A shriek woke Zaiman from a sound sleep, and he bounded out of bed, frantic until he realized that the sound had been a happy one. Shaking his head at his own nerves, he flopped back into bed.

“Alex O’Hare,” he reminded himself. “The porcelain dream with the scarlet hair. Oh, Zaiman, what have you done?”

Coming home to see her casually draped across the couch on her balcony, her bare toes propped up on the railing, had given him an entire night of deeply disturbing dreams. The way the shadows of her loose pajamas fell across her most tantalizing areas, obscuring her shape like a present to be unwrapped, filled his imagination with unnerving images which had come to life and seduced him in his sleep.

He’d known, the moment he laid eyes on her, that offering her this position would be risky. Not just because of the cultural differences, but because she was so grippingly attractive. He had followed her out of the agency without a plan, dazzled by her, and had only presented the job to her as an excuse to get her to talk to him.

He’d tried to convince himself that if her credentials had not been so stellar, he would have withdrawn his offer, but he wasn’t so sure. There was something about her which captured his awareness and held it hostage. Perhaps it was the fact that she was American, young, and beautiful—but no. Zaiman refused to believe that he was shallow enough to be enraptured by someone on as flimsy a basis as simple similarity.

“It’s a mystery,” he told himself. “And you won’t solve it by lying in bed alone.”

Not that he was planning on lying in bed with anyone else, but that would certainly clear up the mystery for him. Or, confuse it further, he considered. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was strictly his employee, and he was determined to keep it that way.

That is, as determined as a lonesome, healthy young man could be about these things.

As he dressed, he allowed his mind to wander through a series of fantasies, collecting them all in the forefront of his mind. Then, he firmly stowed them away, burying them beneath his family name and his strong sense of duty. He had purposefully cultivated these two anchors, and he would be an idiot not to use them now.

He exited his room just in time to see Alex and Amia racing down the hall to the stairs. Alex, still wearing her bedroom slippers, skidded and slipped enough for Amia to win naturally.

“I’ll catch up,” Alex laughed. “I have to do something about these.”

“Don’t blame your shoes just ’cause you’re slow,” Amia teased with a wicked grin.

“You just wait,” Alex said, shaking a finger playfully. “When I get my super-sporty sneakers on, you’ll be eating my dust.”

Amia cackled and Alex turned around with a grin. She froze when she saw him, but relaxed again almost immediately.

“She’s better at this whole morning routine than I am just yet,” she admitted with a little laugh, gesturing to her slippers. “I’ll be right down.”

“Take your time,” Zaiman told her, tipping his head. She walked away into her room, and Zaiman turned to Amia. “Good morning, darling,” he said affectionately, stroking her ruffled hair smooth. “How did you sleep?”

“Perfect,” Amia said, wiggling her body in a restless sort of dance. “Alex is real nice, too.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh, she didn’t shout or take the blankets or anything,” Amia said, beaming. “She said that it was get-up time and opened the curtains and kept talking and talking till I had to wake up to answer her!”

Zaiman laughed. “She seems to understand you very well already,” he said, surprised and pleased.

“She says I’m like her,” Amia told him as she hopped from one stair to the other and back again. “Am I like her, Papa?”

“I’m not sure,” he confessed with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t really know what she’s like, yet.”

“She’s super amazing,” Amia told him seriously. “Super-duper.”

“And you are also super-duper amazing,” Zaiman told her with an affectionate nudge. “So, I suppose she’s right; you are like her.”

“Good,” Amia said, nodding her head. “I like her.”

“Thanks, Amia! I like you too,” Alex said from behind Zaiman. He turned, startled, and she grinned.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t eavesdropping; it really took me that long to find my shoes. You would think after two dozen trips I would learn how to pack in a comprehensible way.”

“You have a lot of degrees for a slow learner,” Zaiman pointed out lightly.

“That’s different,” Alex told him, her eyes sparkling. “If I’m passionately interested in something, I can learn it like that.”

She snapped her fingers to illustrate, and tossed her vibrant hair. The scent of her flowery, fruity shampoo wafted up toward Zaiman, who suddenly felt weak in the knees.

“The problem is,” she continued, “I’m not at all interested in packing, except as a means to an end. I love traveling, but packing is a chore.”

“I don’t like chores,” Amia said, wrinkling her nose as the three of them sat at the table.

“There are ways to make them fun,” Alex told her with a grin.

“Don’t tell me to whistle while I work, because I can’t whistle,” Amia said solemnly.

“Ah, I’d better add that to my list of things to teach you,” Alex said with a nod. “What chores do you have?”

