Isabella Patten
I switch on the two-story, crystal chandelier hanging over my foyer.
“Go.”
“Crazy bitch.” The young Russian twirls an index finger around her temple.
After firing the last two nannies, I’m prepared with a pre-paid debit card. “Here’s five-hundred dollars. When you get settled, text me your new address and I’ll send your things.”
“You no shut me up so easy. I call police. I tell agency. Your husband is… monster.” She curses so I push her out the door, shut it, and sigh.
There has to be some explanation for the girl’s strange behavior, for all of them for that matter. Grayson couldn’t possibly have done what they claim.
Outside, Slate, my husband’s driver-slash-bodyguard holds the girl’s elbow and escorts her to our limo, shaking his head back and forth. Is his exasperation for me or for her?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
People always try to extort money from the wealthy and I understand. But three nannies in that many months? Three different agencies? And all the girls with the same damn story. What are the odds?
Actually, it’s been escalating. This one’s accusations are much worse.
I lean back against the wall and press my palms to my eyes in an attempt to stop the throbbing. Then, I turn around on the pristine marble floor and enter the vast open space of the living room. My footsteps echo off the vaulted ceiling and tiled floors.
Think, Izzy, think.
It has to be some kind of setup.
Her accusations sounded pretty damn convincing.
She described his intense gray eyes as they darkened with desire, his hand on the back of her neck, and his hard need pressing into her. It’s not possible.
Then how the hell did she know about the tattoo on his upper thigh? It’s only been there since Skye was born.
Oh fuck. I hate these niggling doubts. Fucking hormones. Fucking gigantic house. Fucking everything. Why can’t it be like it was before we got married?
We’ve only known each other for a little over a year. I kept telling Grayson to slow down, we needed more time to get to know each other. He insisted his feelings would never change and I believed him.
My chest constricts and I squeeze my eyes shut to hold back tears. I’ve talked to six doctors and they all say the same thing. I need to chill out, take some drugs but I’m not like that. Besides, I’m still nursing and won’t put shit into my baby’s milk.
I can change my thinking. I know I can.
Most people would die for what I have. For one, there’s this mansion, an estate, really. I got a gorgeous husband and the most beautiful baby in the world. Sure, the house is a mausoleum, he’s moody, and Skye wants to stay up all night. Alright, it’s not paradise but it’s pretty damn close.
So, what the hell is wrong with me?
My husband would not make unwanted advances. Not ever. Period.
These women must have some agenda.
I hike between the leather sectionals in the living room, past the kitchen islands, and the sunroom. Then, I climb three sets of stairs to the first hallway of bedrooms where I crack open the closest door. Inside, six-month-old Skye plays in her crib instead of napping but I leave her be as the pediatrician instructed.
I tiptoe down the long upstairs hallway and my mind races. All I need to do is to pick up the phone, call my husband, and duke it out. My therapist has insisted I think before I open my stupid mouth. Really? This is the third live-in helper who has claimed Gray hit on her.
He would never…
Shit. I need to stop arguing with myself.
I wander into the master bedroom, sit on the king-sized mattress and scowl into the full-length mirror. According to the interior designer, it’s baroque and terribly expensive but I hate it. I hate everything in this house. I especially hate the woman who stares back at me.
My shoulder-length blond hair is pulled back in an elastic band. The blue eyes my husband used to say sparkled are sunk into my face, zombie-like. I haven’t had a moment to pluck my brows, let alone put on makeup. And my former trim figure? I got twenty pounds of ugly baby-weight to lose.
Let’s face it, Izzy. You’re a mess. It shouldn’t surprise you if your gorgeous husband has started to stray.
Turning away from the mirror, I stifle a childish urge to throw an antique paperweight into my reflection and watch it splinter. Then, the mirror will really be baroque.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
My feet take me down to the kitchen where I open the stainless-steel refrigerator and stare.
You’re not really hungry, Izzy. You’re angry, frustrated, and hormonal.
Shut the fuck up, self. I have a cheating husband, I look like shit, and can’t do one damn thing about it.
A pod goes into the Keurig and I pretend it’s caffeinated. What I wouldn’t give for an espresso! Instead, I sit on a stool by a granite-topped island and look out the arched window where our acreage spreads for over a mile.
