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I spit my mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and watch the water spiral down the drain. It’s not like I’m actually a prisoner here. I could choose to go home at any time. It just makes more sense to stay here instead of commuting even further than I already would to get to work. And what if the kids needsomething in the middle of the night? I hardly think Lucas is up to changing diapers by himself.
Which is a good point. Who has been changing Ava’s diapers? She’s not quite old enough to have mastered potty training, I don’t think. Realizing that Chloe must have been bearing that particular burden until now, I’m filled with an overwhelming feeling of recognition. The trials of being the oldest sibling never really end. Something about it always ages you beyond your years.
The apartment seems relatively quiet, so I’m surprised when I walk into the kitchen to find Noah sitting by himself on the sofa watching a cartoon. “Good morning,” I say trying to mask my bafflement.
Noah spins in his seat to face me, his mouth splitting into an enormous grin. “Hello, Auntie Sophie,” he says. “Have you come for your breakfast?”
That’s another logistical issue I forgot to consider last night when I agreed to this. After all, I spent much of yesterday afternoon increasingly trying to entertain three small children who haven't really slept in two days and who are full of a restless kind of energy. Fortunately, Lucas doesn’t seem to bat an eyelid at the idea of ordering out for every single meal, and the cupboards in his kitchen are full of chips and crackers and other snacks. Just not any real food.
Not that we saw him very much at all yesterday. He claimed he had some very important work to do, that he absolutely needed to spend some time in his room video-calling various businesspeople. Which he should have known I would realize was a massive lie, because I sorted out his calendar yesterday and we agreed to clear out the entire afternoon for dealing withthe ramifications of the meeting in the morning. Which he didn’t attend. And which he still hasn’t done anything, so far as I can tell, to deal with.
Yet another thing I’ll have added to my plate this week, I have no doubt.
“I’d say let’s have pancakes, but I don’t know about you — I’m still scarred from yesterday. I think it’s gonna be a long time before I’ll want pancakes again.”
Noah giggles exactly like I intended for him to. When he nods in agreement, his new haircut flops wildly into his eyes. I did my best yesterday to try and tidy it up, but I’m no hairstylist, and Chloe really went to town giving him some unusual layers.
“No, I think pancakes are a very bad idea,” he says. “My favorite is chocolate cereal, but Uncle Lucas doesn’t have any cereal at all.”
I scoff. “That can’t be true. Everyone has to have cereal in their house somewhere, even if it’s a really terrible one. Should we go and investigate?”
Noah nods again. “Yes, please. But we did do a lot of looking yesterday. And we didn’t see anything at all. It’s like Uncle Lucas doesn’t eat at all!”
I don’t bother to tell him that that’s basically true. All I’ve ever seen Lucas eat is protein bars and shakes and expensive sushi from the place downtown. It’s like he doesn’t need to act like a human to stay alive. So it doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t have any breakfast food. That’s a meal I’ve never seen him have.
I offer my hand to Noah, and together we head off to investigate the kitchen. Noah shows me the cupboards they already lookedthrough and we find them still totally bare. But none of the kids are quite tall enough to have been able to reach the very top cupboards. And that's where we finally find the treasure.
“Chocolate Wheat Squares,” I read after I pull the box down. “I think we'll have to make do with this, kiddo.”
Noah shakes his head “Sea Boy,” he corrects me. “That's what Daddy calls me. Like the story. Noah and the ark. Do you know it?”
I can't help but grin as I grab some bowls. Not wanting to crush him by telling him that everyone knows that story, I just say, “I do, but it's been a long time since I heard it. Do you want to tell it to me again?”
“Okay!”
I nod in all the appropriate places as he launches into the tale of animals going two by two. The cereal is kind of stale, but we should be due a delivery of groceries this morning — Lucas paid extra for next-day delivery. I can’t believe I’m about to cook for him for the next month. He owes me big time for this.
“Auntie Sophie,” Noah mumbles around a mouthful of stale squares, “can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you and Uncle Lucas married?”
I choke on my breakfast. “Huh?” I manage.
Noah blinks at me in sincerity. “Are you married? You live here and you’re looking after us and you know him really well. Do you love him?”
That’s too many difficult questions for a morning. I have to pick my words carefully here. “No,” I say slowly, drawing the syllable out. “We’re not married. And I don’t live here. I’m like… well… I’m his personal assistant. And right now, I suppose I’m your nanny.”
“Do youwantto marry him?” Noah asks, eyes wide with curiosity.
Fortunately, I’m spared the humiliation of trying to figure out how to explain to a little kid that a relationship between a boss and an employee is usually considered taboo, and that Lucas is an annoying, arrogant prick who barely sees me as human, let alone a romantic interest, and that despite the fact that he’s considered one of the most attractive billionaires in the world, I don’t see it. Two screams in quick succession make us snap to attention, and we look at each other, then towards Lucas’s room.
Wordlessly, we share a look that’s an agreement to investigate and head to figure out what’s going on.
CHAPTER 8
LUCAS
