Page 36 of The Nanny Goal

I want you to look at me.

Because she hasn’t yet.

Inessa tries to pull the bag of flour off the counter, so I scoop her up and put her on my hip. “Do you like them?”

Emery rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t make them if I didn’t like them.”

“Then yeah, I’d like to try them.” I shift closer so I can grab the blueberries, planning to distract Inessa.

Emery’s gaze follows my hand.

“Toddler distraction device,” I explain.

“Ah.”

“What did you think of Ms. Petrova?”

Instead of answering me, Emery gestures at the cabinets. “Where are your mixing bowls?”

“I’m…” I frown. “I’m not sure.” I ask Inessa in Russian if she knows where Baba keeps the big silver bowls.

“Down,” she says in English, looking at Emery.

“Are you a kitchen expert?” Our new chef gestures at the lower cabinets. “Then show me where it is, baby girl.”

Inessa wriggles her legs until I set her down, and then she pulls open every door, giggling, until she finds the right bowls. “This,” she says, shoving it at Emery.

“Gentle,” I caution my daughter, then turn my attention back to our guest. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because it’s not my place. I’m here to help for a few days, and then?—”

My phone rings, cutting Emery off. We both look at the screen, and my heart leaps into my throat when I see it is the hospital.

I grab it. “Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Artyomov?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a cardiology resident on your mother’s team and…” I listen numbly as the doctor explains about a procedure they’re going to do this afternoon.

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” I manage to say. There’s a click, the call disconnects, and then I drag my attention back to Emery, who is staring at me with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

“God, no, don’t be sorry, of course. It’s okay.” She gestures to Inessa. “Do you want her to be close by at the hospital? I can come with you and take her for a walk.”

I bury my face in my hands. It’s so hard to think right now.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Papa?” Inessa bumps into my leg. “Papa up.”

Hot tears spring to my eyes—fuck—and Inessa repeats my name again, this time with a warble in her voice. “Papa?”

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Emery takes a deep, audible breath, and even with my eyes closed, I can see her picking Inessa up, calmly covering my daughter’s hands as she reaches for me.

Waiting.

Soothing.

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