When Grayson suggested New Jersey for our new home, I was thrilled. I had pictured us playing ball together, taking long walks, and lazy evenings of making love in front of the fireplace. I never imagined I’d wander around all by myself, hour after hour, with no one to talk to except for the fucking young women who swear my husband can’t keep his fucking hands to himself.
I didn’t even want a god-damned nanny but Grayson insisted and maybe now I know why.
Shit, no, no, no.
This is stupid-think. I know better. Grayson would not cheat on me. He would never make advances on any women. Not one, and certainly, not three.
But why do they all have the same story?
I pick up my cell phone, text my husband, and pray he has some kind of explanation.
Me: Got a sec
Gray: In a meeting
Me: Nanny gone. Same as last 2
Gray: Give me 5
It’s more like a minute when he calls back. “Shit Izzy. Not again. You really need to talk to your therapist about this.”
“Gray, what am I supposed to think? I didn’t believe the first or the second one but this makes three. And her claims are far worse. What if she calls the police?”
“Baby, remember? None of the agencies have registered a complaint. We talked about this.”
“It has to be Xavier.”
My former boss would love to see us fighting and this could be the kind of thing he might orchestrate.
Grayson exhales heavily. “We discussed that, too. Even you said there were no signs of him.”
It’s true. I’ve spent hours searching on the dark web for almost a year and have come up empty. After his attempt at killing us in Minnesota, it’s like the madman disappeared off the face of the planet.
“I checked the nanny-cam, hun. There was nothing. The conversations you swear you had, never happened. Listen. I love you, sweetheart, but I got a whole room full of board members waiting for me. I’ll be home early. I love you.”
He waits for me to say it back but I don’t, even though I do. I just sit there until he exhales heavily and hangs up.
I told him the women must’ve turned off the nanny-cams during our conversations but he insisted there’s no proof. Everything points to me being one crazy bitch.
I continue to argue with myself until Skye fusses. She’s so much like my husband, I smile. She has his striking eyes, an intense personality, and his tendency to be able to stay awake for hours.
With a giggle, she gives me a wet baby kiss on the cheek. Then, I lift her out of the crib and put her on the changing table. Bought second-hand by my mom, it might be my favorite piece in a houseful of expensive, don’t-touch-me, don’t-even-look-at-me, furniture.
Skye’s fingers clutch at a breast as we head downstairs to another hand-me-down, a porch rocker. All I have to do is imagine myself in Minnesota, gaze at her gazing back at me, and my milk flows.
“Ah Skye. What’re we going to do?”
Can it be true? Am I going nuts?
I slip a finger into her mouth to release suction so she can change sides. Once I have her settled in my arms and her little mouth moves with gulping sounds, I try to think more clearly.
I love my husband. Check.
He loves me. Not sure.
We both love Skye. Check.
He is hitting on our nannies. Not sure.
I look like shit. Check.
He looks awesome. Check.
I am nuts-o. Not sure.
He is going to leave me. Probably.
Shit.
Tears well again and this time I can’t stop them from falling, wetting my cheeks. Who is the weepy, stringy-haired, overweight, possibly-crazy woman? What happened to the confident woman who stormed into Gray’s office and threatened to take him to court? Where is the woman who stood up to a murderer in her bedroom? The woman who confronted her childhood abuser?
I put Skye into the high chair and text my best friend, Melanie.
Me: Busy?
Mel: Free in 30
Me: K. Talk?
Mel: <3
“Alrighty then. Guess it’s me and you, babe. Want to try some real food?” I get out the baby-food-processor and put in some leftovers.
Skye’s eyes go wide at the grinding and she bangs her spoon on the tray to signal her annoyance.
“All done.” Sing-song, I tweak her nose, then spoon the mashed food into a bowl.
When I place some on the tip of her tongue, she makes the funniest face, giggles, and tiny fingers latch onto the edge of the bowl.
“Whoa there, hun. None of that.”
She pouts, I mimic her, and we both laugh until the meal is done.
When my cell phone rings, I put Skye in her playpen so I can pick up. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl. What’s up?” Mel sounds so happy.
Of course, she does. She always does.
The phone on speaker, I wash out the baby dish, and put it in the custom oak cupboard. “I just said goodbye to nanny number three.”
“Get out of town! Same story?”
