She surreptitiously wiped away a tear. “You better.”
Victor walked outside to Vivian’s car, grabbing the last of the suitcases, while his sister led Belle and Pip upstairs to their rooms.
They were in Belle’s room when he joined them, and Belle turned to face him as he placed her suitcases on the bed.
“Victor, this room is wonderful! And those flowers,” she gushed. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”
Before he could tell her it was the housekeeper who’d left the flowers, Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him an impulsive hug.
He suspected it was meant to be quick. Polite.
It wasn’t. Her body pressed against his for half a second too long.
She was soft, warm, and…even familiar.
His hand settled on the small of her back out of pure reflex.
She inhaled.
So did he.
Then she stepped away, too fast.
He closed the hand that had been on her back into a fist, resting it by his side to stop himself from pulling her into his embrace once more.
While Belle had been in his house countless times for various social events, she’d never slept under his roof.
Victor hated how much hedidn’t hatethat she’d be here, so he told himself the same thing he’d been telling himself since Vivian asked him to take in Pip and the nanny.
Don’t fuck this up.
CHAPTER TWO
Belle listenedto one of her favorite lists on Spotify, singing along to Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” while she folded clothes in the living room. “Ra-ra-ah-ah-ah. Roma-roma-ma.”
Pip giggled as she belted out that part of the song loudly, then turned her attention back to her drawing. The little girl was sprawled on the floor, coloring a unicorn neon green while narrating an elaborate story about its secret spy career. Belle might be a bit biased, but she would swear on a stack of Bibles that Pip was the smartest kid on earth. She would never stop being amazed by the clever, creative things that came out of the adorable little girl’s mouth.
Belle was wrapping up her first week in Victor’s house. She’d had nearly a month to get used to the idea of living somewhere else for the summer, since the day Vivian had knocked on the door to her bedroom in late April, asking Belle’s opinion about her leaving the country to finish her book. Vivian had assured Belle that if she said no, she would be fine with that.
Not that Belle would’ve ever said no.
She’d not only worked for Vivian the past five years, she had also lived with her, Belle closer to Vivian than she was her ownsisters. Part of Belle’s compensation package included room and board. It was one of the reasons Belle had jumped at the job when Vivian’s late husband, Phil, offered it to her.
After years of working two minimum-wage jobs at a time, just to be able to afford a shitty one-bedroom apartment in a less-than-desirable neighborhood in Baltimore, the idea of moving out of the middle of the city and to the suburbs sounded like heaven.
Phil had been a regular at the coffee shop where Belle used to begin six of her seven mornings a week, working as a barista. The two of them had become friendly acquaintances, always chatting while she prepared his coffee—an Americano with an extra shot of espresso.
Phil had been a science teacher at a local high school, so he’d typically share funny stories about his students or colleagues while he waited. She’d reciprocated by telling tales about the little cuties from the preschool that was her second job. From the time she’d graduated from high school until Phil basically saved her with his awesome job offer, Belle had worked from five to ten a.m. at the coffee shop, before walking next door to the preschool, where she toiled from ten to seven those same six days a week.
Phil often remarked that she worked too hard, even while complimenting her work ethic, wishing his students had just half of her drive. She’d always reminded him that her work ethic was driven by her desire to have a roof over her head and food in her stomach, but he never let her diminish the compliment or humbly try to explain it away.
She’d been touched and delighted when he’d brought her a bubble gum cigar the day he told her that his wife was pregnant with Pip. At the time, Vivian was just a name to Belle, as she’d never met Phil’s beloved, super-smart geneticist wife, who always seemed to be out of the country traveling for work.
While that day, they’d laughed and pretended to smoke the candy cigars, just a few months later, they’d had a much less-joyful conversation. Phil had come into the coffee shop on a Saturday—something heneverdid. His visits were restricted to school days. She’d teased him about his coffee addiction getting out of hand. Had expected him to laugh…but he hadn’t.
That was when he’d told her he’d gotten some bad news from his doctor.
She’d googled the word glioblastoma after he left, crying as she read the too-low life expectancy. Belle had spent the rest of that weekend in a state of fury, wondering why truly horrible people got to live long, healthy lives, contributing nothing but misery, while Phil, who was kind and compassionate and a wonderful teacher, wouldn’t even get to see his thirtieth birthday…or his baby grow up.