Zaiman winced, realizing that he had neglected to mention that detail the day before. Chores were such a battleground that he had been reluctant to bring them up at all, but it should have been done.

“I have to clean my rooms,” Amia said with a huge sigh. “All of them! Five whole rooms, and I’m just a little girl.” She turned big pitiful eyes up at Alex, who glanced across the table at Zaiman.

“It sounds like a lot,” he said. “I admit that. She isn’t expected to clean thoroughly; just to keep things neat. Picking up after oneself is a necessary habit.”

“Why?” Amia demanded, opening up the discussion for the hundredth time. “You hire people to clean sometimes—why not all the time?”

“Because their job is to scrub away the dirt, not pick up your toys,” Zaiman told her firmly. “You are responsible for your own messes, missy.”

“But it’s hard,” Amia whined. “You don’t do things that are hard!”

“I don’t? Who told you that?” Zaiman asked with a disbelieving scoff.

“You think cooking is hard,” Amia pointed out. “That’s why you hired Dabir.”

“Ah, but I do know how to cook,” Zaiman told her. “And if Dabir ever decides he doesn’t want to work for us anymore, I will be fully capable of filling your tummy until we get a replacement.”

“I know how to clean my rooms,” Amia argued. “So why can’t we hire a maid to do it when I don’t want to?”

Zaiman sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked across the table helplessly, to find Alex silently asking for permission to interject. He nodded slightly.

“Because then you wouldn’t have any fun,” Alex said.

Amia squinted suspiciously at her. “Chores aren’t fun,” she said.

“That’s because you’re doing them wrong,” Alex said sagely. “Anything can be fun if you do it right.”

“Like packing?” Amia said smugly.

Alex laughed. “Yes, even packing. I really should learn to do it properly.”

“Why? You won’t be leaving soon,” Amia pointed out.

“Because, like cooking and cleaning, it’s a good skill to have. And I won’t be leaving soon, but my future still has some travels left in it, I’m sure.”

“But not for a long, long time, right?” Amia said, sounding nervous.

“Not for a while, anyway. And if I did leave, it would just be for a vacation or something. I have family back in the States who I enjoy visiting. My little nephew would like you, I think. Maybe the next time I visit home, you could come, too.”

Zaiman shot her a warning look, and she snapped her mouth shut, but the words were already out. Amia excitedly turned to her father, but instantly and accurately read the look on his face. She slumped, and Alex quickly took the situation in hand.

“So, when was the last time you cleaned your rooms?” she asked.

“Yesterday,” Amia said adamantly. She paused, then put a hand over her mouth to whisper only to Alex.

“I really just hid stuff behind other stuff,” she said. “It looks clean, though.”

Zaiman’s lips twisted in wry amusement; Amia hadn’t quite learned the art of whispering yet, and he caught every word.

“Hmm,” Alex said thoughtfully. “You know, I did something like that one time. I was working for this woman in Russia, and she gave me a parting gift. It was a beautiful, tiny, blown-glass reproduction of one of my favorite buildings, all candy-colored balls and spires. It was my absolute favorite possession.”

“And you hid it behind a stuffed animal?” Amia asked incredulously.

“No,” Alex chuckled. “Worse. See, I was getting packed up to fly to Australia the next day. I took my time wrapping it up in bubble wrap, then taped it inside a shoebox which I stuffed full of socks. I figured it would be safe enough that way, and I tossed it into my duffel bag along with everything else.”

“Did it stay safe?” Amia asked around a bite of food.

“No, it didn’t stay safe, because I didn’t take the time to do it right. By the time I landed in Sydney, my treasure was smashed to pieces.” She slumped, much like Amia had, and blew out a sigh. “You’d think that would have taught me to pack properly, but it didn’t. Instead, I just turned down any fragile presents I was offered.”

“You said no to presents so you wouldn’t have to pack?” Amia asked, her jaw dropping in shock.

“Isn’t that silly?” Alex said with a self-deprecating shake of her head. “You see, when you don’t take the time to do something the right way, you cheat yourself out of some really good things.”

Amia looked like she was about to argue, but took a bite of her breakfast instead. Zaiman was impressed by Alex’s adept redirection as well as her ability to talk to Amia in a way which made sense to her peculiar brand of logic. After a long moment, Amia looked up at Alex again.

“I broke my favorite doll one time,” she said quietly. “She was under some stuff and I stepped on her. Her arm came off.”

“That happened to me a lot when I was a kid,” Alex said with a sympathetic nod. “It’s always the favorites, isn’t it? I think that’s because they’re the ones we play with the most, so they’re the ones that get left out.”

