CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maddie
My eyes felt gritty as I opened them, blinking against the bright light spilling across my face. I sat up, clutching at the covers, looking around the strange room, trying to remember where I was.
New York.
Xander.
The kids.
I sank back onto my pillow. It wasn’t a dream. I was really here.
Hearing a giggle and thumping of feet outside my door, I vaulted straight up into a sitting position again. There was no clock in my room, and I had no phone or any electronic device on which to check the time. I hurried to the bathroom, used it quickly, and splashed water on my face.
Looking down, I stroked the soft t-shirt I wore and was immediately reminded of how Xander had pulled it over my head last night. How he…
I shook my head. I couldn’t think about all he did to me right now. I felt it all, even now, hours later, my memory recalling each stroke, each kiss. Each touch. Each word.
Ripping the shirt over my head, I pulled on the strappy tank top that matched the bottoms. When that proved to show too much skin, I stuffed my arms in the thin cotton robe and tied it tightly at my waist. I brushed my teeth, tousled my bangs, and called it good enough.
Following the giggles, I found a pajama-clad Kenzie watching cartoons in the family room.
“Maddie,” she squealed when she saw me, hopping up and running in my direction.
I caught her when she jumped, sweeping her up until her arms and legs were all around me. “Good morning,” I laughed. “Are you always this awake this early?”
She pressed her hands against both of my cheeks, forcing my lips to puff out. “It’s not early.” She pointed to the digital clock by the TV. “See! It’s already seven oh four, sleepyhead.”
Seven o’clock was late? Oh my. I had a lot of adjusting to do.
“Is Kylian awake?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. Pre-pube-pessimistic boys sleep late.”
I worried the word through my mind, trying to untangle what she meant. It wasn’t a word I used often or at all, even in my native language. Then I remembered, suddenly grateful to my almost photographic memory and my English tutor for her stern repetition of even odd words. Prépubère. The English equivalent was, “Prepubescent?”
She patted my cheeks. “That’s what I said.”
I kissed her forehead, desperately wanting to ask her about her father, but the memory of how he looked at me, the guilt in his eyes as he told me goodnight stopped me from opening my mouth. Did he have regrets this morning? Would he ask me to leave, thinking me too brazen to stay, especially in his employ?
And if he did, where would I go? I had clothes now, so my circumstances were better, but where would I stay?
My heart pounded harder as anxiety twisted inside me. How ironic would it be if I, the princess virgin, was dismissed for being too sexually bold?
Not wanting to go down that path of thinking, I asked Kenzie, “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No, not yet. I just poured some regular milk because we didn’t go to the store yet to get chocolate milk. Do you like chocolate milk? I like strawberry milk too, but chocolate is the best because it’s chocolate and my favorite is chocolate.”
Grinning, I poked her belly. I’d missed being around children so much. I hadn’t gotten to see my nieces and nephews near enough since their births, and they were too scattered across Europe and abroad to make visits easy.
My heart squeezed as I thought of all the sweet faces I wouldn’t get to see again.
There were eight in all, the oldest nearly seven while the youngest was only three months old. I’d gotten to see Poppy shortly after her birth, then again at Papa’s birthday party.
She wouldn’t remember me at all.
My nose burned at the thought.
“Why do you look so sad?”
I forced a smile for Kenzie. “I think I’m just still sleepy. Maybe a little hungry too. What do you normally eat in the morning?”
“Cereal.” She stuck a finger into the air and shouted in a deepened voice, “Theeey’re great!”
It took everything inside me not to look as confused as I felt. “What’s so great about it?”
As Kenzie chattered about tigers and leprechauns and other animals that seemed at odds with our cereal conversation, I thought of my nutritionist, who scoffed at anything packaged and had lectured about the sugar and content in each and every bite of processed food.
Because of that, I was tempted to pour a big bowl and chow down on it in rebellion. But I needed something to do with my time, and I wanted to prove myself valuable. Pouring sugar-filled bits of food into a bowl wasn’t part of the image I wanted to project.
