Page 34 of The Nanny Goal

Alexei laughs. “You can call it like that, yeah.”

“But you know, she’s also a bit lost,” my mother says. “Her chef business never really got off the ground in Minneapolis.”

White hot embarrassment courses through me. That’s not true. Not exactly.

“I’m not surprised,” Alexei says in his accented, confident way, his words hollowing me out.

He’s not?

“She’s inexperienced, right? And naive. She has a lot to learn about the world.”

“Of course you understand.” My mom sounds relieved. “This is going to be good for her, Alexei. Maybe you can help her figure out what she really wants to do with her life.”

Inexperienced?

Naive?

I already know what I want to do with my life.

July can’t get here fast enough. The sooner I put an ocean between me and my family, the better. And Alexei, too, for that matter.

CHAPTER11

ALEXEI

I’m on edge after I manage to extricate myself from that conversation.

My parents taught me to always see guests out, to make small talk. That did not prepare me to navigate Emery’s parents blindsiding me with their doubts about her life choices.

I return to the living room. Emery is sitting on the floor now, and Inessa is in the chair beside her, clutching what I assume is Emery’s phone.

Phones are Inessa’s most prized possessions when she can get her hands on one, and they’re giggling together.

I frown, trying to process what the Grangers said about their daughter.

She doesn’t seem lost to me, but I don’t actually know her.

“Mr. Artyomov—” The nanny rises to her feet, her gaze cutting sharply to the phone in Inessa’s hand.

“Thank you for coming,” I say in Russian. “I will contact you soon.”

There’s the briefest hesitation, as if she’s considering saying something else, but she thinks better of it and nods.

Unlike with the Grangers, I don’t step outside with Ms. Petrova. I see her to the door, then close it firmly.

I don’t remember the last time I felt this tired. Maybe in the first few months of Inessa’s life. That summer, after Tatyana left.

I quickly fire off a text message to dad, asking how he’s doing, and then pick up Emery’s backpack from where she left it by the door.

I get back to the living room just in time to see Inessa give Emery back her phone and point to the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” Emery asks. She sounds delighted to be able to solve that problem.

“We haven’t had lunch yet,” I explain. “But maybe I should give you a tour of the house first. There is a fully furnished suite in the basement that you can use. It has its own entrance. I thought my parents would want to use it, but they prefer to live upstairs with me and Inessa full-time.”

She doesn’t look at me when she responds. “That’s all right. I don’t mind getting right to work.”

My daughter’s head swivels back and forth between me and her new personal chef. “Ya khochu bliny.”

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