Page 41 of Mr. Wolfe's Nanny

I get stuck in my head without his calming presence and those flutters in my belly promise nothing good. I’m wondering if this is how Cinderella felt when the clock was striking twelve and her pumpkin coach smashed to pieces under her.

The gradual tightening in my chest and the increasing perspiration under my arms and elsewhere builds as Theo takes the stage.Breathe, Quinn. His steady, deep voice calms me, even from a distance, temporarily.

But then, the winner is announced and there’s a loud uproar at the next table. Excited journalists jostle and jump like it’s the Academy Awards or something, knocking into each other to offer congratulatory hugs. The winner stumbles into me on his way to the stage, unfamiliar hands grabbing my shoulders to steady himself and crushing my toes, a man high on wine and winning. Theo’s glass is knocked off the table and glass shatters, triggering horrifying memories.

Breathe.

I can’t.

The snow blows in a darkened sky. I’m trapped.

I have to get out of here.

20- Theo

“I’m sorry.” She sounds miserable as Dan pulls away from the curb. I raise the divider to spare her Dan’s well-meaning curiosity while hating that she feels as if she did something wrong.

And, I hate myself for not thinking this through. I should’ve realized how overwhelming the evening might be for her. I did think about it but then, I was so damn glad to have her going with me, I seemed to forget.

“Please, don’t say that again, Quinn.I’msorry.”

From the stage, I’d noticed she was missing as the winner had been making his acceptance speech. I have never heard a more long-winded acceptance speech in my life. You’d think he’d ended hunger or brought about world peace.

As soon as I could reasonably leave the stage, I’d gone searching for her, worrying that something beyond a call of nature had prompted her to leave. I’d found her hiding in an alcove outside the ballroom with her hands clenched tightly into fists around the soft red crepe fabric of her dress and tears coating her cheeks as she took deep, desperate gulps of air into her lungs.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. You’re safe. Breathe. Breathe with me, sweetheart,”I’d rambled, wanting so much to make things better and not sure how to do it.

Luckily, she found her way out of the past and her panic. She’d leaned into me, her softer, smaller body seeking shelter against mine and, I’ve got to admit, I liked thinking maybe I brought her some comfort.

For a long time, I’d rubbed my hands up and down her bare arms until her breathing was under control again and the tears had dried up. I’d wanted to coax a smile back to her face with a kiss but this was all my fault.“Let’s go home,”I’d suggested and she’d given me a sorrowful nod.

“I didn’t mean to disrupt your night or-”

“Quinn, I only went because my father didn’t want to go this year and it’s expected that someone from Wolfe Media will attend. And you were only there because I asked you. Leaving early is not a hardship for me, I promise. I’m very sorry it triggered an attack though.”

She sniffs, angrily. “I hate this. I hate not knowing if I’ll be able to manage a situation or not. I hate always being scared of… everything.”

“You’re hardly scared of everything. You helped Ryder find spiders in the attic this morning.”

A teeny-tiny flicker of a smile. “Those are just arachnids and, so long as they’re not dangerously venomous, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Quinn, do you know how many people freak out over spiders?”

She shrugs. “They don’t scare me.”

“Well, don’t tell Ryder but they scare me. You’ve clearly never seen me do the spider dance when I walk through a cobweb.”

Ah, there’s that smile. “The spider dance? You?”

“Yes, me.”

I give a full-body shiver to emphasize the point and she laughs. I tug her closer, wrap an arm around her shoulders and feel an immense satisfaction when she relaxes against me with a contented sigh. I don’t want to take her home tonight with her eyes still red-rimmed and not knowing if she’ll feel depressed now that the panic has passed. I want to see her smile some more.

“I’ll bet your wife never freaked out and made you leave an event early,” Quinn murmurs into my shoulder.

Where did that come from? “Not that I recall,” I say after reflecting a moment, “but she wasn’t wealthy growing up and she admitted when we were first married that she’d probably always feel out of place among my parents’ friends.”

Quinn looks up at me, her long, lush lashes sweeping back and forth in a slow blink. Mesmerizing. “Oh?”

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