I tapped her belly. “Would you like to try something different today?”
Kenzie twisted her lips into what I was learning was her thinking face. “Different how?”
I scrolled through the limited meals I’d made and landed on, “Crepes.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Creeps don’t sound very good.”
I grinned. “Crepes. They are like pancakes but thinner, and if you have strawberries, we can cut them up and make a sauce. We’ll roll everything up and put a dollop of fresh crème on top.”
She licked her lips in an exaggerated way. “That sounds yummy.”
I worried my teeth over my bottom lip, trying to remember all the ingredients. “But we’ll need to check the pantry first, see what’s there. I’ll also need a recipe book, if you have one.”
Kenzie’s forehead furrowed, then her eyes widened. “You can use an iPad. My mommy always used my iPad to find recipes when she cooked.”
I smiled. “That’s a great idea. May I borrow yours?”
She frowned again and began to wiggle, a clear indication that she wanted down. “I think I know where it is. Be right back.”
As she scampered off, I spotted my glasses on the table where Xander placed them last night. Sticking them on my face, I headed to the kitchen, found the pantry door, and began to explore the contents. It seemed to be well stocked with the basics, including a can of condensed milk, I was happy to note. The chef had taught me various ways to make cream, telling me that, “No matter what you make, if the cream is delicious, all is delicious.”
The fridge was much less well stocked. A large variety of condiments were in the door, a gallon of milk, some cheeses, a loaf of bread, and not much else.
In the freezer, I hit pay dirt. A bag of frozen strawberries. I pulled them out, then searched the cabinets for a metal bowl and a whisk. I poured the condensed milk into the bowl and put everything in the freezer for later. That was the trick, the chef had told me. Everything must be icy cold before it would whip properly.
“Why’d ya do that?” Kenzie asked as she came through the door, holding an iPad to her chest.
“It needs to be cold for when we make the whipping crème,” I explained.
Kenzie frowned. “Like Cool Whip?”
I didn’t know what that was, so I sidestepped the question. “You can tell me if it tastes like Cool Whip when we’re finished.”
We got started, using the recipe I found that looked similar to what I remembered Franz teaching me. Kenzie and I pulled out ingredients, measuring carefully.
I felt him before I saw him. My spine prickled, the hair raising on my neck as the electricity changed in the room at his appearance. I turned to find him standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the jamb, his hands in his pockets.
His dark eyes met mine. “Good morning.”
I hastily looked away and back to the flour Kenzie was pouring into the blender. “Good morning.”
“Can I push the button?” Kenzie asked when we had everything inside and the lid on tightly.
“Of course.”
It whirled to life, and I peeked over to where Xander still stood. His eyes were still on me, and my nipples hardened at the intensity of his gaze.
When the blender was quiet, I helped Kenzie with the next critical step of the crepe. Pouring a quarter cup into a hot pan, her little hands were under mine as we swirled it until it thinned, filling the entire bottom. Now, we wait, I could almost hear Franz say, for the perfect moment. You can never look away or risk missing the precise second a crepe whispers to you that it is done.
I kissed Kenzie’s sweet-smelling hair as tears pricked my eyes. Franz was another person I didn’t realize I would miss when I tumbled off that yacht. Not just his culinary creations, but his patience as he walked me through recipes.
“Now, we wait for the perfect moment,” I said, mimicking the chef. “If you listen closely, it will whisper to you, letting you know when it’s done.”
She was perched on a stool, and we were nearly the same height as she looked over at me, eyes wide. “This is cool.”
I remembered feeling the same way.
I’d eaten crepes my entire life, but they tasted different, even tastier, after I learned to do them myself. “It is. Looks like it’s time to flip.”
“Daddy, do you see me making crepes?”
