Page 96 of The Good Girl Effect
Bea’s birthday was on Tuesday, and it has thrown off our entire week. It’s been three days since the theme park, and it feels like I can’t seem to catch up. The housework has fallen behind. Dinner every night has been a disaster. And Bea has been extra moody, making the rest of the house extra moody.
It was worth it, though. Getting to walk through the park with them and feel like a part of their family was a dream. Watching Bea open my gift to her later that day and feeling her arms wrap around me tightly was the best feeling in the world.
I don’t know a thing about being a nanny, or at least I didn’t when I got this job. But I can’t imagine anything more to it than this. I love her like she’s my own, and I dread the day she and I ever have to say goodbye. I don’t know if I’ll be around until she finishes school and goes off to university. But I can’t help think about the future.
How long can I really do this? Won’t I want to eventually get married and have children of my own? And what if Jack wants to start dating again? What will become of me?
The thought of living the next ten years in that spare bedroom while loving Jack St. Claire in secret with these faintly drawn boundaries sounds torturous. But not as much as falling out with him and losing Bea forever.
Both scenarios terrify me; suddenly, the future feels like a disease we can’t outrun. It will either be a long, agonizing death or a quick, painful one. Either way, it’s going to hurt.
Eventually, I’m going to have to make a choice. Stay here and devote my life to this family as a nanny, or save my own heart and say goodbye before it grows too attached.
Who am I kidding? It’s already too late for that.
Every night, Jack and I have the same routine. I put Bea to bed and wait for him to come home. When he does, I slip upstairs, where we lose ourselves in ropes and sex. We know each other’s bodies now like devoted lovers. We have seen each other at our most vulnerable.
I have become Jack’s hobby.
We usually talk after sex, but it’s always about work or my life before I came here. It’s never about the future orus—although I’m not sure there is anus.
These are the thoughts that plague my mind as I walk back from dropping Bea off at school. The weather is starting to grow bitter as winter approaches. The leaves of Paris have turned gold and copper, and with every gust of wind that blows, the trees drop even more. They skitter noisily along the ground. It’s a cruel reminder that everything changes, and time stands still for no one.
When I get back to the house, I hold on to a small hope that Jack will still be there. I want to kiss him in the daylight again, even if we’re not in public. I can’t stop thinking about the gravity of that kiss and everything it represented.
But when the door of the apartment closes behind me and his jacket is not hanging on the hook, I know he’s already gone.The house is empty and quiet, and all the chores I need to do are waiting for me.
With a sigh, I go to the kitchen to get started on the meal prep for dinner tonight when I see the lunch container Jack normally takes to work still sitting on the counter.Maybe he is still here.
“Jack?” I call, but I’m met with silence.
I stare at his lunch, contemplating it. I could take it to him. I know where he works; I’ve been there twice before.
Surely, that wouldn’t raise suspicions. I’m just doing my job.
Plus, I’d get to see him again.
It really doesn’t take much more convincing than that. I slip my shoes and jacket back on and take his lunch out the door with me. The club is only a twenty-minute walk from the apartment. I think he walks most of the time too.
When I get to the club, the first thing I notice is that they’ve changed the sign above the door. Now it’s sleek pink over black, displayed above the grand-looking double doors. There are construction workers going in and out when I slip through the door unnoticed. Standing in the main room of the club, I marvel at the changes.
Before, it just looked like any nightclub—harsh strobe lights, silver fixtures, black furniture. But now, it looks like something out of a movie. It screams dynamic luxury and energetic opulence. Lush magenta fabric and ornate onyx fixtures fill the space. There is an intricate black crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. This is no longer their parents’ club.
I’m staring with my mouth open when a handsome, slender man with chin-length blond hair and dashing almond-shaped eyes passes by me. He stops when he sees me.
“Hello there,” he says slyly. When he grins, his face practically glows with mischief.
“Bonjour,” I say out of habit. “Is Jack here?” I hold up the lunch case, and the blond man eyes it skeptically.
“He is,” he says carefully before taking the lunchbox from my hand. “Jack didn’t tell me he was dating anyone.”
My eyes bug out wide. “Oh, I’m not his— I mean, I’m just the nanny.”
The man takes a keen interest, stepping toward me. “Just the nanny?” When he smiles, he’s disarmingly handsome in a way that I fear could be weaponized and used against unsuspecting victims who suddenly find themselves falling in love and handing over their hearts.
Shuffling my feet, I glance around the empty club to see if I can spot Jack instead of looking into this man’s villainous eyes.
“I’m Julian,” he says. He has an interesting accent. Clearly American but with a hint of French.
