Page 60 of Bully Wolf's Nanny
Her cheeks burned as she looked at the baby cradled in his arms. “Nicolas, I can’t even…I’m just so so—"
He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear it tonight, Daisy. We’ll discuss it all in the morning when we’ve had some sleep. I need to…” he sighed, running his hand through his inky locks, disturbing them out of their slicked-back elegance, one lock curling over his forehead. “I need to gather my thoughts. Make some preparations.”
She swallowed. “Of course.”
Her voice sounded tiny even to her own ears. Preparations. Of course he needed to make preparations. After all, he would be firing her in the morning. He needed to line up another nanny, perhaps. Or sort out the legal part of getting rid of her.
She wouldn’t make it difficult for him. She would leave with her head held high. No trouble, no fuss. It was for the best, really. She had been trying to figure out how she could leave for weeks now. This was perhaps just fate intervening on her behalf.
As she began trudging up the steps, Thea half asleep trailing behind her, Nicolas quietly said, “Sleep well, Daisy.”
She didn’t reply. How could she? Tears pricked her eyes, a lump growing in her throat. Tiredness swirled with shame and regret deep inside her, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to bury herself beneath a mountain of pillows and cry herself to sleep.
Although perhaps that was being dishonest with herself. What she actually wanted more than anything was for Nicolas to join her there, to hold her close and soothe her to sleep, to kiss away her tears and forgive her.
She shook her head. That was a stupid, childish dream. One that she should have left behind years ago. But there was no denying the truth. Nicolas Accardi had burrowed his way into her heart eight years ago, and taken it for himself. He was a possessive man. He would not give it back, even when he had drained every last ounce of pleasure for himself.
All along, she had been nothing more than a toy for him to use. He had been her everything.
***
As it turned out, sleep did not come easy to Daisy that night, and she spent a good two hours tossing and turning before finally giving up and flicking the light on, deciding that if she was going to have to deal with insomnia then she might as well try and enjoy a good book. Chances are she would never get to relax in a bed this luxurious again, and she intended to enjoy it whilst it lasted.
That was when the knock on the door came.
Thinking it was Thea, stomach perhaps still sore from her ordeal, she leapt out of bed and padded to the door, fully ready to embrace her daughter.
But it wasn’t Thea on the other side.
It was Francesca. Holding up an envelope. A spark of pure malevolence in her eye.
“Mind if I come in?” she crooned, casting her critical gaze over Daisy’s sunflower-print pajamas, the cool smooth satin of her own decadent nightgown rustling as she shifted her weight.
“Of course not,” Daisy said automatically, stepping aside to allow Francesca to waltz in, her tired brain too muddled and confused to be anything other than completely polite.
“Nice bedroom,” Francesca said with a hint of irritation as she took in the luxurious fittings, “must be nearly as big as Nicolas’s room.”
Daisy sucked in a breath. How did Francesca know what Nicolas’s room looked like? Had she come from there just now? Her stomach tightened at the mere thought.
“It seems I wasn’t the only one who fancied a spot of late-night reading,” Francesca said, settling in one of the chairs by the fireplace, one long leg crossing over the other, “although I doubt anything you’re reading is nearly as interesting as what I’ve got here.”
Her blood-red nails were stark against the white paper of the envelope she folded over in her hands. Daisy’s blood turned to ice as she recognized the hospital’s logo in the corner.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice stiff. “Why are you here?”
Francesca laughed, high and tinkling, blue eyes narrowing with vicious glee. “Oh, Daisy, can’t you guess? Perhaps not. You do strike me as a little bit simple, so perhaps I should spell it out for you.”
She withdrew papers from the envelope, dangling them tauntingly at Daisy before unfurling them to read.
“Both children were admitted to our facility, each presenting with acute allergic reactions consistent with exposure to strawberries. As part of our standard evaluation for pediatric patients presenting with identical allergenic responses and similar phenotypic traits, and given the overlapping timelines and presentation, our clinical team initiated a comparative genetic screening. This was done to determine any underlying genetic predisposition that might aid in their treatment and future care.”
With each word, Daisy's heart dropped lower. No. No, this had to be some sort of trick.
But then the doctor had been so determined to speak to Nicolas, so surprised when he had said Thea wasn’t his daughter, so adamant he had found important information that he needed to discuss. And Daisy had been too preoccupied with Nicolas’s anger at her to truly notice.
Francesca had taken the results instead.
“The analysis revealed that Grace Accardi and Thea Copperfield share a significant percentage of genetic markers indicative of a half-sibling relationship, sharing one biological parent. This finding was made during internal assessment protocols. We recognize the sensitivity of this information and recommend follow-up discussions with a licensed genetic counselor or pediatric specialist to further understand the implications and next steps.”