I felt him move closer, then he appeared in my peripheral vision. He stroked his daughter’s hair, and I longed for him to stroke me the same way. I was disappointed when he stuffed his hands back into the khaki pants he wore. “You’re doing a fantastic job, sweetheart.”
Kenzie cheered when we got the first one turned over, but she began to lose interest by the time we finished the second, and she was completely over crepe making by the third one.
“I’m going to watch cartoons now.”
I smiled. “Sure. I’ll let you know when it’s time to whip the crème.”
“Okay.” She stopped, frowned, tilted her head until her ear nearly touched her shoulder. “How do you say okay in France again?”
“D’accord.” I sounded it out for her more slowly. “Da-core.”
She repeated it then wrinkled her nose. “It sounds better when you say it.”
I smoothed her hair back from her face. “That’s because I’ve been saying it longer than you have. Keep practicing, and you’ll be a d’accord expert too.” I lifted my brow, giving her a little grin. “D’accord?”
The grin widened on her face, showing the sweet little row of tiny teeth. “D’accord.”
“Later, I’ll teach you how to say it in other languages,” I promised.
Her eyes grew big. “Which ones?”
“Well, in addition to French and English, I’m fluent in Spanish, Mandarin, German, and I’m still learning Japanese, Hindi, Russian, and Portuguese. I know enough of those languages to have a conversation, but I can’t read or write them very well.” I forced myself to not think of the Serbo-Croatian courses I’d already begun.
Her eyes were still big. “Wow… do you know every language there is?”
I laughed. “Not at all. There are actually over seven thousand different languages, so I can’t hope to learn them all.”
She gave me her thinking face again. “But it would be cool to know seven thousand ways to say okay, wouldn’t it?”
I smoothed her hair back. “Yeah, that would be cool. Maybe the two of us can figure them all out some day.”
As she scampered away, I turned my attention back to the crepes. I didn’t see or hear him, but I sensed Xander draw closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.
I flipped the crepe. “For what reason?”
He drew closer still, until my right periphery was filled with the khakis, the black short- sleeved t-shirt, the bicep that had been so strong under my fingers last night.
“For touching you like that. You were vulnerable and under my protection.” I heard the click of his swallow. “I took advantage of you, and I shouldn’t have. I… dammit. I’m just sorry.”
The words were like a slap, and I felt it in every cell of my body. I plated the crepe, closed the warming oven, then reached for the blender to pour another. My fingers trembled as I desperately attempted to hold back the emotion coursing through me as I swirled the pan.
“Say something.” His voice held a raw urgency that I hadn’t heard before in any human.
I watched the batter curl around the edges. I wasn’t sure what to say. Romantic complications were so completely foreign to me. Should I lie and tell him it was okay, that I was glad we were interrupted and forced to come to our senses?
Because that was what it would be… a lie. I wasn’t glad at all.
I’d been so close to understanding the mysteries of sex, and why it was so highly prized in a relationship. I’d been so close to escaping from reality and submerging myself into a world that was dominated by touch and feel. Smell. Taste.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I finally said after flipping the crepe. “I’ll be more careful with my affections moving forward.”
He exhaled a long breath and muttered, “Dammit.” He turned toward me, his hands coming to my shoulders, forcing me to face him. “Look at me.” When I didn’t raise my eyes above his Adam’s apple, he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you. The problem is that I want you too much. It’s distracting. I’ve never…” his fingers tightened on me, “I’ve never been this instantly attracted to someone, and although we haven’t discussed specifics, last night, I essentially became your employer. At the very least, you were under my protection, and I allowed my…”
I met his eyes when he didn’t go on. “You allowed your what?”
His fingers squeezed the muscles in my shoulders, his thumbs moving over the skin at the base of my neck. “I allowed my desire for you to overrule my good sense.”
I wanted to tell him to dismiss me from his employment. To release himself of his self-imposed obligations toward me. I wanted to crawl up his chest, press my lips against his. Convince him that I wasn’t an interruption of his integrity. That I wouldn’t hold our attraction against him.
