Page 30 of The Billionaire and the Nanny

“I know, but I’m so coooolddd…”

By morning, Wilson is there to make me chicken soup and take care of Lilly Belle, all the while I stay in bed curled up and watching Netflix sideways against my pillow. Ethan doesn’t leave my side. He watches the show with me and even works from his laptop on my bed. It’s weird to hear him talking to secretaries and supervisors about steel and projection charts and all sorts of business things. He takes on a completely different tone when he talks to them—the cold, steely Ethan.

He really is two different people.

I wonder if there’s a way to get him to be one amalgam instead of two polar opposites.

Once off the phone, Ethan goes back to playing nurse, fetching me cool towels to lay on my skin. I end up in the bathroom half the day, and I always ask him to go downstairs when I do, because I don’t want anyone near me when I’m audibly sick. I know you’re not supposed to care about things like that around people you trust, but my heart is confused about what it’s supposed to be feeling.

When he returns to my room, it’s with Lilly Belle. He’s holding her in the doorway, and I have to say, my heart soars seeing him carrying her. He bounces her up and down. “She was worried about you. See? There she is. There’s your…nanny.” Mommy. He almost said Mommy. “She’s sick, just like you were, but she’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Wilson slides into the picture to see if I need anything else, and it occurs to me that I’ve never had so many people taking care of me at the same time. At home, whenever I got sick, it was only my mom to care for me. My siblings were usually asked to stay out of the way, and my dad was almost always atwork.

“Why don’t you go home?” Ethan asks Wilson. “I got everything coveredhere.”

“You sure?” Wilson is not convinced. Honestly, I’m not either. Who’s going to bathe Lilly Belle—him? Feed her, rock her, sing to her—him? Who’s going to change her diapers—him?

“Yes, go. How hard can it be? Bring Miss Wallach chicken soup and crackers, give Miss Lilly Belle a chew toy now and again.” He shoots me a knowing smirk, bouncing the baby a little too much. I would tell him to do it less, except it’s really nice to see him connecting with his niece.

His niece who will hopefully be his daughter one day. His mother’s words that night at the front door come back to haunt me. I just can’t bear the thought that Lilly may go to an adoption agency.

Wilson pats him on the back. “Goodnight, folks. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be right over. All the way from Brooklyn,” he adds facetiously. As he’s leaving, the old man eyes me over Ethan’s shoulder, makes the universal sign for “call me,” and points at Ethan. I laugh so hard, I almost have to use the bathroom again.

I love that guy. Ethan doesn’t know how good he has it. Wilson has been taking care of him for years. I know—I’ve talked to him so many times now. The man has his own family in Brooklyn but comes up three times a week, more if needed. I asked him why he hasn’t retired yet, and his response?

“Who will take care of Ethan?”

Pretty sad. All he wants is to retire and live the rest of his life on a fishing boat off the coast of South Carolina where his extended family lives, but he’s still here because Ethan does needhim.

Ethan has nobody else in this world.

My fever spikes again for what feels like the tenth time. I did not get the 24-hour variety of the stomach virus like Lilly Belle did, as it turns out. While Ethan goes through the baby’s bedtime routine all by himself, I vaguely remember telling him to wash his hands often, then I snooze in and out of consciousness, the state of mind reserved for the sick and those on mind-bending drugs. So far, he hasn’t called for help, and I’m surprised when Lilly Belle goes down without protest.

She must be shocked that her uncle is helping. I’m shocked he’s helping.

When he comes back to my room, he looks like he’s run a marathon. He lies down flat in the middle of the floor and tosses a small hand towel onto his chest. “How. The fuck. Do you do allthat?”

“And you only took care of her one night,” I remindhim.

After a minute’s rest, he gets back on his feet, sits at my bedside, and caresses my hair back. “Youokay?”

I close my eyes and just feel. His hands on my forehead. His fingers running through my hair. His soft breath near my cheek when he stoops low to hear my faint replies. His warm kiss on my cheek and his care, more than anything. Two sides to Ethan Townsend? I’d say three, four, at least.

As he makes himself comfortable on my bed, I’m vaguely aware of him glancing at my open laptop, checking out my website, and making a few tech changes in the design.

I let him. He’s only trying to help. Hey, I will gladly take all the free help I can get from a successful billionaire. But it’s his voice talking to me quietly about different things—about his evening with Lilly Belle, about business, about the Netflix episode we watched, about return on investment, about any topic he feels like mentioning—that makes me drift away. His soothing presence lulls me back to sleep, and I vaguely dream about hearing it at bedtime every night for the rest of mylife.

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