“Lucia, stop aggravating your sister! Adriana, hurry and get your backpack. Daddy’s late for work. And where did your brother go?”
A screaming cyclone whizzed by, all dark curls and giggles.
Nate.
Santo Alvanetti grabbed his two-year-old son and tried for the third time to get his shoes on. But Nate wasn’t in the mood to get dressed so he kept running away, taking off an article of clothing each time. Now he was down to his little blue jeans and one shoe.
“Daddy, the school bus is coming,” Lucia—the oldest, who’d just turned nine—screamed from the floor-to-ceiling front windows. “I’m gonna miss it again.”
Santo sent her a pleading glance. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll drop you off at school.”
The school was in town, near Millbrook Lake. Completely out of his way but he was already late. Thirty more minutes wouldn’t hurt. His cell rang, indicating his being late had already cost him money. Alvanetti Imports moved at a fast pace. He needed to do the same, but these days every morning had become a challenge and a race against time.
Adriana stomped a booted foot. “I can’t find my purse, Daddy.”
“She has a purse?” he asked Lucia. His middle child was only seven. But then, her late mother had loved expensive purses.
Lucia’s dark eyes opened wide. “Duh. We both do. Mom bought them for us a long time ago, before...” Her eyes went dull. “We need Mom back here. She knows how to find purses.”
Santo wasn’t sure how to answer that. His wife Althea was dead. She’d died a horrible death about a year ago, in a showdown with his sister Rikki and a police detective. While Santo both mourned her and resented her for betraying him, her children still missed her. Althea had tried to be a good mother but something had gone so wrong in their marriage.
Raising three children and trying to run a business made Santo too tired and stressed to try to figure out what had happened to bring his life crashing down around him. He thought of happier times with Althea, when they were younger and she still loved him. He’d pushed away his anger and pain for a while now, but his children had been acting out. They all needed help.
Nate started crying.
Santo wanted to cry right along with him but he couldn’t do that. He had to be strong. He had to get to work. He needed every ounce of strength just to make it through each day. The import business the Alvanetti family had been running for decades was legitimate now and finally back in the black.
Because he’d put every waking hour into making it work.
So he grabbed Nate again and managed to get him dressed, but the boy didn’t want to go to the day care.
“I want Mommy,” the little boy cried, kicking to get out of Santo’s arms.
Nate probably didn’t remember Althea all that much but he always echoed whatever his older sisters said. The counselor had warned Santo to let his children talk about their mother but each time they mentioned her, his heart hurt with a pain that rivaled a jagged cut. It was a tear that would never heal. Promising himself he’d never go through that kind of pain again, Santo gritted his teeth and focused on his children.
The doorbell rang, the chimes echoing over the fifteen-foot-high ceiling and the modern, wood-and-steel open staircase. Outside the spring sunshine glistened on the infinity pool and the bay below the bluffs. Santo had a stunning view thanks to the wall of glass across from the living room and kitchen.
There had been a wall of glass between him and Althea, too.
But he didn’t even notice the view anymore and the guilt he’d felt at not knocking down that wall between them had long dissipated like a morning mist over the water. He’d be so glad to get out of this house. Too many bad memories for him and too many memories of her for his children. They all needed a fresh start.
“Daddy, the bus!”
“Daddy, the doorbell!”
“I want Mommy.”
He prayed the new nanny—one of many his sister, Rikki, had hired since Althea’s death—had arrived. He hadn’t met the woman but Rikki and Blain had vetted and cleared her, stating she had impeccable credentials. Santo hurried to the door and opened it while he held Nate’s squirming, screaming little body against his heart.
The woman standing there didn’t look like the typical nanny. She had strawberry-blond hair that shot out in chunky layers around her face and chin. Her eyes were an ethereal green, like the bay waters in the early morning. She wore a plaid button-up shirt, worn jeans and...work boots.
“Hello,” the woman said. “I’m—”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mrs. Brownlee,” Santo interrupted, shoving Nate into her arms. “The instructions are on the counter in the kitchen. The girls go to Millbrook Elementary and they usually catch the bus or ride home with a neighbor. I’ll take them to school and call the neighbor to pick them up this afternoon. Nate has day care but now that you’re here, let’s just keep him home today.”
He kissed his sobbing son. “C’mon, girls.”
Nate started crying all over again. But the woman standing there marched right on in and said something soothing in his son’s ear. Nate hiccupped and stopped crying, his misty brown eyes glued on the woman holding him.
She smiled over at Santo. “I’m sorry but—”
“I want my purse,” Adriana said on a scream, her long brown curls falling over her purple tunic and matching leggings. She looked at the surprised woman. “I can’t leave without my purse.”
The pretty nanny looked at Adriana with sympathetic eyes. “Of course not. I never leave home without my—”
“Found it,” Lucia said, shoving the shiny purple shoulder bag at her little sister. “Now can I please get to school?”
Santo let out a sigh and nodded to the woman. “You don’t have to apologize but please try to be on time from now on, okay?”
The woman’s green eyes flared with something akin to mirth. “Mr. Alvanetti, I don’t think you understand. I’m not—”
“I’m here.” A shrill, laughing voice came from the open door. “And not a moment too soon from the looks of things.”
Confused, Santo turned to find a plump, smiling woman with short auburn hair and black-framed, crystal-encrusted glasses standing on the threshold. “I’m Virginia Brownlee. I’m your nanny.”
Santo looked from the smiling woman at the door to the bemused woman still holding his son. “Then who are you?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last five minutes,” she said, passing Nate back to him. “I’m Davina Connell. I’m here to help you get this house in shape to sell. I’m the contractor.”
* * *
Davina almost felt sorry for him.
Santo Alvanetti exuded power and assurance, his tailor-made suit, his hair crisp and dark and falling in touchable curls around his face and neck much in the same way as his son’s. But right now, the man’s expression filled with realization and panic, his onyx gaze darkening even more.
“I am so sorry,” he said, obviously rewinding his thoughts so he could assess the situation. “It’s been one of those mornings and I was expecting