Page 2 of Marrying the Nanny

What could she do? Storm had been forcibly weaned and wanted her mama. She had spent the morning being stuffed into boats and cars and planes, none of which she’d enjoyed, and could probably sense Emma’s distress. Now everything around her was different. Of course she was inconsolable. Emma was barely holding it together herself.

“Emma Wright. The au pair.” She switched Storm to her other arm so she could shake his hand.

“This is Harpreet Mahil,” Dennis said as a plump woman hurried in behind him, “with the Ministry of Children and Family Development.”

“We spoke on the phone.” Harpreet’s hand was warm and firm. She peeked at Storm’s squinched-up face and murmured something in Punjabi, crinkling her brow in rueful sympathy.

“She’s due for her nap. She should settle soon.” Emma hoped it wasn’t a lie.

“Poor thing. Thank you for bringing her.”

“Of course.” Emma had been both relieved and agonized when Harpreet had told her what to do. Bring Storm to Victoria. The will would be read in the presence of Storm’s brothers and Storm’s future decided.

I’ll keep her, Emma kept wanting to assert, but she probably wasn’t allowed to be in Canada now that her employer had died. Would she be paid her final wages? Not that she cared about the money, but if she didn’t have a job, she would have to use what was left in her savings to fly back to a place where she had no place.

Don’t make me give her up.

From the moment she had taken Storm into her arms ten weeks ago, she had felt an overwhelming surge of maternal love. Not what au pairs were supposed to feel, but Tiffany had been so harried and relieved at Emma’s arrival.

New mothers were overwhelmed, Emma knew that. Tiffany had had a lot on the go and had been a high-strung personality, eager to prove herself in a dozen different ways.

Emma related to that. She had been exactly as driven until she’d hit the proverbial wall and her life had shattered into a million pieces. Her priorities had simplified since then.

She had judged Tiffany for not having reached this same level of enlightenment, which wasn’t fair. Tiffany had shown a lot of love toward Storm and a lot of anxiety about leaving for Las Vegas. She hadn’t been a bad mother. She had simply taken for granted that she was one.

Be thankful you can have babies, Emma had wanted to tell her.

She had felt very defensive on Storm’s behalf, too, handed off to a nanny so her mother could work and elope. Emma had always felt like a bother to her own family, something more tolerated than loved. She had instinctively wanted to protect Storm’s nascent self-esteem. She couldn’t imagine giving her up now, especially when Storm had been orphaned. She’s mine. Let her be mine.

But Emma had to wait in a cold sweat for her fate to be decided along with this helpless baby’s.

Dennis and Harpreet had moved to the head of the table. Dennis offered water. Emma declined. She had a bladder the size of a thimble at the best of times. When she was nervous, it was worse.

She watched them pour ice water and sip. The only sound was Storm registering her unhappiness.

“Is she hungry?” Dennis asked, because clearly Emma was too thick to have tried that.

“She ate a little while ago. I think it’s the formula.”

In the first days after Wilf and Tiffany had left, Emma had presumed Storm was crying because she missed her mother. She took to the bottle with eagerness, so it wasn’t hunger. Emma’s one and only friend in Raven’s Cove, Sophie, a single mom, had suggested the formula could be upsetting her stomach.

“I’ll look for the kind for sensitive tummies while I’m here,” Emma said, acting as if her keeping Storm was a given.

If she knew Storm as well as she thought she did, Storm was working up to fill her nappy. After that historic event, she would drop into a hard sleep.

The pair shifted their attention past her and adopted a welcoming expression. The first of Wilf’s sons had arrived.

Wilf had been quite the philanderer. Tiffany had been wife number three and mother number four. Wilf had said to Emma of Tiffany, She must have been poking holes in the condoms because I didn’t want more kids. Or wives. They’re too expensive.

Wilf’s promiscuity had made him a little too much like her ex, but Emma had liked him anyway. He’d been full of stories both outrageous and self-deprecating and he’d been very tender with his daughter, which was the real test of character in her opinion.

He hadn’t talked much about his sons, though. She was curious to see if they had his personality along with his looks.

She was highly invested in judging them in general. One of these men would take his baby sister. She needed to know Storm would be in good hands, but she also needed to ingratiate herself so she could stay on as Storm’s caregiver.

She pasted a smile on her face for twenty-seven-year-old Trystan, Wilf’s youngest. Emma recognized him from his wilderness survival show. He wore black jeans and a snug black T-shirt over a well-honed physique. His straight black hair was in a ponytail, and his beard was an unshaven scruff, the way it often looked by the end of an episode, after he’d been in the bush a few weeks. His eyes were such a dark brown they might be black, but he met her gaze so briefly she couldn’t be sure.

Dennis greeted him, seeming star-struck as he invited Trystan to the end of the table. Maybe Trystan was being polite to the adults, not realizing he had bypassed his sister. Not everyone saw babies as people, she reminded herself, trying not to hate him.

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