Page 6 of Nanny for the Don

Their eyes light up. “Pancakes!” they cheer, and we head to the kitchen.

As we make our way downstairs, I can’t help but glance around, relieved to find no sign of Mr. Conti. It’s probably better for my heart rate if he’s nowhere in sight this morning.

On the way down, I ask, “So, does your dad ever decorate for Christmas?”

Lucia shrugs. “We don’t know.”

“Can we get a Christmas tree?” Giulia asks, her eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely we’re getting a tree!” I declare, already imagining this place decked out in holiday cheer. Whether Mr. Conti likes it or not, these girls are getting Christmas magic.

In the kitchen, I pause for a moment, taking in the morning light streaming through the big windows and the dusting of snow outside. “Alright, pancakes coming up!” I say, rubbing my hands together. I spot a fancy espresso machine on the counter and feel a pang of longing. “Too bad I have no idea how to use this thing…”

Giulia’s eyes light up. “I know how!”

I blink, surprised. “You do?”

“Uh-huh! I watch Daddy all the time,” she says confidently.

Before I know it, she’s guiding me through the steps, standing on her tiptoes as she instructs me to load the coffee, tamp it down, and press the button. Sure enough, the espresso pours out perfectly, and I’m seriously impressed.

“Wow, little miss barista!” I say, ruffling her hair. “You’re a coffee pro.”

“Daddy says coffee is ‘really, really important,’” she says, giggling.

With espresso in hand and the girls laughing, I feel ready to tackle the day. We grab ingredients for the pancakes, and I enlist the twins’ help, which quickly turns into a kitchen circus. Giulia tries to crack an egg, but it ends up all over the counter.

Lucia spills milk, and somehow, flour explodes into a cloud, coating us all in a fine layer of powder. I try to laugh it off, but honestly, I'm questioning my decision to make pancakes with two enthusiastic little sous-chefs.

“Okay, no worries!” I say, keeping my voice upbeat as I swipe flour off my forehead. “This is just... extra fun!”

The girls giggle, their faces dusted white, looking like tiny bakers in training. We finally manage to get a decent batter mixed, and I pour the first dollop into the pan. But as I turn back to check on them, I catch a whiff of something burning. My heart skips as I realize I’ve left a dish towel too close to the burner.

I snatch it up, toss it into the sink, and douse it with water just as the smoke alarm starts blaring. The twins shriek, covering their ears, and I fan the air frantically, praying this isn’t going to wake up the whole household.

As if on cue, Ms. M walks into the kitchen, her eyes widening as she takes in the chaos—the flour-covered counter, sugar everywhere, pancake batter splattered on the cabinets, and me, looking like I’ve survived a food fight.

“What on earth is going on here?” she asks, hands on her hips but with a smile tugging at her lips.

I stand there, caught red-handed, flour and milk all over me. “Uh… pancakes?”

Chapter 4

Willow

"We'll discuss this later."

Those had been Ms. M’s words after seeing the destruction in the kitchen. After making sure the fire was out and confirming the girls and the house were safe, she’d left it at that.

Now I’m sitting in the den, trying to shake off the nerves while the twins enjoy their allotted hour of TV time before dinner. They’re watchingBluey, totally engrossed in the antics of the Heeler family, while I’m over here trying not to freak out about the conversation I know is coming.

Thank God Mr. Conti has staff to handle lunch and dinner, so I don’t have to deal with the kitchen disaster zone any more than necessary. Tomorrow, I’m sticking to cereal and OJ—no fires, no explosions, just good ol’ breakfast simplicity.

Speaking of Mr. Conti, he hasn’t shown up at all since this morning. I can’t help but wonder how much time he actually gets to spend with his girls, considering his crazy work schedule. I mean, what’s the point of having this gorgeous house andadorable kids if you’re never around to enjoy them?

Just as I’m lost in thought, Ms. M enters the room, her expression unreadable.“Dinner’s ready,” she announces, her tone neutral.

I gulp, feeling the anxiety creep back in. I plaster on a smile and get up, mentally preparing myself for whatever Ms. M has in store.

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