I turned to face the crepe instead, mourned the loss of his hands when they slipped away. “I’ll leave after breakfast.” I didn’t mean for the words to sound bitter, but they did. “I’ll stay quietly out of the way until then.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them escape. In self-protection, I turned inward, channeling the peace I didn’t feel to my exterior. With the icy calm I’d practiced my entire life, I turned the crepe, listened to it sizzle in the pan, inhaled its fragrance blossoming on the bit of steam.
“That…” He cleared his throat. “That’s not what I want. Where would you even go?”
I didn’t know.
“It’s no longer your concern.”
His hand came around mine, and he took the spatula from my fingers. I didn’t flinch away, didn’t react in the slightest. “Madalyn, I—”
“It’s okay, Xander. I’ll be fine. It’s better this way. I find you to be a distraction too. I didn’t come to America searching for someone to pay my way, you know. And I certainly didn’t come here planning to sleep my way into a home.”
Yanking the spatula out of his hand, I plated the crepe, poured another, and watched it steam.
His hand moved to the back of my neck. “That’s not what I meant,” he said slowly, as if each word was being torn from him. “And it’s not what I want.”
I didn’t understand. Was it the language barrier that confused me? Or was it simply my lack of relationship experience that made this conversation feel impossible? Did all men and women face the same problems… a failure to understand what the other was thinking?
Frustrated, I turned and poked him in the chest with my finger. “Say what you mean or say nothing at all. One minute you want me, the next you don’t. One minute you seem as if you want me to leave, then you want me to stay.” I poked him again. “What do you want? Say it in words I can understand.”
He caught my wrist in his hand, held it against his chest, and I felt his heart hammering hard and fast under my palm. Almost as hard and fast as mine. The knowledge of knowing he was as affected by our conversation as I was felt comforting.
“I don’t know, Madalyn, because I don’t even understand it myself. We’ve only known each other a couple hours, yet you’ve woven yourself into the tapestry of my life in a way that doesn’t make sense to me. Last night and even this morning, I told myself that I needed for you to go, that you staying here couldn’t work. But that isn’t what I want. I don’t like feeling this conflicted.”
“It was never my intention to cause you pain or discomfort, Xander.” I lifted my chin. “If my presence is causing this much difficulty, then I think it’s better that I go.”
His fingers tightened. “No.”
Frustration bloomed anew, and I shook my head, hoping the mental connections that were apparently not firing in my brain would spark with the movement. “Then what?”
He let go of one of my wrists and plunged a hand in his pocket. “Then this.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper, but he didn’t hand it to me. “Listen to me before you make any assumptions.”
He opened the paper and showed me the front. Along with the date, my name was written in neat block letters next to the words “Pay to the order of.” In a small rectangular box was a large number. I counted the zeros, and that figure was confirmed in writing below it. One million dollars and zero cents. Xander’s swooping signature was at the bottom. To its left, on a line called “For” was written, “Saving us.”
This small rectangle of paper was different from the checks I’d seen at home, but it was similar enough for me to know what it was.
A payoff.
I stepped backward, the crepe forgotten. Everything was forgotten but my need to escape this kitchen, this building. This man.
“Madalyn, listen to me.” He followed, and I found myself in a corner.
I pushed at his chest, and it was like pushing against a brick wall. “Let me go.”
He didn’t move. “No. I asked you to listen to me before making any assumptions. Will you do that?” When I said nothing, only stared at his throat, he went on, “I’m giving this to you now because I no longer want to be your employer.”
Pain that was so unexpected and so sharp plunged into my stomach. But I didn’t move. I didn’t let it affect my outward appearance in any way.
“But I want you to stay. Not because you need a place to live or an income. This check will take care of your needs for a long time if you choose to go. And if that is what you want, I won’t stop you.”
He stepped closer, filling my entire universe.
