The next day, work starts pretty much the same as yesterday. Relieve the person stuck on the night shift—today it was Adam again—feed and play with the baby until she goes down for nap number one, and then sift, unpack, and organize more of the baby stuff until she wakes up, and then do it all again.

I’ve got most of it sorted. Even better, I’ve put away or set up most of the things that would be useful to the baby right now. Her little clothes are either placed neatly into the dresser or the closet shelves. Things like undershirts and jammies are now easy access because I’ve put them on the open shelves near the changing table, along with the twenty or so pairs of amazingly adorable shoes someone bought, from patent leather Mary Jane’s to miniature Chaco sandals, all the way to teensy Tom’s slip on canvas shoes, to some soft, pink, hand-stitched, leather and lamb’s wool slippers that were so cute I almost died when I opened the box.

Those, I’ve set on display on top of her dresser so I can admire them each time I walk by.

I’ve also set up the adjoining bathroom. There’s hooded ducky and fishy towels so they’re ready to go as needed. The tearless baby shampoos and lavender washes have been set by the tub, and the baby-bathtub safety-insert has been blown up, and set inside the tub. I even placed the cool hippopotamus faucet cover over the bath faucet so the baby won’t bump her head should she topple to the side.

Every single duck, rabbit, bear, and soft dolly has been unwrapped, labels snipped off, and placed on the wide marble hotel window sills to make the room more baby-cheerful. I’ve also sorted and labeled things that will be useful in a year or six months from now, and placed them on the other side of the giant closet, right on the long shelf above where an adult would have hung long coats and longer dresses. Tomorrow I’ll label each pile so people will know what I’ve done, and I’ll try to assemble this new stroller someone brought in, but for now I stuff that last unopened box into the closet.

With a soft knock from the door, I’m joined by Vere, who is physically dragging Royce into the baby’s room.

“Vere. Please,” he’s saying. “Honestly, this is not needed, wanted or necessary.”

When I realized it was him in tow, I’d turned quickly away, mostly to hide the fire in my cheeks, because, damn that rumbling low voice of his. I’d thought I was finally getting used to the sound of it. Why does it stutter out my heart beats and send shivers down my neck every darn time?

“Please nothing, Royce,” Vere answers, sounding annoyed over his protests. “Robin is right. You can’t just lurk in hallways.” Vere sounds scolding. “You have to get in the habit of coming inside the room to check on your baby and to check in with the nanny. Standing outside and fretting while trying to figure it all out without interacting with people is not going to work. You’re a daddy now and—”

“Stop saying that to me. No one has proved she’s my baby. Besides, I’d already ascertained everything was fine. Robin was having no troubles, the baby was not crying, and that’s enough to let me sleep for a few hours. Which is where I was going when you assaulted me.”

“I think you should get to know Robin and the baby a little better. Communicate.” She blinks her wide brown eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about her all night, and I couldn’t wait for her to show up today. I also have about one million more questions to ask her. Don’t you have any for her? Maybe she has some questions to ask us. Do you, Robin? It’s only fair if you do.”

She’s sounding all forced like she’s hoping I’m going to turn around and help her have this unwanted conversation, but I’m not. Instead, I only I shake my head hard, then I make a point of turning away more from them both, because if that’s why she came in here, so she and Royce can ask me a whole bunch of questions, they’re going to be very disappointed.

Royce sounds like he’s holding his position near the door as he grumbles, “I’m not so sure that me, checking on the baby while we’re paying Robin to be here to do the same, is the best use of my time. I do, in fact, have other work to do for the band, but if it will get your death grip off my arm, I’m willing to…try.”

“Good.” Vere sighs, seemingly ignoring the sarcastic undertones in his voice. “That’s all I want from you, Royce. Try. Go on, think of something to talk about.”

Royce, in that same voice says, “I overheard some of that art school scholarship conversation yesterday. It did make me wonder why a fine artist would move to this town with a scholarship like the one you described waiting for you in NYC. If, in fact, you’ve told Vere the truth about yourself.”

