Page 96 of Catching Trouble

I was staring face first into the purple and green of the lavender bank. Blind panic and poor judgment had thrown a major and very buzzy roadblock in my path.

I squinted into the bush. The air thrummed in a blur of wings and yellow stripes,and there, just in front of my nose, sat the largest bee in recorded history. It clung to a lavender flower, and I swear it was scowling. Maybe my proximity to scowls à la Maxime made me overly sensitive, but it didn’t look friendly.

My breath caught, and I stepped forward at sloth-like speed. “You stay over there,” I whispered, palms raised. When it buzzed a little louder, like a car revving, I sent it a cheery smile. “Beautiful garden, by the way. I love what you’ve done with the place.”

I’m not sure what I expected, but when it didn’t launch an attack, I checked around me. The lavender hugged the entire length of the building. My only option for escape was to edge around to the corner of the, then shinny up a drainpipe

Yes, climbing the pipe would take me up and over the flowers, but any descent would lead me straight to the terrace, making me visible in front of the kitchen.

And Valerie.

I liked to think of myself as fearless and friendly. But a jaunty,“Hey, nice to meet you. I’m wearing nothing but your ex’s shirt and I have an appalling case of bed head. Oh, and did I mention—I’m your new nanny?”probably wasn’t conducive to the best first impression.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, heartbeat rising. As I hesitated, the bee took off, hovering in front of me like an unwieldy helicopter. My pulse quickened. I had no choice. I couldn’t risk being spotted. My best option? To forge a path straight through the lavender and straight through my newest fuzzy friend.

It was time to pull up my big girl knickers and make a break for it.

So I did. Sending a prayer for protection to St. Christopher, patron saint of travellers, for a trouble-free crossing, I nudged my way into the flowers.

Three steps in and no drama. Yes, I may have caused an increase in the buzz’s volume, but even my friend the helicopter bee just hung in the air, watching me with interest. Maybe St. Christopher was on my side. Maybe he supported mine and Maxime’s decision to keep our night together a secret.

But in a cruel twist of garden fate, my foot tangled in an artfully hidden watering pipe. The result was a takedown rivalling a toddler on roller skates.

Mercifully, the front of my body cleared the garden bed, and I landed hands-first on the grass. But my bottom wasn’t so lucky. It brushed the lavender, and a sharp, hot pain seared through one butt cheek

I yelped, scrambling out on all fours.

I’d been stung!

My blood ran cold at the realisation, and my heart sped into a drumroll. I held two fingers to my neck, counting, checking my pulse. It was too fast. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body shivery and wrong. The ground tilted. My vision tunnelled.

I was going to die.

In a garden.

Braless.

With a bee sting on my bottom and Maxime’s ex in the house.

Memories of my brother crashed through my brain. His swollen face. Mum’s terror.

A small, breathy whimper escaped me. Then another. And then—when all I could think of was taking my last breath...

A full-throated scream.

It took Maxime fifteen seconds to arrive from around the corner. He’d shouted, “Restez à l’intérieur!” over his shoulder as he ran, the urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air.

I caught “intérieur”—interior— and guessed the rest. He didn’t want Valerie or Sophie coming outside. Didn’t want them to see me like this. But at the blind panic on his face, my already racing heart thudded even harder.

When he reached me, he dropped to the grass on his knees. Pulling me into his lap, he ran his hands over my arms, then my legs. I squealed anew at the throb in my buttock as he set me against his thighs.

“What happened?” He pulled his brows tighter than I’d ever seen before.

“I got stung. I got stung. I got…” I pulled in a breath. “What if?”

Maxime closed his arms around me, holding me against his warm chest, brushing my hair from my face. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. What are you feeling?”

I’d forgotten I’d told Maxime about my fear of bees and what happened to my brother. At least if he was going to be the last person I ever saw, he’d understand.