Chapter 8

I check the address and then check it again. Sure enough, this is the house. Except to call it a house might be an insult. It’s more like a mansion. The sheer size of the building is only outdone by the sprawling lawns surrounding it.

I walk up to the intercom at the gate and press the call button.

“Yes.” Says the voice on the other side.

“Hi, I’m Lily. I was just hired as the new nanny.” I explain and the door opens. I walk up to the main entrance where I’m greeted by a frowning little man in a smart gray suit. He looks down at me and surveys me from head to foot. He’s definitely not impressed with what he sees, because his eyes take on an indignant expression and his lip curls a bit.

I look down at myself expecting to see a stain on my dress or something else to warrant that look. I see nothing.

“Miss Lily, I am Thomas. The Whitmore family butler.” He reluctantly introduces himself and quickly turns, disappearing inside the house. Assuming I’m to follow him, I pick up my suitcase and rush inside.

The inside of the house is just as gorgeous as the outside. The décor of the foyer probably costs more than my entire apartment.

“And may I ask, Miss, what are your credentials?” Thomas asks.

“A year and half experience as a nanny.” I say.

“With which family?” He raises a brow.

“A neighbor down the road from where I grew up.” I say, hoping he doesn’t ask for further details. I didn’t really grow up there. It was a foster family I lived with for a while. The nanny job ended when I was moved to another house.

“Hmmm…” He sounds completely unimpressed.

“I’m also in college for pediatrics.” I rush to add. This doesn’t change his expression.

He stares at me for a moment. “Grace is a very special child.” He says, still looking down his nose at me. “She must be provided the very best standard of care.”

“I understand.” I nod, but he doesn’t look convinced. Instead, he turns and walks down the hall, glancing back only once to make sure I’m following.

We walk into the living room and across to the parlor where I spy a little girl lying on the rug. She’s wearing a pretty dress and stockings, and her hair is curled and tied back with ribbons. She looks like she’s ready to go out to a nice dinner, not playing at home. She lays on her stomach, paper and crayons sprawled out around her.

“Miss Grace, may I introduce Miss Lily, your new nanny.” The butler says tightly, as though it pains him to say it.

Grace doesn’t even look up. She just continues to draw. The butler sighs a bit, then gives me another look that seems to say he doesn’t expect great things before walking away. Well, I guess that’s all for the job introduction then.

I set my suitcase on the floor next to the door and approach the little girl on the floor. She doesn’t acknowledge me as I sit on the floor next to her. “May I join you?” I ask her. She shrugs and keeps coloring.

I look down at her drawing. I took an introductory child psychology class last semester as part of the pediatrics program. I remember enough about it to suspect that this child is a little depressed. All of the pictures are made with dark neutrals of blacks, browns, and greys. There’s no color anywhere. Each drawing contains a solitary person standing alone, which I recall is a sign that indicates loneliness.

I pick up a crayon and start to draw. “You’re a wonderful artist. Who is that in the picture?” I ask. Grace doesn’t respond. I look up to see that Thomas has poked his head back in. There’s an undeniable smirk on his face when it’s clear Grace is ignoring my question.

I suppress the urge to throw my crayon at him. I can already tell that I’m not going to get along with this man.

We continue to color for a while when I hear a conversation in the hall. Thomas is speaking to someone. From the voice, it’s a woman.

“…Yet another unqualified girl who has lied her way into a job here. No doubt thinking that she might be the next Mrs. Whitmore. I don’t give her long. I’ll have her out of here in a few weeks.”

“See to it that she doesn’t cause too much damage in the meantime.” The woman warns.

“Not at all, Ma’am. Trust me. I am an excellent judge of character, and this girl doesn’t have what it takes to threaten your place as the true Matriarch.” He assures her.

What crazy soap opera have I walked into? Who are these people? If only they knew who I was, or more directly, who my boyfriend was. We may be a long way off from marriage, but I was closer to being Mrs. Whitmore than they probably realized.

“What’s that?” a small voice asks. I look back at Grace and realize that she’s pointing to something on my paper.

“It’s a garden.” I say. “All of the colors are different flowers.”

“It’s very pretty.” Grace says. “I like flowers. Why are you drawing them?”

“I don’t know.” I answer. “I’ve drawn them ever since I was your age. I think it’s because I spent a lot of time with different families, but I didn’t have one of my own. I like gardens because they remind me of beautiful things even when I’m sad. There are so many flowers all together, so they’re never alone.”

Grace meets my eyes, and I give her a bright smile. Then she’s standing up and leaning over to wrap her arms around my neck as though she sees through the lie of the smile and is trying to comfort me as. Perceptive kid.

She releases me and goes back to her picture. “What are you drawing?” I ask.

“A forest.” She says. “Forests are dark though. Not bright like a garden.”

“Forests can be very dark.” I say, nodding my head. “But they can bright and beautiful too. There are green trees and grass, and butterflies, and birds.”

Grace’s face lights up a bit. “Butterflies? Where?”

I point to a blank spot on the page. “You could put them there. A bunch of them.”

“Will you help me?” She asks, handing me a pink crayon.

“Of course.” I say, taking it and showing her how to add the butterfly wings.

We draw like that for twenty minutes or so. Grace’s drawings slowly get brighter and brighter along with her smile. She starts chatting more, talking about the house, and her toys, and the people at her school.

I take the opportunity to look around the parlor and notice the pictures on the tables and walls. Then I look again. Julian’s face looks back at me from within the frames. A young Julian, but him nonetheless. In several, an older, familiar looking man is with him.

Adrian.

He stands next to his son on a gym floor, looking every bit the proud father as Julian holds a trophy over his head. Another one shows the two of them in a music studio, another at a concert. Each one is the picture of a loving father with his beloved son.

Suddenly, the realization hits me with the force of a truck. I’m in Adrian’s house. I start to look around, as if expecting him to be lurking in the corner.

I’m not sure how I didn’t piece it together before. The man I spoke to described Grace as Adrian’s ward. I assumed she lived here with relatives. I don’t know why, but I expected Adrian to have a place in the city, closer to where he must do business.

If I’m going to work here, I have to know. “Grace, how do you know Adrian?” I ask her.

She looks at me and shrugs as if puzzled about why I would ask such a thing and says in a soft voice, “He’s my daddy.”

Daddy? Does Adrian have a secret daughter no one knows about? I feel like Julian would have mentioned a little sister. Then again, he didn’t tell me he was the son of a billionaire either, so heaven only knows what else he isn’t telling me about.

“My daddy is a good daddy.” Grace babbles on innocently. “Since you don’t have one, maybe you can call him daddy too.”

My face instantly blanches and words leave my brain as I fight for a response. Memories of the other night flood my mind. Laying half naked beneath Adrian with my legs wrapped around his waist and calling him that word with a far different meaning attached to it.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t work here knowing Adrian lives here too. This is all just too much.

A noise from the door has me snapping my attention to it.

He is standing there in a fitted suit, his imposing presence larger than the space should allow. His handsome face is likely a mirror of mine, as if he heard what his daughter just said, and was thinking of the same memory.

Adrian.