But I’m going through with it anyway.
“I’ll text you when I get there tomorrow,” I promise. “And when I leave. Full transparency, just like Marco said.”
Ethan studies me for a long moment. Then he sighs and pulls me into a hug.
“He really loves you,” he mutters into my hair. “I can tell. I’m still pissed about the PI thing but I believe him.”
“I know,” I whisper back.
Because I do know. I saw it written all over Marco’s scarred face when he looked at me.
Raw and desperate and real.
The question is whether I’m brave enough to love him back.
Ethan pulls into traffic.
My phone buzzes. A text from Marco:Thank you for giving me another chance.
I stare at the message for way too long before typing back:Thank you for finally showing up. P.S. Your face is not as scary as you thought.
Three dots appear immediately. Then:See you tomorrow. Ben can’t wait.
Ben.
I rub my eyes.
God, I miss that kid so much it makes my chest hurt.
I pocket my phone and lean my head against the window, watching Brooklyn blur past.
Tomorrow I’m going back to the townhouse.
Back to the place that felt more like home than anywhere I’ve lived in years.
Back to the little girl who needs me.
This is either the start of something real or the most spectacular crash and burn in influencer-turned-nanny history.
51
Jess
The outside of the townhouse looks exactly the same as I remember it. Same wrought-iron railing. Same potted herbs by the door. Same security camera that Filepe probably has pointed directly at my face right now. It’s earlier evening, but already twilight.
I’m standing on the front steps like an idiot, clutching my phone and trying to decide if I should knock or just text Marco that I’m here. Which is ridiculous because I used to live here. Had my own key. My own room. My own drawer full of emergency snacks for a five-year-old who I’d grown very fond of.
The door opens.
Marco.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a Henley that emphasizes his build. He’s not wearing a mask, and his scars are visible in the afternoon light. As usual, somehow those scars have made him even more attractive than ever before.
Stop objectifying your former boss who hired a PI to stalk your life.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is careful, like he’s worried I might bolt.
That’s a fair concern, honestly.