Amia nodded ruefully, and sighed. Zaiman hated to see her looking sad, and groped around for a way to make her feel better without undermining Alex’s work. Alex spoke before he could come up with anything decent.

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. I will buy some decent luggage and learn how to pack it if you promise to take control of your rooms.”

Amia looked up at her helplessly. “It’s so much,” she said with a watery quiver in her voice. “I can’t do it all by myself.”

“You can,” Alex said firmly. “I don’t like the word ‘can’t’, and we’re going to try not to use it while we’re together. But,” she continued quickly as Amia’s little face crumpled, “even though you can do it by yourself, I’m not going to make you do that. We’re going to figure out how to conquer those beasts together, okay?”

“Okay,” Amia sniffed. “You’ll help me?”

“You bet I will,” Alex said with a grin. “As long as you help me figure out how to pack.”

“Deal,” Amia said, sunny once more.

“Finish your breakfast,” Zaiman instructed gently. “Rashad is due any moment.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Zaiman rose from his seat, only to be waved down again by Bassam, who was passing by in the hallway.

“When does Bassam eat?” Alex asked. “I sort of expected him to join us.”

“He usually does,” Zaiman explained, “but he and I had a bit of a late night last night, and that makes a difference to his morning routine.”

“Because he’s old?” Amia interjected.

“Amia, hush,” Zaiman admonished her. “He isn’t old.”

“His hair is gray,” Amia argued.

“Whose hair is gray?” Rashad entered the room, his eyes twinkling over the edges of his half-moon glasses. “This, my dear, is not gray. It is brilliantly white, like the sand under a full moon.”

He ran a dramatic hand through his hair, then noticed Alex.

“I beg your pardon,” he said with a slight bow. He sent a questioning glance to Zaiman.

“So sorry, Rashad. This is Alex, our new nanny.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alex. I am Rashad, Amia’s tutor.”

“I am very pleased to meet you as well, Rashad. Maybe if you aren’t too busy after her lessons, you and I could have a little chat?”

“It would be my honor,” Rashad said with a surprised smile. “To discuss our mutual vocational focus, I assume?”

“Papa?” Amia whispered. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” he lied. “I think Rashad is trying to impress us with his vocabulary.”

Alex confirmed Rashad’s supposition with an amused laugh, and they made plans to talk by the pool while Amia swam that afternoon.

“I’m finished, Rashad!” Amia told him, bouncing up from the table.

“Excellent! Now, where were we? I believe we were attempting to count to three hundred?”

“Yes,” Amia affirmed, her shoulders drooping. “Do we have to?”

“Of course! Otherwise you will never know if you’re being cheated if you happen to buy more than two hundred of anything.”

Rashad winked over his shoulder at Alex and Zaiman as he led the giggling Amia up to her sitting room.

“I remember having to count in school,” Alex sighed. “It was awful.”

“Counting? Why?” Zaiman asked.

“Oh, it was so hard for me! It wasn’t that I didn’t know the numbers or understand the sequence, but it was so repetitive and boring that I would lose focus and start daydreaming, and I’d end up counting the same seven numbers over again until my teacher stopped me. It was aggravating for everybody involved.”

She began clearing dishes from the table, prompting Zaiman to do the same.

“Amia seems to have similar trouble,” Zaiman admitted. “The two of you appear to have much in common.”

“We do,” Alex said with an affectionate smile. “Do you have the same sort of trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Zaiman said. “I find repetitive tasks dull, but not to the point of drifting off or bursting into tears. Amia reaches that point on occasion.”

“Does she get it from her mother, then?” Alex asked.

They brought the dishes into the kitchen, where Dabir was busy tidying up. He took the dishes from them without a word and stacked them beside the sink, silently shooing them out of the kitchen as he worked.

Zaiman used the momentary distraction in his favor, changing the subject as they left the kitchen.

“You grow bored quickly, then?” he asked. “Is that why you have changed jobs so frequently?”

“Oh, no,” Alex said quickly. They walked out onto the patio, which was decorated with potted plants and glittering fountains. “It was all very circumstantial. I almost never get bored with my job—children provide their own entertainment.”

“They do,” Zaiman chuckled. “So, how did you come to be in Abyamar?”

“Oh, where to start? The beginning, I suppose. A friend of mine, an international student from Russia, had twins the summer before her senior year. She didn’t want to abandon her degree, so I offered to watch her babies while she was in class. She liked me so much that it opened up a whole world for me.”

“She was planning to employ you?”

“Not exactly. She was planning to stay home with her babies as soon as she earned her degree, and marry her boyfriend. But she still had very close ties back home in Russia, and when her mother told her that a friend of hers was desperate for a nanny, I jumped at the chance.”

