Page 58 of The Nanny Goal

“Nanny—” He stares at me incredulously, then barks a sharp laugh. “Okay. That’s not?—”

“I’m not nanny material, Alexei. Do you know how I’ve distracted her every single time we’ve been alone so far?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs warily. “How?”

“We draw moustaches on you.” When he doesn’t react, I double down. “I found an app where we can turn you into a clown. Where she can scribble on your photo and make you look ridiculous.”

His eyes flare. “You have photos of me on your phone?”

Of course he would pick up on that piece.

So I make it clear that he’s wrong. “I very much didnotuntil two days ago. Then your daughter gave me a wobbly lower lip, big watery eye look, and suddenly I was downloading every terrible picture of you that I could find for her to decorate.”

“With moustaches.”

“And clown wigs. Also, duck lips and fake eyelashes.”

“You’re joking.”

I pull out my phone and fire them off to him in text messages, one at a time.Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding ding ding ding ding.

“Okay, you weren’t joking.”

“A little girl was sad and I did what any thoughtful person would do—I distracted her. But you have to know that I’m never going to enforce your screen policy. I’m never going to tell her not to jump off of things, even if it makes my heart leap into my throat when she wobbles on the edge. We all have to learn to jump, Alexei. And it’s fun.”

“Fun.”

“Yes,fun.”

He rubs his jaw, then looks down at his phone again. “I don’t have a… screen policy. I let her play with my phone, too.” He taps on the screen. “I don’t need you to be Ms. Petrova. I don’t need you to tell Inessano. I just need you to keep her safe, and you’ve already proven that you can do that.”

Ding.

It’s a text message from his surveillance camera app to join his home network.

“I sometimes use that app instead of a baby monitor. There are cameras in the kitchen and in the family room, as well as front door and back yard.”

Ding.

Rapid fire, he sends me links to everything I need to be in charge of his house.

Ding. Ding.

“I trust you with my daughter, Emery. More than I would trust anyone else.”

* * *

Alexei takes us home. I finally get the full tour of the place, now out of urgent necessity. I can’t sleep in the basement while he’s gone, so we start upstairs.

The second floor is divided into two distinct spaces, separated by a long hallway that Inessa likes to sprint up and down. At one end is the bathroom, surrounded by bedrooms—Inessa’s princess nursery, her grandparents’ room, and a small library with a daybed in it.

“It’s small,” Alexei says doubtfully.

“It’s fine.”

“She stays in bed when she wakes up. She’ll just call out for someone to come and get her. This is close.”

“For sure.”

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