Page 31 of The Nanny

Do I even want to try?

“I can’t answer that right now,” I confess, shaking my head. “All I know for sure is that I’m not ready to walk away yet.”

There isn’t a better answer, even within the privacy of my own thoughts. But I do feel better now that some of my feelings are out in the open and my best friend has at least confirmed I’m not going crazy or being too unrealistic.

So that’s a start. And the rest?

I guess I’ll have to figure it out some other time. For now, I’m just going to enjoy Kaia’s company and push everything else to the back of my mind. God knows the reality of my situation will come rushing back soon enough.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

KEIRAN

It’s our last night in New York before we fly back to Glasgow, and while I’m tempted to spend the next few hours naked in bed with Ella, there’s something more important—yes, more important than hot sex with a beautiful woman—that I want to do first.

She’s looking at me from the corner of her eye across the backseat of the SUV, and damn, she looks so fucking good in that little black dress. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” I ask, echoing my own thoughts.

A light shade of pink creeps up from her low-cut neckline. “Thank you, but I really wish you’d tell me where we’re going.” She glances out the window at the New York City streets as we glide past, then back over to me. “Will you at least give me a hint? One tiny, little hint?”

This is the fourth time she’s asked for one tiny, little hint, and my answer has been the same every time—though I can’t help but smile a little as I shake my head. “Nope. I can’t give you any hints without giving the secret away. But I will say that we’re almost there.”

She might be acting irritated but I can tell she’s growing more and more excited by the idea of some mysterious surprise with each passing second. And if I’m being honest, I’m growing more excited as I anticipate the look on her pretty face when we finally reach our destination.

Another honest truth?

I’m just glad to be out of the dog house with her.

Not that I totally deserved all the anger and frustration she’s been sending my direction over the past week since that confrontation with my parents. But I’ll admit—at least within the privacy of my own thoughts—that I bear some of the responsibility for what went down that day.

I shouldn’t have let my parents stay as long as they did. They never would have had a chance to say those disgusting things about Ella if I hadn’t frozen like a deer in headlights.

Hell, I never should have let Kinsley in at all. It was a setup from the very beginning, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Oh my God, Kier,” Ella’s face lights up when the SUV stops in front of the Lincoln Center complex. “Are we—did you know there was an exhibit here?”

Damn, I can’t get enough of her smile. It’s more addictive than any drug.

“You mentioned it a few days ago,” I shrug, trying to act like I haven’t been planning this evening for the past forty-eight hours. “You said there would be pictures of you from when you were in the ballet here, and I…”

Her smile grows wider. “You want to see pictures of me? I didn’t think you were even paying attention when I was talking about this exhibit.”

The driver walks around to open her door and I follow her out of the vehicle. “Surprise,” I offer my arm as we walk up the steps together. “I’m not a self-absorbed asshole one hundred percent of the time.”

“I never said you were.” She shoots me a look from the corner of her eye, then offers a half-shrug of her own. “Just ninety-five percent of the time.”

I sweep her up the stairs and into the grand building

I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.” I nod toward the first photo display. “Seriously, though, I was curious to see this other side of you. Seems like a completely different world from what you do now.”

“Yeah,” she studies the photos for several long seconds without saying anything else, then adds, “It is a completely different world. I… was a different person then.”

We slowly walk around the exhibit, then stop in front of a life-size black and white photo of a ballerina mid-jump. Her shoulders are back and her chin is jutting out proudly. Her feet are off the floor and her toes are pointed straight down. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s a picture of Ella.

When I look over at her, I can see that her eyes are bright with emotion. “You look amazing here,” I say, meaning it. “Do you remember the moment this picture was taken?”

She shakes her head without taking her eyes off the photo. “No, but I remember that feeling. That feeling of nailing it, of being the best one out there, the center of attention.” Finally she looks up at me, a tiny line appearing between her eyebrows. “How am I supposed to compete with that picture? With that version of myself?”

“It isn’t a competition. You’re still the same person.”

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