My shoulders involuntarily stiffen, and I hope he hasn’t seen how I’ve gripped the crib to hold myself steady because I feel like he’s knocked me off balance with his now openly harsh tone.

“Really, Royce? Really?” Vere gasps out. “You sound like a complete jerk. Of course Robin hasn’t lied to us. What’s wrong with you?” It sounds like Vere has whacked him on the arm.

“You trust people too quickly, Vere,” he answers, his voice going sarcastic again like he’s chastising Vere. “Like I told my grandmother, you all know nothing about this girl, yet you let her smack into our inner circle without questioning her.”

“Well she knows nothing about us, except that you’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well, no one’s denied that since the day I met her. My reputation and attitude is public knowledge, and my grandmother made it very clear to her how I am, as well.”

“Well that’s your public persona. Yesterday I was trying to let her know you’re actually nice, and caring, and a good person, but now you’re just proving me wrong.”

“That’s a mistake, Vere. Robin’s not my friend, she’s not going to be my friend no matter how hard you want us to become friends. You need to stick to the plans Vere.”

“Plans aside, Royce. We are still humans.”

“Please. It’s okay,” I whisper, but I’ve failed at hiding the trembling in my voice. I cover it by walking over to re-arrange the little lined up shoes. “This is really awkward. Don’t fight about me, or over me. He’s right. I’m here for a week, at the most two, and I don’t have questions for him and I don’t need any more friends, either. So you can go,” I add, hopefully.

“See Royce? Now you’ve upset her and I think you’ve also scared her. Happy now? She won’t even turn around or look up when you’re near. If she’s crying because of you, you’ll be sorry.” I hear Vere thwack at Royce’s arm again.

He sighs, sounding frustrated, but I keep busy, acting like re-adjusting tiny Velcro straps onto tiny boot buckles has become the life-or-death part of my job.

Royce’s voice is soft and surprising when he speaks next. “Robin. Have I upset you? Is it really me that gives those big-blue eyes of yours that scared-rabbit-look, or is it something else?”

“Really? Again. Really, Royce? Do you hear yourself when you talk?” She comes over to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “He’s always a mess when talking to normal people. Try harder, Royce.”

“This is me, trying harder. Take it or leave it. And that was a serious question.

“Try again. To get to know her. As a person. So far you’ve only succeeded at upsetting her.”

Vere sounds so murderous and protective of me that I almost crack a smile.

“Okay, um. Why are you specifically taking the year off from art school? Is it because of that guy? The one who works in the parking garage? Is he your boyfriend, because he acted like he was your boyfriend. Did you move here to be with him?” He’s asked it so gently it startles me more than if he’d shouted.

“His name is Angel. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why? He’s so handsome,” Vere says.

I grab a baby wipe, pretending I need to clean pretend dirt off of the never-worn, brand new boots. “Yes. He is handsome. But we’ve…uh…got this brother-sister thing going on bigtime. We’re friends and he’s definitely my best friend here in Orlando.” I set the boots down, happy that I haven’t lied and go on, “I’m living with him and his whole family.” I shrug. “He’s really protective of me. Of everyone. That’s what you were probably picking up on.”

“Oh, so he’s a chronic worrier, like you are, Royce.” Vere crinkles her brow.

“Please,” Royce answers, sounding annoyed.

I shake my head, starting to lose my temper at both of them. “Didn’t Mrs. Hildebrandt tell you all of this? She practically grilled me about my single-status on my first morning of work, so I assumed she told you some things about me. She also ordered me not to ask you questions, not to touch you and not to press you for information. Don’t you have rules about crossing lines with the hired help?”

“Well, sure we do,” Vere blinks. “But you’re not hired help. You’re the nanny, a friend. At this point, practically family.”

“She is not,” Royce all but growls out.