“Yeah. Grayson thinks I’m friggin’ crazy, obsessed with Xavier. He sounds so fed up I think he may leave me.” My voice cracks as I pour skim milk into my coffee and sit.
“No way, hun. That man of yours loves you.”
Skye, who’s been holding onto the wall of her pen, starts bouncing up and down, an indication she’s about to start screaming.
“Just a sec… Siri, play Disney tunes.” I wait until Skye is happily baby-butt-dancing before I cradle the phone to my ear. “Okay, I’m back. How can anyone be sure that their husband loves them?”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” Mel now shouts over the music so I turn to the pod in the corner.
“Siri… turn volume down… Sorry, I’m back.”
“Damn, girl. Your husband’s eyes follow you wherever you go. He puts his arm around you when any man gets within six feet. Even CJ mentioned it and he never notices anything.”
“I know, I know. But it’s not just the nannies. This morning I looked in the mirror and broke out in tears. You looked fantastic within a few weeks of giving birth to Gabi. I look like shit.”
“Gabi slept soundly. Skye doesn’t. No mystery there.”
“True, true. I keep hoping Skye will grow out of it. It’s better but she never sleeps through the night.” I finish my coffee and crave the caffeine, the staple of my former existence, the rush that used to fire me up with energy.
“Have you thought about supplementing?”
“I have but she’s only six months old. I want to give her as many months of real milk as I can, you know?”
“Sure. I felt the same way.”
“And I love our time together. I’m just so damn tired. I know I should nap but I constantly search the web for signs of Xavier. I would die for a full night’s sleep. And… oh God. I’m whining, aren’t I? I was never a whiner. What the hell happened to me?”
Out the back window, a mother deer with two young ones chews the heads off from a bunch of daisies, rendering my first attempts at gardening futile.
Fuck.
Mel has no idea what it’s like to be stranded all alone in Upper Saddle River. Even during football season, she has her job, her clients. Sometimes, her quarterback takes her with him to away games. It’s wrong to be jealous but my husband is only an hour away and I never see him.
“Don’t worry. I promise, in three months, this will all be over and you’ll be thinking of having another.” If this was meant to cheer me up, it didn’t work.
“No way.” My body cringes and I ward off evil with a hand signal taught to me by my great uncle Ned.
“Well… these things happen… Take me, for example…” Her sly tone makes me stop and suddenly, I understand.
“Wait. What? You and CJ? Number two? Shut the front door!” Grabbing Skye, I jump up and dance around the room. “When are you due?”
“November… Thanksgiving.”
“Oh no. Not that. No holiday babies but before or after is fine.”
We laugh and plan together for a while until I wipe my eyes and sigh. “Oh my God. I miss you so much. I mean I love all the greenery here but I think I let Gray convince me to move too soon. I really miss my old apartment.”
“So, what’s stopping you? Come to Brooklyn, there’s a meeting tonight.” She makes it sound so easy but there’s diapers, spare clothes, wipes, toys, and God knows what else to pack.
However, she convinces me and after I hang up and put Skye down, I call Slate. “Hi. Did she get home okay?”
“Yup.” Slate’s ex-military and always tight-lipped but usually not so much with me.
His terse tone is extreme, even for him, so I tread lightly. “Did she say anything? Is she taking Gray to court? Going to call the police?”
“No.”
“Oh shit. Don’t tell me. She said I fired her for no reason at all.”
The silence that follows is a pretty good indication he thinks I’m off my rocker. I picture his angled face and how his thick brows crease under his military cut. Why the hell hadn’t I thought to record the conversation?
The young woman caught me off guard, that’s why. I’d just woken up. I swear she did it on purpose.
“Listen, please don’t tell Gray.”
“No promises, Isabella. I can’t get in the middle of whatever’s going on between you and my boss.”
He deftly changes the subject, tone brighter. “So, how’s my little rapid-fire?”
I glance at the baby, totally unaware of all the bullshit going on around her and try to match his casual, low-key tone. “C’mon now. She only puked a tiny bit and that was over a month ago.”
“She stained my favorite jacket.”
“I don’t believe black, stains.”
“Probably right. So, why did you call? Do you need me to take you somewhere?”
“Oh my God, yes. I almost forgot.” I put my phone on speaker and try to shave my legs. Maybe I’ll wear a dress tonight.
“I was wondering, can you install the car seat in the limo and bring me and Skye to Bushwick tonight? None of the girls have met her.”
