Page 9 of Take A Chance

I laughed. “Well, this friend is more like Mrs. Pilcher.”

“Does she like ponies? Because I want a nanny who likes ponies. I want to be an equestrian.” Her blue saucer eyes stared up at me with intrigue, but I had to admit to her that I knew almost nothing about Emma. And the things I did know about her were things a child should never hear.

“We can ask her when we meet her. How about you tell me about your day?” I leaned in closer. I didn’t often get to greet her when she first came home from school. Most times, it was only to tuck her in at night, which was why Sundays were so important to me.

“I want to know more about the new friend. Can you tell me if she knows how to plait hair? Because Jasmine’s mother plaits her hair for her almost every day, and Marta and Greta say it takes too much time. A ponytail is boring.” Katelyn rocked on her knees, shaking the stool, and Marta rushed over.

“Now, be polite, Katelyn.” She set the plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of the girl. “Your father wants to hear about your day.” Marta glanced at me, placating and nodding. “And you are going to tip your stool. Please sit still.”

I nodded and waved Marta off. I was happy to have so many mother hens to help with my daughter, but at times I felt they interfered a bit. Marta curtsied and excused herself.

“I’m sorry, Father. My day was boring. Mrs. Evans only wanted to do math today. I don’t like adding cubes together. I’d rather have Mrs. Miller for art class and paint with my fingers.” She held her hand up and wiggled her fingers as if they were covered in paint, then picked up a cookie and dunked it in the milk, a feat that would surely draw the maid’s ire. I grabbed a cookie too and dunked it before taking a bite.

“You like math, though.”

“No, I like painting. And I read a new book today,Hansel and Gretel. The teacher said I did very well. And after that, we did piano lessons. Mrs. Hartsock shouted at me for kicking the piano again, but my legs are too short. I can’t help it if my feet swing when I’m playing a song I like.” She shoved the whole cookie into her mouth, and I laughed.

“It sounds like a good day.”

“Except all the girls loved Jasmine’s hair.” She shrugged and dipped another cookie then looked up at me. “Can we talk about the nanny now? Is she pretty? What’s her name? Does she like dogs? Can we get a dog now that Mrs. Pilcher is gone? She hated dogs.”

I finished my cookie and patted her back. I treasured these moments, remembering moments of my own similar to this with my parents. “I think we should just ask her these questions. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. You can tell me.” Another cookie sank into the milk and vanished into her mouth, and the plate was empty. Katelyn was a very well-behaved child by anyone’s standards, though she had her moments of being naughty. I was certain she would behave for Emma, though I wasn’t sure their personalities would mesh. I could only hope.

“Well, her name is Ms. Clarke. That’s a start, right?”

“Does she like cats? Jasmine has a cat, and its name is Snowball.” Katelyn slid off the stool and picked up her plate. She set it in the sink and returned to grab the glass of milk, from which she hadn’t taken a single drink. I raised my eyebrows at her, and she sighed, then put the glass to her lips and drank until the glass was empty.

“Thank you.” I turned in the seat, resting one elbow on the counter. The sun was getting lower in the sky, which meant dinner and then bedtime, though I wished it would linger a bit longer and I could spend more time with Katelyn, perhaps take her to her chess lessons myself. But I had work to be done, and we had to welcome Emma.

“Do you think she will read to me the way Mrs. Pilcher did? Or will she let me read to her?” Katelyn leaned over her stool, kicking her feet up behind herself. She had too much energy for indoors. I needed to find her some way to use it in a positive manner. Perhaps adding a sport to her list of activities would benefit her.

“I think you can ask her yourself. Go up to Mrs. Pilcher’s old room and see if she is there. Be polite and respectful.”

She scowled at me and rolled her eyes, the worst of the bad behavior her little mind could think up. Then she sauntered out of the room, using the back staircase to head up to the second floor. I, however, sat thinking about Emma. I knew so little about her. On paper, she was perfect, but she could very well have been an axe murderer for all I knew. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number I hadn’t used in a while, not since my ex who'd nearly ruined me. My private investigator wasn’t on speed dial, but we were on a first-name basis.

“Blake, how’s it going, man?” He was too cheerful at times, but at least he wasn’t a sullen asshole.

“Good, good. Listen, Jerry, do you mind looking into someone for me?” I looked out across the back yard as the clouds moved in. We were expecting rain. It sort of matched my mood at the current moment, frustrated with myself for letting my body get so worked up over Emma, only to have to deny my desires. Had I allowed myself to fully cut loose, I’d have just met her at the door, invited her for a drink, and had her splayed out over my king-sized bed by now.

“Sure, no problem.”

“I’ll shoot you an email. Her name is Emma Clarke. Just a routine background check is good. Make sure she’s clean.”

“Anything else?” he asked. My usual checks were much more in depth—especially given my history—but I wasn’t that worried this time.

“No. If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know.” I hung up and strolled toward my den. I needed a drink to take the edge off.

7

Emma

Istared into the deep brown eyes of a woman I’d known my whole life. Giada Luccino had vanished from my life eleven years ago. She was dead—or, I was told she was dead. I’d watched my mother mourn her death so deeply I thought she’d never be the same woman. Seeing Giada was like looking into my mother’s eyes. Like seeing a ghost.

“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” Her hands trembled as the terrified whisper escaped her lips. She was pale, her warm tone drained from her face. Her eyebrows were high and wide as she drew her hand to her forehead then her chest, then one shoulder and the other. I grabbed her hand as she finished the cross, a sanctification for her life in the moment of her fear.

“No, Giada, I’m not here to kill you.” I clutched her hand in mine. I wanted to throw my arms around her and hold her, but I also didn’t want to frighten her. I could imagine how my appearance would affect her so deeply. Her sons, still deeply entrenched in the family business, had accused her of betrayal, a death sentence for anyone. “I’m the new nanny.”

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