Page 12 of Texting My Mafia Boss

I spot Mrs. Kim. Sylvie is in the same ballet class as her daughter, so I’ve seen her here at the school and at the dance academy. Her daughter and Sylvie seem to get on very well.

I smile as I approach. She’s alone, and she looks annoyed by that. Her head is on a swivel as if looking for backup. I can imagine her thinking,Oh, no, I’m stuck with the poor. Shecasually shoulders a Gucci bag with a stain on it. The stain itself is like a status symbol, as if she’s so wealthy she doesn’t have to treat her things well.

“Some weather, huh?” I say. Lame, but it’s a start.

“Oh, yes,” she replies, a smile spreading across her face. Her eyes tell a different story. She almost looks scared. Is social status that important to these people? “Bring on the fall!”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “So, how do you think the girls will do at their recital? I know Sylvie’s excited.”

“She’s incredible,” Mrs. Kim says. “The best in the class!”

That seems a bit heavy. I reevaluate my opinion in real time. Maybe she’s just anxious.

“Your daughter is very talented too,” I say.

“Well, yes, I know that,” she replies. “But Sylvana Bellandi is a true prodigy.”

I’m not sure that’s fair. Sylvie loves ballet. She’s talented. But prodigy? That seems like an overstatement. I wouldn’t say this to my sweet girl, obviously.

Mrs. Kim breathes a sigh of relief when a teacher approaches us, clearly glad for the interruption. It’s Miss Belle, I remember from the package Livia gave me. Livia wrote a note beside her name,A teacher who actually cares. What a rare thing!

She’s a well-presented woman with flawless dark skin and a tight bun. “Hi, you’re Sylvie’s nanny?”

“Hello. Mara Keene. Nice to meet you officially.”

She shakes my hand. “Would you mind if we had a talk?”

“Is Sylvie okay?” I ask quickly, concerned.

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“Okay, then. After you.”

She leads me toward the school as parents reunite with their kids all around us. I feel eyes on me, then wonder if I’m being paranoid.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Miss Belle asks as we walk down a corridor lined with science projects.

“Twenty-seven,” I say.

“So young!” She beams.

I don’t feel young, but I’m not going to tell her that. Growing up with so much stress and uncertainty makes me feel twice my age sometimes.

“I imagined someone older, from the way Sylvie talks about you,” she says. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“Are you kidding? None taken.”

I wish everyone would stop being so strange toward me.

She takes me into an office.

“Sylvie is with the after-school music class. I thought that would be best while we talk?”

“Sure,” I reply, taking a seat. “What’s this about?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about, but from the way Sylvie talks about you… well, she thinks the world of you.”

“I’m very happy to hear that.”