Page 21 of The Nanny Goal

It underlines how many months have zoomed by.

“Hey, friend,” I say softly.

And then Becca Kincaid joins us, her son shadowing his mom. She asks me what I’ve been up to, how cooking is going.

I take a deep breath. “Well, I’m actually going back to school! I’ve been accepted at a culinary institute in Switzerland for a program that starts in July.”

Shannon squeezes my hand. “That’s amazing!”

“I honestly didn’t think I’d get accepted, so it was a bit of a shock. And then I immediately went into preparation mode and stopped taking on new personal chef clients, which has left me a little at odd ends for the next few months.”

“You could come visit.”

“Thanks. But I’m?—”

The door to the suite opens behind me, and something about it, like an energy I can’t ignore, has me pivoting to see who it is, even though everyone I know is right in front of me.

There’s a faint warning at the back of my mind that it could be Alexei’s girlfriend, but no, it’s worse.

It’s his mother, Maria Artyomov, and she has his daughter in her arms. I recognize them both from photographs very recently shoved in front of my face.

“So sorry,” Maria says, out of breath. “Inessa is hungry.”

“That’s okay,” Becca exclaims. “Hey, sweetie. Come on in.”

I try to hold my breath as if that might make me invisible, but no such luck. I can’t escape Artyomovs today, apparently.

Becca reaches for Inessa. “Do you want to sit with Charlie?”

The little girl gives her a shy nod, but still hesitates before releasing her tight hold on her grandmother.

Heart in my throat, my gaze follows them as Becca circles around the buffet spread and effortlessly picks up a few things a toddler might want to eat, then carries the little girl and the plate down the steps to where her son is watching what’s happening on the ice with rapt attention.

“Say hi to Inessa, Charlie.”

“Hi Inessa,” the little boy says, his gaze darting to her briefly.

The little girl doesn’t say anything back. Becca nudges an apple wedge into her hand, and she carefully takes a tiny bite.

Maria touches my hand. “Emery?”

I jump. “Yes. Hi. I am Emery, yep.”

She smiles. Up close she looks pale and there’s perspiration on her brow. “Your mother is very kind.”

I nod, heart racing. “Yes, she is.”

“She shows photos of you.” She pats my cheek. “Beautiful girl.”

I’m as much a sucker for a compliment as the next beautiful girl, so I smile back. “Thanks.”

She leans on the table, still catching her breath.

I fill the silence. “Hey, so I met your husband already. He’s sitting next to my parents.”

She frowns, like I’ve said too much, too fast.

I pull out my phone and quickly tap it all out in the translation app.

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