Page 10 of Nanny for the Don

“I don’t know your holiday traditions, so I didn’t want to just start hanging up decorations without talking to you first,” she adds, her voice sincere. “But, of course, this all assumes I still have a job tomorrow,” she finishes, her smile fading a bit as she glances at me.

I look at her, the decision already made long before she finished speaking.Her breath catches, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands grip each other as she waits for my decision.

I let the silence hang for just a moment longer, then say, “You still have a job, Willow.”

The relief that floods her face is immediate and intense. She visibly relaxes, her body almost sagging with the weight lifted off her. “I do?”

“Yes. You’re thoughtful. You didn’t just barge in here and start making changes; you considered what’s best for the girls and the house. You’re good at planning, even if it didn’t go perfectly today. You had structure in place, and the girls responded to that. They had a great day because of you, despite the mishap in the kitchen.”

I watch as my words sink in, her eyes widening slightly.

“And most importantly, you’re already crazy about those girls. That’s not something I can teach, and it’s not something that can be replaced. I see the way you care about them, and that’s what really matters. Mistakes happen, Willow, but it’s how you handle them that counts.”

She nods, her expression shifting from relief to something more like gratitude, and maybe even a bit of admiration. I can tell she wasn’t expecting this outcome.

She looks up at me, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly, and then adds with a bit more energy, “You’re right—I’m absolutely crazy about the girls,” she gushes.

“Giulia’s got this incredible imagination,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “She comes up with these wild stories, and I get sucked into her little world. And Lucia—oh my God, she’s got this quiet determination. She’s so focused when she’s drawing or working on something, it’s like nothing else exists for her at that moment. They’re both just amazing.”

Every word out of her mouth just confirms what I already knew: She’s perfect for this job. The way she talks about them, with so much warmth and affection, it’s clear she’s not just doing this for a paycheck. She’s genuinely invested in their happiness.

When she finally finishes, I lean back, my gaze steady on her. “There were far more experienced nannies who applied for the job. But it was your connection to the girls that clinched it for you. That goes a very, very long way with me, Willow.” She nods; I continue. “But I won’t tolerate more incidents like what happened in the kitchen. One mistake is understandable. Repeated mistakes, especially when it comes to the girls’ safety, are not.”

She stiffens, the seriousness of my words sinking in, and nods quickly. “I completely understand,” she says, her voice firm and sincere. “It won’t happen again.”

Her eyes flash with worry. “Anyway, you must’ve come into the library for some peace and quiet. Sorry for disturbing you.” She turns to get her book, her movements graceful, but I catch the slight hesitation in her steps. . “I’ll leave you to it.”

As she turns to go, I notice the snow starting to fall outside the window, soft and silent. “You don’t have to leave,” I say, my voice firm.. “But you’re under no obligation to stay, either.”

She pauses, turning back to look at me., a small smile tugging at her lips. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t say things just to be nice, Willow.”

She slowly sits down, her gaze never leaving mine, the tension between us shifting into something more comfortable, but no less charged.. I see her settle back into the chair, and I decide to take the next step. “Can I get you a drink from the bar?”

She nods, her eyes still locked on me. “A glass of wine would be nice.”

I rise, feeling her eyes on me as I walk to the bar. As I open the wine, she speaks again, this time with a bit more boldness.. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

I turn, meeting her gaze with an amused smirk. “Go ahead.”

“Have you read many of these books?”

I chuckle, liking the edge in her tone. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re implying I keep them just for show.”

Her eyes flash again, this time sharper.. “That’s not what I meant—” she starts, but I can see she’s realized I’m just testing her. She quickly clarifies, her tone softening. “It’s just that you seem so busy with work, I wonder when you have time to read.”

I nod, acknowledging her point as I pour myself a whiskey and a glass of red wine for her. Handing her the wine, I make my way over to the bookshelf, letting my fingers trail over the spines before pulling outThe Count of Monte Cristoby AlexandreDumas. I hold it up for her to see.

“This one,” I say, my voice steady, “is a favorite of mine. A story of patience, intelligence, and relentless pursuit. A man wronged, who turns every setback into an opportunity, playing the long game with precision.”

She listens intently as I talk, her eyes following my every move.. As I speak, memories of my younger days come flooding back—days spent with my nose buried in books, escaping into worlds far removed from my own.

“When I was a boy, I spent every free moment reading,” I continue, more to myself than to her. “Books were my refuge, a place where I could sharpen my mind and learn from characters who faced adversity head-on.”

I glance back at her, the seriousness returning to my tone.. “I don’t have much time to read these days, but I always carve out a little bit of time. Books keep the mind sharp. What exercise does for the body, books do for the brain.”

I take a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth settle before adding, “And in my line of work, I can’t afford to have a dull mind.”

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