“Madalyn, I want you. Not as a nanny for my children. Not because I feel beholden to you for saving Kenzie. Not just your body. I want you. I want to get to know this brave, mysterious, beautiful woman in front of me. I want you to stay so we can better examine what this thing is between us. Stay and be with me, but not because you need to. Because you want to.”
In all of my life, I’d known I was a disappointment for not being the much-desired male child. My own birth had carried national disappointment with it, a sentiment not far from despair. I’d been treated well, but only as much as one would treat a prized work of art that gained value over the passing of years.
But I’d never been wanted.
Not just for me.
Here, I had nothing to give in return. Not wealth nor title. Not even any skills of significance. Still, he wanted me.
A single tear slid down my face, and when he lifted a hand to brush it away, I nestled my cheek in the hand that lingered there. “You said I was a distraction.”
He nodded. “You are.” He smiled softly at me. “Of the very best variety.”
Another tear spilled. “But what about the children? I don’t want to interfere with—”
“You won’t because I won’t have this conflict living inside me, which was the genesis of what I’ve been experiencing. I didn’t want to be some dirty old man fucking his kids’ nanny. I didn’t want you to feel trapped, or like you needed to please me in order to feel secure.”
“And you think that giving me a million dollars will change that? Is that what you want?”
His eyes grew darker. “What I want is for you to deposit this check so that you have access to the money any time you need it. So that you know the money is yours and you don’t need me or anyone else for protection.”
I licked my lips, and his nostrils flared as he watched the movement. “Then what?”
“Then I want you to go with me and the kids to Montauk. I want to spend time with you, eat meals with you. I want to swim in a pool and walk on the beach. I want to eat popcorn while all four of us are piled on the couch watching movies.” He frowned, emitting a scorn-filled little laugh. “I know that doesn’t sound romantic. I know that probably isn’t how a beautiful young woman would want to spend her evenings. But you asked me what I wanted, and that’s it.”
He was wrong. It sounded very romantic.
He took my face in his hands. “The question that remains, Madalyn, is this… what do you want?”
I should take the money and run, I knew. It would be the wisest course of action for us all. I thought of the anger in Prince Vitalievich’s face as he spoke directly to me through the television. I will find you. I promise you that.
I looked into another set of dark eyes. Would I be damning us both to hell if I stayed? Or damning us both to hell if I left?
“Fire! Fire!”
Kenzie’s high-pitched voice startled us both. Xander whirled around, and while there wasn’t exactly a fire, smoke had begun to waft from the destroyed crepe.
“Oh no!”
I pushed past Xander, but he yanked me back when I reached for the handle. Grabbing an oven mitt, he slid the pan off the eye.
A piercing scream tore through the air, and I covered my ears as the smoke alarm went off. Kenzie did the same but while also turning in circles screaming, “Fire! Fire!” at the top of her lungs. Kylian came sliding down the hallway, his hair whipping across his terrified face.
Xander tossed a dish towel at me. “Use this.”
I stared at the cloth. Use it for what? Cover the smoking pan? I had no idea.
When I just stood there, he gave me a what are you doing? look.
“Use it how?”
“Fan the smoke detector so it will quit screaming,” he instructed as the phone began to ring.
Following the piercing sound, I started fanning the cloth. Beside me, Kylian had grabbed another towel and was fanning it too.
I was sweating by the time the stupid thing shut up.
“Well, good morning, Kylian,” I said with a smirk, using the towel to dab at my forehead. “I hope you had a good rest.”
He still had the confused and muddled look of interrupted sleep. “If you wanted me awake, all you had to do was tell me.”
I laughed, and he laughed too. Kenzie joined in, but Xander was still on the phone, a grim expression on his face.
“No. Damn you. They are staying here.”
Our eyes met, and there was fury in his now. He lifted a finger and walked from the room.
I looked down at the kids, who were both staring at their father’s retreating back.
Rubbing my palms together, I forced a bright smile on my face. “Okay… who wants to help make the crème?”