Page 17 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Artur O’Brian

The delight and yearning in Millie’s clear blue eyes as I say the dumbest shit on earth threatens to pull me in and drown me, but panic erases my urge to snatch up my daughter and run as fast and far away as possible as Millie’s entire countenance changes.

In the blink of an eye, she pushes my hand off Lola’s back, lunges off the couch, and settles my daughter on the floor with awe-inspiring gentleness. Her calm, fluid movements as she positions Lola on the rug as far away from the table legs as possible, braces her on her side using her hip, and props her head on her thigh speaks of years’ worth of experience.

She handles the situation with so much poise and grace, I wonder if I’m projecting my fear and making the moment seem worse than it is, but then Lola makes an animalistic sound of pain.

Instead of harsh demands and frantic instructions like Lola’s first nanny, Millie’s angelic voice weaves a net of comfort and safety as my daughter falls silent. The first convulsion rips my heart shreds. I remain half sitting, half standing from my unconscious move toward them. I can’t bear to see my beautiful, precious baby’s face twisted in pain again, but the thought of abandoning her when she needs me most fills me with shame, so I stay rooted in place.

Time stretches on and on.

I hate this.

Tiny limbs jerk and thrash.

My eyes land on the edge of the table. The medicine. I grab it and rush around to Lola’s front.

Long, dainty fingers snatch the packet out of my hands before I can rip it open, but instead of reaching for the pull tabs, Millie places the medicine on her opposite thigh.

“What are you doing? Give it to her,” I snarl.

A keening sound fills the air. Relief floods my veins.

“She’s okay, Artur. She’s already coming out of it. Sit down and comfort her,” Millie says.

She delivers the command with such surety, I obey without hesitation.

I drop onto my ass, uncaring about my expensive suit, and comfort my daughter as best I can. My fingers tremble as I brush her hair back from her face.

Inexplicable pain pulses through me as Lola’s cries change as she gains consciousness. If I could take this away from her, I would. I’ll never forgive myself for my inadequacies.

Lola is my world. I may have felt trapped when Regina first told me of her pregnancy, but I cannot imagine my life now without my daughter.

Millie’s string of supportive words never ceases. Somehow she coaxes me to join her until our voices intertwine.

Lola calms faster than ever before, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and holds her arms out to me. With mesmerizing grace, Millie lifts her off the floor and places her in my arms.

My baby is okay.

The immensity of my relief cannot be measured. In an odd stupor of glee and gratitude, I cradle Lola harder against my chest and lift my gaze to the woman who guided and comforted my daughter and me through the most terrifying process imaginable.

All my doubts about her being the right caretaker for my child fade away. The difference between her calm, caring, yet firm guidance through such a terrifying experience compared to the previous nanny’s harshness are night and day.

She must be an angel. The sweetest, fiercest guardian angel my daughter could ever ask for.

She masterfully used my own worries to manipulate me into doing what was best for Lola and reacted with startling swiftness but never lost her compassion. Never fumbled my daughter, barked out orders, or discounted my terror.

Her calmness was a balm neither me nor Lola knew we needed, but we needed it so desperately our hearts wailed in distress.

Millie Grant truly wants only the best for my daughter.

It makes no sense. Less than fifteen minutes ago, I hated her with every fiber of my being and was so skeptical I planned to turn her away despite her excellent credentials. Now I’m wondering how we ever managed without her and will trust no one except her with my Lola’s care.

It’s too fast. I should hold judgment for a few more days—or at least for a few more hours to see how she handles the day-to-day activities—but my instincts insist she’s the one. The only one.

No other nanny can measure up to her. She’s so skilled she was even able to educate me while ensuring my daughter had the best support.

But even guardian angels need to be kept in check at times. I cannot allow her to corrupt my daughter’s character.