Page 19 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Lily

I gape at him, my heart pumping in my temples.

“Lily?” Zoya’s voice carries through the house from somewhere on this floor.

Declan jerks away, and I rush out of the kitchen like my ass is on fire.

“I think Zach needs youw help.” Zoya hikes her backpack on her small shoulder.

I frown, willing my pulse to normalize. “Okay, your dad is still in the kitchen. Go help him while I go to Zach, and then we leave. Do you have everything?”

She nods and skips across the room toward the kitchen. If I don’t get a chance to compose myself after… whatever that was, he can also deal with real life after his declaration. Threat? Warning?

I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t survive if I got my hands on you .

But what a way to go. Stop it, you little slut.

Still shaken, and with an irregular heartbeat, I take two steps at a time and find Zach standing by his dresser, his soccer jersey in his hands.

“What’s going on, Zach? We need to leave.”

“I hate soccer.” He turns and challenges me with a raised chin. Like he’s already prepared his arguments and dares me to point out the benefits of soccer.

“Okay.” I squat beside him, taking the jersey away from him. “Did something happen at the practice?”

“No. I’m even decent at it. Well, I’m good at everything.” He shrugs. He’s not wrong, but overly confident for a six-year-old. It’s adorable, and a bit worrying. “I just don’t like it.”

“Did you tell your dad?”

He looks at me with horror. “I can’t tell him. He expects me to be good at sports.”

Oh boy. He’s probably right, but surely not at all costs.

“Zach, he wants you to be happy first and foremost. If soccer isn’t your thing, you may take up another sport; I’m sure your dad wouldn’t force you to play soccer.”

“I don’t want to disappoint him.” He glowers at me like I’m not understanding what’s going on.

Frankly, his father has just seared my brain, so I may be a bit slow .

“Zach, between you and me, I’ll let you skip today’s practice. It would be our secret, but only if you promise to talk to your dad about this.”

He eyes me for a moment, and I can practically hear him thinking.

When he doesn’t respond, I continue. “I don’t know how your dad will feel about you quitting soccer, but I’m sure you can’t disappoint him. Ever.”

“I’m not so sure, but I’ll talk to him if you let me skip today.” He extends his hand to shake on it in a very adult way.

I take it and give it a serious shake, hoping that playing hooky at the soccer won’t get us both in trouble.

We get downstairs. Zoya waits for us, but I don’t see Declan anywhere.

“Ready?” I usher the kids to the elevator.

“Daddy said you’ll sleep hewe tonight.” Zoya skips around the car as we descend.

“Where is Dad going?” Zach asks.

“He has a date.” Zoya beams.

Motherfucker.

I drop the kids off and send the driver away. I need to walk off this energy. What the actual fuck? He cages me in the kitchen with his dirty declarations while he has a date tonight?

Not that I have any claims on him. He made it clear nothing would happen between us, but still, he can’t say he’s pining after me and then go on a date.

I’m so pissed, I march down the street like a mad woman. What an asshole. I’m so disappointed, I want to return to his house and tell him what I think about his stupid restraint.

One of us needs to be responsible.

Patronizing bastard. He wants me, he said. I should take some solace in that. At least my infatuation hasn’t been one-sided.

I don’t even know what I’m so pissed about.

It’s good he has a date. Isn’t it? He promised—no, he threatened—not to act on his attraction toward me, so he should move on. We both should.

But he hasn’t dated in years, so why now?

To hurt me? And he dared ask me to sleep over. Though if he is his usual self, that date is doomed anyway.

I pause.

Does he want me to hear him fucking another woman? Oh my God. What game is he playing?

Why did he even tell Zoya about having a date? If I know his daughter, he’ll be investigated thoroughly tomorrow .

Someone bumps into me, swearing. Our sweaty skins brush, and I shiver. Summer in New York can be really gross.

I enter a coffee shop and get myself an extra-large iced latte with double syrup, because I need to wrap my nerves in a bit of sugar. Or a lot, so I order a donut as well.

Deciding to enjoy the fridge-like conditions of the indoors, I find a seat and try to enjoy my sweetness overdose.

The kitchen scene keeps replaying in my mind. His words and his presence. The dominance when he spun me around. The burning touch when he forced me to look at him. His heaving chest. His rigid jawline. The scorching heat in his eyes.

The outline of his cock.

Yeah, I wouldn’t survive him. His aggressive behavior should have concerned me. Scared me. And it did, but in a thrilling way. What’s wrong with me?

His declaration should have quashed my lust. And it did the opposite. It aroused my curiosity, and ignited an even stronger yearning. Before, I thought I was the only one in this, but now I know he is just better at hiding his feelings.

I slurp my drink, watching the pedestrians trudging about in the heat of Manhattan. It may be the cool coffee, or his date, or just the insanity of it all, but as I calm down, I recognize he has a point.