“That is quite a jump,” Zaiman said, surprised. “She was willing to import a nanny?”

“For this boy, she was. He was twelve years old and an absolute terror. She couldn’t keep him in school and she couldn’t stay home with him. He had already run off a slew of nannies, and nobody local would come near him, no matter how much money she offered.”

Zaiman whistled. “He must have been a challenge.”

“Oh, he was, but I managed to build some bridges with him. I had barely started to learn Russian when I moved there, so there was a huge language barrier. I convinced him to teach me the language, and as soon as he became invested in my success, his whole outlook changed.”

“How so?” Zaiman asked.

“Well, he was a different child. He didn’t process things the way other people do, and he had to experience things for himself before he could comprehend them. Since he had never been a parent or a teacher, he couldn’t understand why anybody cared that he didn’t like school or enjoyed setting things on fire. Once he was in a position where his own pride was attached to my success, he applied that feeling retrospectively to his teachers and mother.”

“Highly intelligent, if…what is the word?”

“Atypical,” Alex offered. “I prefer that—it keeps me from making the mistake of mislabeling based on my limited psychological education.”

“I appreciate that,” Zaiman said. “So, you were able to get through to him?”

“Oh, yes. Within a year, his mother had moved the family to a different school district and re-enrolled him. I stayed long enough to make sure that he was on the right track, and then I began looking for work elsewhere. Russia was beautiful but cold. I wanted a change of pace, and ended up meeting an Australian woman online who had English friends who needed a nanny for the summer.”

“And this family led you to the Duke?”

“Not directly. Once I had finished my summer with them, they introduced me to their friends who were planning to spend a year teaching in China, and needed childcare. So, I took off to China with them, and the wife happened to be a second-cousin or something of the Duke. Their China trip was cut short due to some politics I wasn’t privy to, and then, we scurried off to England.”

“They didn’t require your services, then?”

“No,” Alex said. “The children were school-aged, and returned to regular classes once they were back home. The Duke, however, had very young children, and couldn’t seem to keep a nanny.”

Alex sighed heavily, seemingly weighed down by the memory.

“Because of my success with Alexei, I was overconfident in my abilities. How bad could a few preschoolers be?”

She gave him a look which told him that preschoolers could be very bad indeed.

“They were too much?” he asked.

“They would have been fine, if their parents had allowed me to do my job. But they refused to deny their children anything whatsoever, and they found it funny when the kids would throw any food they didn’t like on the floor, leaving me to clean it up. They were lazy and hyper-indulgent, and it made it impossible for me to take proper care of the children.”

Her face flushed a deep red, and her eyes glittered with fury. Cliché as it was, Zaiman couldn’t help but think that she was beautiful when she was angry.

“I lasted six months, which was the longest any nanny had stuck around, up to that point. I was convinced that if I could just get through to the parents, I could help the kids.” She shook her head and sighed. “But there was nothing I could do. I hope something eventually does get through to them, but I’m afraid that by then, it will be too late. Those kids are going to grow up rotten, and it’s terrible because they really are sweet underneath the feral behavior.”

“It is a shame that someone would hire a professional and then not allow them to perform their duties,” Zaiman said sympathetically.

Bassam approached them as they were taking another turn around the patio.

“Excuse me, my apologies. Sir, your meeting…”

“Oh! Yes. Excuse me, Alex, I must go. Please give my love to Amia, and I will see you both for dinner.”

She sent him on his way with a smile, which floated in his mind’s eye all the way through the big house.

“Did you get your breakfast?” Zaiman asked Bassam as they walked to the garage.

“Not yet,” Bassam said with a wide-shouldered shrug. “I will stop at the café while you are busy with your sister.”

“Make sure you do,” Zaiman told him solemnly as he slid into his seat. “I worry about you.”

“Appreciated, but unnecessary,” Bassam told him with a twinkle-eyed smile. “I might tire quickly, but I am not at death’s door just yet.”

“See that you stay away from it,” Zaiman said with a smile. “If you weren’t here, who would pester me into taking care of myself?”

“That little nanny you hired has potential,” Bassam said with a suggestive wiggle of his heavy brows.

“Absolutely not,” Zaiman said firmly. “Trust me, Bassam. I learned my lesson.”

“Ah, but lessons change as situations do,” Bassam said sagely.

“One plus one is always two, no matter the situation,” Zaiman said stubbornly.

“On the contrary,” Bassam argued. “One stone plus one stone may be two stones, but one rabbit plus one rabbit may be sixteen rabbits, when all is said and done.”

Zaiman slid a sideways look at the older man.

“Just drive the car,” he said with a chuckle. “Leave the philosophizing to the philosophers.”