Although I hate the idea of agreeing with the ass, I stiffen my shoulders against them both and bite out, “He’s right. I’m not.”

Over the next awkward silence, I busy myself by retying the bows on each of the bumper pads around the side of the crib, even though they don’t need retying, and then act like I’m concerned the little crib sheet needs straightening.

“We’re just trying to figure you out,” Vere says, sounding half sad, half frustrated, as she flings herself into the rocking chair next to me, and pushes her feet into the carpet to get it going back and forth.

“Why?” I risk looking up at her. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Vere, but…why?

“Because how you act is not normal. Which is why we’re even more curious about you each day.” Vere starts the rocker going again. “Maybe we’re just bored with our own lives, but we spent a long time talking about you last night again, and it’s unanimous that we all like you so much and simply want to know more.” Vere grins at me with those interested, sparkling eyes of hers going bigger. “We care about you now. And because I just have to know, why not go to New York and start your scholarship? Why are you so very different than any girl we’ve ever hired?”

“She’s right.” I hear Royce coming closer. “Like…why do you not make a move on one of the guys in the band like every other girl your age has done, despite how human resources tells them to behave? You don’t even try to flirt.”

Vere calls out, “Hey. That question is out of line. He’s joking, Robin. Joking.”

“I am not,” Royce presses on, voice moving closer. “It’s been a couple of days and you haven’t done any of the normal outsider things that people do when they’re let inside with us.”

“Like what?” I ask, staring at my hands, curious now, despite how I just swore I wasn’t.

“Like, you haven’t accidentally wandered into one of our suites. You haven’t accidentally texted one of us on the family-cell phone we gave to you. You didn’t request or even hint once at how you might get free concert tickets to the shows we’re doing this coming weekend. You don’t seek us out, or trap us in hallways to have odd and forced conversations about mundane topics in the hopes we will talk to you like some of the housekeeping staff has done. You also have the perfect excuse of trying to find me, or call my cell phone number and ask me or Adam baby questions, but you also haven’t done that which is shocking because we actually offered. Every time we’ve interacted you stare at the ground or at your shoes, or hide behind Vere, and you do things like back yourself into corners or try to melt into walls or floors like you’re doing right now, and I could swear you’re planning to run should I stay in this room too long.”

Turning away from him more than ever as I feel his presence coming up too close behind me, I pull out some diapers from a box, and kneel to stack some rows of diapers on the bottom shelf of the changing table. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m working. You are paying me so much money. I’m here to do a job and I’m doing it. It’s like I told you the first day. You, and Adam and Hunter your your faces and your eyes fluster me to the point I feel kind of queasy when I’m looking at you, so I’m trying as hard as possible not to look.”

Vere laughs, “Well that answers that, because even I’d noticed you avoiding looking at people.” She laughs again.

“And, okay,” I go on. “I do have the urge to run when you all first come in the room. Even from you, Vere.”

“Why?” Her big brown eyes look concerned.

I meet her eyes and shrug, before continuing, “Try to look at things from my point of view. I’m a fish out of water up here. I think it’s scary to go out in the living room because it’s as big as my whole high-school entryway was, and,” I pull in a breath. “It was a very big high school. I feel like if I randomly come across one of you—well—heck what does a normal person like me say to people who are part of a famous rock band? You’re also each so drop-dead-gorgeous that with one direct look you sweep away my mind. Oh, and because of that I also don’t like looking at your eyes.”

Vere’s cracking up. “Oh-my-God-I Love-Robin-Love.”

I toss her a look. “And I do mean to ask for autographs because my brother, Sage, he’s such a fan and I’ve promised him that I would. He keeps begging me to get them actually, but so far it’s been too daunting for me to do that. Concert tickets are like one hundred dollars or more each, right?”

Vere nods. “At least.”

“I wouldn’t assume to ever ask for something as big as that, because that’s presumptuous and rude, and I promised Mrs. Hildebrandt that I would not be that type of employee. Promises mean a lot to me.” I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “And, then, there’s always the part where you, Royce…you say this baby is not your baby and—and—”

“Go on, please,” he encourages me softly, and by the sound of his voice I get that he’s walked up next to me.

