Page 3 of Marrying the Nanny

Trystan was taller in person than he seemed on TV. Wilf had been a big man with a larger-than-life personality, and Trystan definitely had his father’s sparkle of stardom, but he seemed to withhold it as he shook hands with everyone.

“Emma is the nanny,” Dennis provided, forcing Trystan to look her way.

“G’day.” Emma tried to appear calm while Storm remained unceasing in her complaint that life was a dreadful trial not to be endured.

“Emma is willing to stay on to help whoever takes guardianship. That will need to be decided today,” Dennis said.

“Guardianship.” Trystan’s brows lifted, creasing furrows of astonishment across his forehead. “I thought we were reading the will and discussing the service.”

He shot his attention to Emma. His expression reminded her of the episode where he had whispered into the camera, Those howls are wolves. They’re getting closer.

He slammed a look at the baby, choked out a noise of disbelief, and moved to the window, turning his back on everyone, including his baby sister.

Emma reminded herself he had just lost his father, but, Really?

Another man came in. Logan. The middle one. His tan gave him away. He lived in Florida, where he designed yachts and, judging by his social media accounts, hung out on them with pro athletes and supermodels.

Logan’s height and build and profile were Wilf’s, same as Trystan’s, but where Trystan’s hair was long and black, Logan’s was cut into a rakish style, dark brown with glints of sun-bleached gold. He wore bone-colored trousers, a white shirt without a tie, and a linen jacket. His stubble was trimmed and sculpted to accentuate his painfully handsome features.

His blue gaze bounced into hers, briefly touched Storm’s persistent attempt to escape her own body, then flicked to his brother.

“Trys.”

Trystan turned and folded his arms. “Logan.”

Logan waited one pulse beat as though expecting more. “How’s your mom?”

“Fine. Yours?”

“Fine.” Logan walked past Emma down the side of the table opposite from his brother.

It wasn’t animosity or hostility. It was more as if they were a pair of distant acquaintances meeting on the street who thought they had to acknowledge one another, but didn’t have anything to say. No hug of shared grief, no hint that they’d grown up together and were dealing with an end point to that childhood.

Dennis and Harpreet rose to shake hands with him. Logan revealed Wilf’s innate charm as he gave each of them a friendly smile.

“I’m Storm’s social worker,” Harpreet said. “Emma is her au pair.”

Logan nodded briefly toward Emma, then pulled out a chair. He sat with a fluid movement, drew out his phone, and commenced with ignoring the room.

Emma blinked in astonishment. Seriously? This is your orphaned sister.

Although, to be fair, Emma was about ready to hand Storm to a passerby and ignore her, too. Why wouldn’t she quiet? She tried the pacifier again, and Storm spat the dummy. Literally.

Logan sent her a quizzical glance. “An au pair is a nanny, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She tried a warm smile as she bent to retrieve the pacifier, encouraging him to engage.

Logan made a dismissive noise that was an indictment of her qualifications.

You try, she bit back saying.

Exasperated as she was, however, she would take the privilege of holding this cranky baby as long as she could. What if they gave Storm to a stranger? The thought had been torturing her every minute since she’d heard the terrible news.

Maybe the eldest brother—

Oh. Hello.

Reid Fraser entered and swept the room in a glance that seemed to gather the various threads of energy into an iron fist and squeeze. Everyone looked to him without him saying a word. Emma was conscious of catching her breath and holding it.

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