I sat on the floor of my tiny studio apartment, eating cereal straight out of the box, and I opened my laptop and applied to The Bellamy Group. I decided what I really needed was to think out of the box and take on an entirely different kind of job.They place elite nannies with high-net-worth families. Royalty. Celebrities. Billionaires. I had no business applying. My résumé was solid but notBellamysolid.
But I guess I had something most candidates don’t.
In my undergrad for Early Childhood Education, I’d taken a series of electives in childhood grief and trauma, then I’d kept taking workshops in it. I’d quietly become the teacher at my private preschool who got pulled into every difficult conversation with families dealing with loss. I didn’t think of it as a specialty, I just thought of it aswhat I knew,because I’d lost my own mother too when I was young.The Bellamy Group thought differently. They called me three days after I applied and a week later, I was on a plane to Krovenia.
My head is still spinning.
I still don’t really know how it happened, except that the head housekeeper at a Krovenian royal estate had specifically requested a candidate with grief and trauma training, and apparently, I matched the profile. Their previous three Krovenian nannies hadn’t been able to reach the little princess. So, they’re now so desperate to find someone who will bond with Lily that they’ve widened their search to human nannies. I’m Lily’s first human nanny and she does find me super interesting, which helps.
So I’m digging in, trying my best to let her know I’m here for her and she can count on me. Lily is still very quiet, as if she’s expecting me to leave, too, but I’m taking baby steps, working on gaining her trust and showing her that I care and I’m staying. This will take time, more of a show than tell. But I’m patiently focused on success.
I walk into the kitchen, which is on the ground floor. Cook produces miracles here three times a day. The kitchen is the only room in the estate that feels truly modern with stainless steel ovens, marble countertops and copper pots that hang from arack above the central island. There’s a walk-in pantry that I’m pretty sure has more food in it than my entire hometown grocery store.
The lights are off, but the moon and the rain glow through the windows cast enough light to see. I slip into the pantry like a thief and let out a sigh of relief. There, on the third shelf is a small white box labeledKuchenin Madam Petrova’s handwriting. I open it carefully and let out a tiny gasp of joy.
Three buttery, sugar-dusted pastries. Leftover from dinner. I take one and emerge with my prize and pad over to the fridge for milk. I pour myself a tall glass and lean my hip against the marble island and take the first bite. The crust shatters delicately against my teeth and I instantly hit the perfect chocolate. I make a small, undignified sound of pleasure.
This is the best part of my day.
I take another bite, brushing crumbs off my chin.
And then I hear footsteps in the corridor outside the kitchen. Heavy. Slow. Coming this way. Oh hell. I freeze, pastry halfway to my mouth.
Cook is back? No, Cook went to bed at ten.
A burglar? In a vampire castle? Bold choice.
Suddenly amanstands in the doorway, and I know, somehow, in the bottom of my chest, before my eyes even fully adjust to the dark?—
Oh dear god, it’s him. Viktor of House Draven. The male from the portrait. The darkest badass of Krovenian Vampires.
His long black coat drips rainwater onto the stone floor in slow, steady plinks. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead and curling at the ends, water trailing down his temples. The collar of his dark shirt is open. There’s scruff on his hard jaw and his perfect lips are slightly parted. I can see the very tips of his fangs. He’s furious-handsome, storm-soaked and devastating.
My entire body heats up in response.
Oh wow.
His eyes lock onto me. The Crown Prince drips rain onto the floor, looking at me like I’m a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve yet.
I become aware, with a slow, sinking horror, that I am meeting my employer for the first time, at midnight, in his kitchen, looking like I’ve just been rescued from a sleepover gone wrong. My hair is in a ponytail at the top of my head, without a speck of makeup and there’s a clay mask drying on my face.
Dammit.How unprofessional can this possibly be?
I set the pastry down on the island, very, very slowly, as if not making a sudden movement will somehow make him forget what he just walked in on. I clear my throat. “Um.”
His head tilts, just slightly. “Who are you.” His voice is low and rough and it does something to my insides that I am going to ignoreforever.
I swallow. “Hazel.”
He waits.
“Um, I’m Hazel Novak. I’m the new nanny. You hired me.” I add, because the silence is awful. “Well, Madam Petrova hired me, through The Bellamy Group. You were away. She has hiring authority,” I ramble. “She told me she had hiring authority. I have a contract, it’s in my room. I can go get it if you?—”
“The new nanny.”
“Yes.”
“In my kitchen. At midnight.”