“And that makes me so angry. A point which also makes me not want to look at you specifically, Royce. Because…” I drop my voice to a whisper and add, “I’m not very polite when I’m angry and I’m sort of always angry at you.”

“Wow. Honest much?” He laughs, sounding unoffended.

“But you asked!” My heart thrums with stress that he’s expecting me to tell him more about myself, so I lash out with the only other truth I can say out loud, “I’m a private person, so please don’t pry into my life anymore. Even though I don’t have lawyers and paperwork backing me here, can we agree that you will give me the same respect I gave you, when you made me sign those non-disclosure documents before starting to work for you?”

I pause to breathe out a shaking breath and stand from where I’ve been working. I steel myself to turn and face him, prepared to slam him with one last back off comment, but suddenly he’s too close to me and I’m saying, “Oh. Oh, God. Would you look at your eye!”

Shocked, I put one hand over my mouth and take in the black-blue-swollen side of his face. Speaking through my fingers, I say, “Is that what my elbow did to you?”

He nods, those sliver eyes of his are circling my face like they did the night we met.

“I’m so sorry.” Before I can think, I’m stepping up high onto my toes so I can get a better look. From far away I hear my voice saying, “It really hurts still, doesn’t it?” He nods. “Calling it a black eye doesn’t describe this properly, does it? There’s actually yellow in there. Lots of yellow, and maroons and so much purple. It should be called a painted eye.”

“Spoken like a true artist, I suppose?” He winces as one of my fingers trails under the bruise and touches a puffy part under his eye. “Looks way worse than it feels. Honest.”

“He’s lying, Robin. Lying is what he does best.” Vere’s skipped over to peer up at Royce along with me. “And holy cow, you’re right. So many colors! You should have heard him howling when they prodded him before they x-rayed it.”

“You had to be x-rayed?” I shake my head, heart weighty with guilt as I gently push his chin to the side so I can get a better look at the dark swoop under his eye, aware that his sexy rock star beard is just long enough that it’s soft against my fingertips, not prickly. “Do you want me to pay back the medical costs? I will.” I sigh, straightening my shoulders because they’re trying to slump against the wave of worry that idea has caused me. If he had an x-ray and saw a bunch of doctors, then my ten thousand dollars is going right back to him.

“If it helps at all, I didn’t mean to hurt you like this and, truly, I’m sorry. Now I see why Adam said the make-up artist was upset. This must be impossible to cover up. No wonder you’ve been so hateful towards me.”

His forehead crinkles and he turns his face directly back to face mine. “You think I’ve been…hateful?” His silver eyes go over my face again.

This time the intensity of his look makes me shiver.

“Robin.” He swallows, running both hands through his hair. “No one hates you, and I’m the one who’s sorry if you think that. Sorry that this,” he points around the room. “This situation has made me hateful. Damn me, but you’re scrambling my head.” His gaze seeks out Vere’s. “Hurting an innocent girl’s feelings counts as a new low for Guarderobe’s schemes, right Vere?” he asks, cryptically.

“That’s what I’m trying to fix. That’s why I draged you in here,” she answers. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Robin is so easy to be friends with, and you don’t have to be so…terrible.”

“Don’t I?” His penetrating sci-fi eyes of his are hovering between my face and Vere’s like they don’t know where to land. I flick a glance to Vere also. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks so unhappy, like she wants to say something more, but is holding back.

I’d step back, or turn away, but when my eyes go back to Royce, I’m stuck. Trapped cataloging all of his beauty like I did the day I met him in that limo.