He chuckles softly. “What kind of godfather do you think I am?”
“My fifteen uncles still give me shit that you got the honor.”
“Nonsense. It makes perfect sense. This way you didn’t play favorites. What time do you want me out front?”
“The meeting starts at eight so, I guess around six fifteen?” I smile at the thought of seeing my friends but at the same time, get edgy about leaving the house.
“Slate, I hate to ask but are you still looking for Xavier? Have you found anything?”
In the call’s background, tires screech, car horns honk, then all is quiet. “We got our best men on it. We’ll get him.”
“I take it that’s a no?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. See you soon. Thanks.”
I put the phone down, lift Skye into her playpen, and finish shaving with the bathroom door open. However, alone with only my thoughts, memories of Xavier invade my mind. When I was hired at Patten Securities, I had no idea he was such a nut job. He seemed perfectly normal until Grayson’s father, the owner, got cancer. Suspicious of missing funds, the elder Patten called his estranged son to take over the company.
I smile as I recall the day I met my husband. I mistook him for a Human Resource representative and gave him a piece of my mind, angry about my performance review. He was pretty cavalier until I threatened to take him to court for the way his dad’s company treated women.
From the first moment we met, the heat between us was so electric the air vibrated. Within days we screwed ourselves foolish. Within weeks, I was pregnant.
I don’t regret that part, not for an instant. I love being a mom.
“What a good girl,” I shout out of the shower at Skye.
She’s still dancing so I quickly suds my hair and rinse. To keep the shampoo out of my eyes, I glance down at my toes, the tips a little numb from when I had frostbite. Visions of a night alone on Bear Mountain cause me to shiver despite the hot water washing over my body.
The sounds of water become the stream in the woods. I’m wandering around lost, blinded by the inky blackness of the night. No stars, no moon, just the snow falling and the shouts of dangerous men.
Then, there was Grayson in an ambulance. He’d found me and saved me.
The scene fades away into the bathroom steam while I scrub my scalp. Slowly, I rub my hands over my breasts, between the two lips of my clit, and dream of Gray.
Before Skye, we were all over each other every day. Now, I miss him like crazy. I know he wanted me tucked safely in the burbs but the long commute means he’s gone for hours, leaving me alone in this gothic, suburban castle.
Immediately, the too-familiar guilt comes back.
Izzy, anyone would be thrilled to be married to a g’zillionaire and live in a ten-bedroom house with his beautiful baby.
So, why am I crying?
Dammit.
With a towel wrapped around my head, I lift my fussy angel out of her playpen and put her into the swing where she kicks her feet in time to the music.
It’s impossible to stay sad when she’s like this so I sing along, “He’s Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh. Cuddly little…”
When she babbles along, I picture her someday winning American Idol. What am I thinking? She won’t need contests. Her daddy will buy her a recording studio.
After I slip into a yellow sundress, I wrangle her into a clean outfit, and wait outside in the late afternoon sun.
We’re both asleep under the canopy of our bench swing, when Slate peeks around the corner and says, “You guys ready?”
“Shush.” A finger to my lips, I stand with the baby in my arms while he grabs the diaper bag.
Twenty, perfectly arranged paverstones take me down to the driveway where the limo is idling.
When Slate opens the back door, I do a double take and grin. “Gray?”
“Hey. How’s my girls?” Warm, loving eyes shine down on our sleeping baby then lift to mine.
Even though I want to be mad because of the nanny debacle, I’m so damn happy to see him my eyes water. Together, we place Skye into her car seat, facing into the cushion. Meanwhile, Slate runs up front and sits. The door hardly makes a sound when it shuts tight.
I check once more she’s okay and scoot on the seat next to Gray. Even if the baby lifts her lids she may go back to sleep and nap for a good, long while.
Quiet as can be, I whisper, “I thought you said you had to go back to LA.”
“I cancelled. I was concerned about you.” Those gray eyes penetrate into the depth of my soul, stirring a want that will never be quenched, not even with a lifetime of fucking.
His hands cup my cheeks as Slate backs out of the driveway. “I wanted to talk about the nanny thing.”
“Oh.” All the wind gets knocked out of my sails. I thought for sure he wanted to get a hotel room, have hot sex, and show me how much he craves my body.
Like it was before.