“Rowan and I learned some troubling information about this Marie person and honestly want to throttle our mother, but we also received a promising recommendation for a new nanny.”
“That’s a whiplash,” she snorts. “How did that come about?”
“Her name is Charlotte, and she’s the daughter of the head of the royal guard,” I explain. “She gained experience working with children as a teacher in France and has recently returned to Messalina. He believes she would be an excellent fit for our family.”
“It’s wonderful to have a recommendation from someone you trust.”
“I agree.” My mind wanders back to the revelation about my mother. “And there’s another reason why Charlotte could be valuable to us.”
Bellamy tilts her head, prompting me to continue.
“With everything Rowan and I are uncovering about our family’s secrets, having someone close to the royal guard within our household might prove beneficial. I’m not saying any of us are in danger, but I have no idea what’s going on with this, and I like the extra layer of protection for you and the children.”
“More of the curse?” Her voice and expression sour.
“Not necessarily, but I can’t discount the notion of our safety being in jeopardy with all of this either.”
“I see.” She nods, understanding the implications of my words. “Well, I’m certainly not opposed to that.”
“Good.” I lean in and kiss her lips. Her sweet, plump lips that I plan to fuck later. “But we should still consider other options and make sure she is the best candidate for our family.”
“Of course,” she agrees, her fingers gently brushing my cheek. “But I wouldn’t mind meeting with her first.”
“Then we’ll make it happen,” I whisper, pressing my lips to hers in a tender kiss before wrapping her up in my arms, feeling peace for the first time all day. Already knowing it won’t last.
23
BELLAMY
Music blasts through the speaker of my phone as my hips pop and groove to the upbeat, catchy song. Zayer loves to dance his little heart out and there is nothing like music to get your body moving. It’s been a week. A week of madness and heartache and just…uncertainty. It’s been one thing after another for Sebastian.
For us.
But more than that, I’ve heard the murmur of it from the staff.
Curse.
That word. That fucking word.
They want it to explain my father’s death—does it? They want it to explain the strike Sebastian quickly resolved—I’m not sold. They’ve heard the rumors about Desta and the woman who took her—why is it all coming out now? It’s easy to blame the curse. And I’ll admit, there is a part of me, the weaker part of me, who wants to question.
But where will that get me? Where will that get my family?
We can’t go back to those dark ages. I won’t do that to the children. So I walk around like the Bellamy of old.Bright smiles and quick laughs and teasing banter. I ignore the pang in my chest that feels like the definition of heartbreak. I ignore the doubts and questions that lurk in my mind.
Because once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I found myself to be resilient. I found myself to be a woman who could survive anything. And I am determined to be that woman once again.
“It smells like fish.” The aroma of clam chowder simmers on the stove, mingling with the scent of freshly baked cake in the palace kitchen.
“That’s because it is. Clams go into the soup, but we’ll make lobster salad once the lobsters finish steaming.”
Sabrina’s and Phaedra’s noses scrunch up, and I can’t blame them for that. I wanted to make them a Boston meal. But to do that, I had to order frozen clams. That was the easy part. And fucking lobsters. Whole goddamn lobsters. Live motherfucking lobsters.
I shrieked at the top of my lungs when I opened the Styrofoam box that I would have sworn was carrying a kidney or two in it and found four live lobsters in there crawling around. I felt like a murderer. Like an evil monster. They were trapped in a box, unable to get out, likely suffocating. It was awful.
Until Margarite tossed each one into the pot of boiling water and told me to get over it. Very politely. In French, which automatically makes it sound better than it does in English.
“You’ll love it,” I promise the kids, who don’t quite believe me yet. Still, my heart swells with nostalgia as I carefully mix ingredients for a Boston cream pie. It was one of those recipes my mom taught me when I was young, a piece of my childhood that I cherish.
