mercy.

Knowing I’m playing right into their hands but seeing no other choice, I pull out a straight-backed chair and sit. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess, but I’ve lived here too long to trust either the tea or scones, so I reach for the papers instead.

At the sight of the embossed seal on the top sheet, my hunger disappears.

A black swan. Cygnus Niger.

Oh God, of course it would have to involve them . Nothing good can come of anything involving those men. The members of Cygnus Niger are some of the most rich and powerful men in the country—and the most morally corrupt.

Feeling sick, I stare at the papers, terrified of what they might contain.

“Don’t be so dramatic, dear.” Sister Ursula pulls out the chair perpendicular to mine. “It’s just an employment contract.”

“Like the one my mother signed?” I ask, unable to keep the disgust out of my voice.

“We’ve been over this.” The older woman pours a cup of tea that I ignore. “While this would be simpler if you’d just accept the standard terms, the Order of Stella Maris doesn’t engage in coercion . You’ve made your moral position clear.”

When she doesn’t elaborate further, I realize that she’s prepared to wait me out. So, heart pounding, I carefully set the hateful cover page aside.

It is, in fact, a job offer—an offer outlined in a big binding contract containing seemingly endless rules and stipulations that continue page after page. But as I skim the contract, I’m left with more questions than answers.

Because while the first few pages spell out terms of “employment” best described as indentured servitude, the later pages outline a compensation package that seems too good to be true.

The salary, to be held in escrow until the contract’s end, seems almost too generous for the position, a position described by only a single sentence: The employee agrees to care for one child (age 9 years) during hours to be mutually agreed upon but not to exceed 60 hours per week.

But honestly, it’s the other benefits that give me pause. There are simply too many. Health insurance, a cell phone, a computer, a credit card, a car , two weeks of paid time off each year—and tuition at any one of several pre-approved local universities. All of this to be a nanny for one child?

Of course, the contract contains a lot more than a list of benefits. Several pages are devoted to what seems to be a fairly extensive non-disclosure agreement, which I guess makes sense if this employer is as wealthy as the benefits package suggests —not to mention affiliated with Cygnus Niger. No, an NDA is probably to be expected. It’s what comes after the NDA that gives me pause.

Because the next few pages outline a list of morality clauses. First, there’s a list of substances I must not ingest that seems to include every legal and illegal drug on the planet, including alcohol, followed by a line where I must agree to consent to random drug tests. While that part is conservative, it’s not extreme. No, the truly extreme part is on the following page—the page that not only contains a list of establishments I may not enter, but also a line where I agree to not only remain celibate but to not date for the entirety of my employment…

Sister Ursula clears her throat, and I look up. She pushes the plate of scones toward me. “Surely you must be hungry, child.”

I stare at the plate longingly, stomach cramping, but make no move to take a scone. While it’s unlikely that they’re laced with anything truly poisonous, I still don’t trust them.

“No, thank you, Sister. I’m fine,” I reply softly, hoping that I don’t anger her.

To my relief, she simply shrugs one slender shoulder, then changes the subject. “Well? Have you made a decision?”

“About the employment contract?”

“What else could I possibly be referring to—your nonexistent summer plans?” she asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Of course I mean your offer of employment.”

“No,” I admit, deciding that there’s no point in lying. “To be honest, when you summoned me here, I was expecting a punishment.”

At this, the older woman laughs. “My dear, don’t you see? That contract is your punishment.”

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? If you sign that contract, you’ll be free to leave the convent today, but you won’t be truly free for nearly another five years.” She smiles. “Whereas if you stay and submit to our discipline, your debt will be paid in one year per the terms of your family’s original agreement. Now do you see?”

Oddly enough, I do see. In Sister Ursula’s mind, this contract must seem intolerable. Yet from my position, it seems like a reprieve that’s nearly too good to be true. Because when my mother abandoned me at the convent, she signed an agreement saying that when I turned eighteen, I’d enter into one year of “service” with Cygnus Niger—just like she had when she was my age.

Yeah, and look where that got her—unwed and abandoned with a baby she didn’t even want. No thanks.

No, I’d be a fool not to take the offer before me. That said, it still seems too good to be true.

“And this will clear my obligation to both the convent and Cygnus Niger?” I ask, not looking up from the contract as I reread it more closely this time.

“Yes,” the older woman replies. “While this is an unusual arrangement, we try to help out Cygnus Niger when we can, and there happened to be a member who’s in need of a nanny who will be… discreet .”

The emphasis she places on the last word gives me pause.“Who exactly will I be working for?”

“Me.”

The unexpected intrusion of a masculine voice forces me to finally look up—and my mouth goes dry. Because the man standing before me is literally the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. At least six foot three and pure muscle. But it’s not his physique that has my heart pounding. No, it’s just his presence . There’s something about him…

“And your wife, too, I assume?” I ask, hating the way my voice shakes.

“No, just me. Will that be a problem, Miss Petrakova?”