Aside from those eyes of his, which I’ve already pondered too much, I’m caught wondering about the way his jaw’s clenched so hard it seems to create a pulse in one side of his cheek. Then I’m wondering which shade of black his hair might be, because there are so many shades of black in the world. His thick waves, in this light, boast maroon and reddish tones mixed in there. Colors which have me wondering if they’re natural, or if it’s a contrived attractive-stylist-suggested-add-on like the beard he’s grown. Maybe the colors hiding in his hair came out of some stylist’s bottle.

When he blinks I realize the hurt eye moves slower than the other, because it’s more than bruised, it’s really swollen. I say, “You’ve been lying about how much this hurts, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t answer my question, just goes completely motionless and stares down at me as I can’t stop staring up, pressing on, “And you definitely need to ice it. Right here.” I move my hand up and gingerly hover my fingers over the outer edges of the injury under his eye, then reach to touch above the bruise near his brow. “And, also here. Are you doing ice? Taking some Motrin for swelling, at least?”

Like he’s noticed that I’ve noticed the heat coming off of his skin, or maybe he’s noticed that I’ve caught a heady whiff of what that same, very expensive musky cologne that sucked out my soul days ago, he flinches like he’s afraid I’m going to touch him again, or worse deck him again.

He pulls back away from me very fast, and I flush to the tips of my ears.

Vere, seemingly unaware time stopped for Royce and I while she’s been grinning and moving around the piles of stuff in the room, says, “So, where were we on the topic of our sweet Robin’s misguided future?”

“Nowhere.” I shake my head. “Where were we on the topic of getting Royce some ice so the swelling will go down enough that he can see to his baby better, which is really why he came in here, right?” I switch subjects; deliberately trying to remind both of them that Royce hasn’t even looked at the sleeping baby in the crib since he’s come in here.

“Good point,” Vere nods, taking my cue.

Like he’s flipped a switch and can read my mind or something, Royce glances quickly into the crib, but his eyes hardly skim the baby.

“Baby’s checked, and I’m fine. I actually welcome the pain thudding through my head, so no ice necessary.”

When he looks back at me, I try for the most pleading expression I can make. I also try to make my eyes wide, and open my heart so he can see my thoughts, but I don’t think I’m doing a good job at it. It’s the first time I’ve tried to tell someone with an expression alone that they’ve failed. That they need be a better person. Can he not understand this baby is his daughter? That she’s going to be his everything?

When he doesn’t, just looks at me with this odd helpless expression and shrugs without once glancing back at the baby, I also can’t stop the headshake of disapproval and utter disappointment I send out next.

That one, he seems to understand.

“Okay. We’re done here, aren’t we? Yes. Yes we have to be,” he says, voice pensive, almost desolate. I get the distinct feeling he’s talking to himself, not to me. His silver eyes have closed up again until they appear shuttered like they were the first time I met him. The warm, concerned and almost kind voice I’d only just become used to has gone back to cold. Ice cold. “I’ve done my duties, checked the baby—made sure the nanny’s okay and working, and we’ve gotten to know each other a little better. But now, I’m thinking that part was a mistake. I can’t do this how you want, Vere.”

“You can’t do what?” Vere asks. “Royce? What?”

With no answer, he stalks out of the room, leaving an almost crackling silence stretching between me and Vere.

“Was that my fault? I’m sure it was,” I ask quietly. “Mrs. Hildebrandt told me not to touch you guys, and I got a little bossy as well. But, someone has to remind him daily that a sweet baby girl is counting on him.”

“I agree. That’s why I tried to drag him in here. I bet, when the tests happen that will prove the baby is truly Royce’s, he’s going to rally and be a great daddy. In the meantime, don’t take anything he says, or does, or doesn’t do personally.” She scrunches up her nose, trying to be funny. “I know, let’s try not to think about him at all, okay?”

I laugh at her expression. “Already, I don’t. And for the future, I won’t,” I lie, because after what happened in here today, it’s all become very personal.

Because of how important my father is to me, and because of the love I now have for his baby, I vow to make sure Royce never looks at the baby how he just did—like she doesn’t belong to him—ever again.