Page 14 of Hot Momosa

Memories of my childhood flashed through my mind. My father working himself into oblivion. My mother drinking herself into a rage. Me hiding in my room and praying she wouldn’t come for me. I couldn’t go back there. I wouldn’t. “I’ve been looking at apartments in Baton Rouge. I’ll find a place as soon as possible, but I’m not moving into the governor’s mansion.”

“The car will be there first thing in the morning. You will come home, for your father’s sake. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, but I said no.” I hung up before he could respond. It might have been cowardly, but I was a practical woman. Practical enough to remove myself from an argument that would end in more threats. Besides, he couldn’t exactly take me out of my home by force. Not with the paparazzi watching my every move.

“Everything okay?” Stuart glanced my way, before turning his attention back to the road.

“As good as can be expected.” I’d have another conversation with my dad once we’d both had a chance to cool off. Once the smoke cleared with the photos, he’d see reason. He had to.

Stuart and I spent the remainder of the drive in an awkward silence.

When we arrived at my house, I blew out a sigh of relief when no reporters jumped out of the bushes. “Thank you for driving me home.”

“It was my pleasure.” He cut the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition.

“You don’t need to walk me to the door.”

Stuart nodded to a large man standing at the corner. The guy wore a Cuban shirt, knee socks, and sandals. “That’s no tourist.”

I pressed myself back against the seat in hopes of staying out of sight. “Sure looks like one. How can you tell?”

“This neighborhood doesn’t draw many sightseers, and I’m betting that bulge in his pocket isn’t a water bottle. My guess is a telescopic lens for that camera around his neck.”

“Dammit.” I dug in my purse for my keys. “I’m going to make a break for it.”

“No. Stay put until I give you the signal.” He climbed out of the vehicle and strode up the street toward the paparazzo.

The reporter turned and ran as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.

Stuart glanced over his shoulder and gave me a quick nod before taking off after the guy.

I bolted for the house, dropped the keys, circled back to pick them up, and made it to the front porch in time to see another reporter coming from the back of my house.

Christina, the nanny, threw the front door open and ushered me inside. “I called the police five minutes ago and reported two of them in the backyard.”

When I’d left the Marchionnis’, I had every intention of giving the woman hell for keeping Leo and Gunnar’s visits from me. One glance at her twitching eye and shaking hands, and I thought the better of it. I needed her more than I cared to admit. “Are you okay? Did they try to get inside?”

“I caught them looking in the kitchen window.” Her voice rose with each word. “Scared the dickens out of me. You know I love that little boy, but I’m not sure I can—”

Oh God, no. She can’t quit.“Please. You’ve had quite a scare. Go home, get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

She gulped down a breath and sobbed it back up. “I hate to leave you without help, but I’m too old for this, Miss Calhoun.”

Christina hadn’t called me by my surname since the day she’d interviewed for the job.

“Please reconsider.”

“I’m sorry.” She avoided my gaze. “I have to go.”

I lowered my voice and wrapped my arms around my middle. “Shouldn’t you at least stay and talk to the police? They’ll want a witness statement.”

“Give them my contact information if you must.” She snatched her purse from the counter and hurried out the front door.

As if he sensed her exit, Gunnar cried out from the back of the house. “Miss Stina!”

How in the hell am I going to explain to a toddler that his beloved nanny isn’t coming back? Worse still, how am I going to explain we’re homeless?

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