His kids come first, and the two of us, even for a casual fling—and I’m not sure I’m that kind of a girl—is not a good idea.

The nanny code and all. I don’t want to lose this job. I don’t want things between us to get awkward. I laugh at that. They couldn’t be more awkward, even if we tried.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, it dawns on me how selfish I’ve been. I should have never accepted the job. What if my past comes calling after all? I’ll just be another person to abandon those kids. Jesus.

The thought makes me more miserable than Declan’s stupid date. What was I thinking?

Spending time at the house with Zoya and Zach has felt like home. I let my guard down.

I push the donut away, deflated. I planned to search for an apartment during my free time today, but my mind is misfiring in all different directions, so I decide to visit Celeste.

I send her a quick message, and she begs me to come.

The penthouse is eerily silent when I step out of the elevator into Celeste’s vast living room, which looks over Central Park only half a block from Declan’s vantage point .

My friend lounges on the sofa and puts her finger to her lips, her eyes pleading desperately to stay silent.

As I approach her with caution, I realize a bassinet is beside her, Amelie sleeping peacefully.

Gingerly, I slide down to sit on the floor close to Celeste, with the best view of the sleeping infant.

“How are you?” I mouth.

“Exhausted.” Celeste yawns.

“Can I help with something?”

“Just don’t wake her up.”

I smile and pat Celeste’s knee. “Close your eyes. I’ll watch her.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes already closed.

I scoot closer and put my hand on Amelie’s chest. Drawing from her innocent calm, I instantly feel better about everything.

Funnily enough, I never had time to consider if and when I wanted to be a mother; and now, in a span of several weeks, I’ve grown to discover how much joy and love I’ve found around children.

Will I ever be able to settle down and have my own family? When I arrived in New York, I was sure that anything that normal probably wasn’t in the cards anytime soon.

Not in my situation.

To cope, I decided to stop thinking about the future. To stay in the present. It may take years before I can go back to my former life, so what’s the point? I just need to bide my time before I can return to my roots.

But if it takes years? Am I strong enough to put my life on hold? Am I ready to just wait and live like a hermit?

I pushed those thoughts so deep inside. Why are they resurfacing now? Because you realized you’re the next person to abandon those kids.

Celeste stirs. “Are you crying?”

I reach for my cheek and wipe a tear. “It’s from joy,” I lie. “She’s beautiful.”

“How are you?” Celeste slouches a bit, and we huddle around the bassinet. “I need some adult conversation.”

I sigh. “Where to begin…” I purse my lips. “Cora’s sofa is killing my back. And don’t tell her, but her cats are super mean.”

Celeste lets out a muffled giggle. “They are, aren’t they?”

“I think they are taking revenge for their names.” Having a whispered conversation is strange, but not in a bad way. It gives my frazzled, confused, upset mind the pause it needs.

“Also, Zach confessed today that he hates soccer, so I allowed him to skip the practice. ”

Celeste rolls her eyes. “Let’s hope you won’t get caught, rebel nanny.”

We stifle our laugh, our shoulders shaking.

“But why would Declan force him to play if he doesn’t like it?” I ask.

“I don’t know him well enough, but Cal tells me Declan’s need for control is non-negotiable, and he is not very flexible.

It might be because, as a single father, he has so much to juggle.

I assume he signed up Zach for soccer, whatever the motivation, but making a change to his well-established schedule is hard, so he doesn’t question if said schedule makes sense. ”

“Wow, for not knowing the guy, this is quite insightful.” Is Declan clinging to things the way they are because he fears that changing one piece would break the puzzle? “And if you’re right, it’s sad.”

“Believe me, until Amelie, I never realized a routine is such an important part of keeping sane.” She shrugs with a tired smile.

“As a future—a very near future—nanny employer, I must advise you: don’t let the kids skip the schedule.

Talk to Declan about it. He may not even know he’s forcing his son into something. ”

I nod. “Have you met Declan? It’s not that easy to talk to him.”

“Oh please, you can handle it. ”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” I roll my eyes, slouching a bit.

“Hey, don’t be modest. When we accepted you into our fold, you were a disaster. You’re the only person I know that can burn iced coffee. Wherever you came from, you were shielded from basic survival skills, and yet you survived.”

I stare at my friend. I never realized she deduced so much from my guarded behavior. “Just because I’m shit in the kitchen—” I start protecting my cover.

“The point is, you can handle yourself in any situation. Talk to Declan about Zach. One thing my marriage taught me is that open communication is the key to a successful relationship.”

If she only knew how open Declan was this morning in the kitchen.

The housekeeper has a day off, so I return to the penthouse, ready to chill and collect my thoughts. It’s only when I step from the elevator that I recall Declan is working from home.

Shit. I almost spin around to leave when he saunters from the kitchen with a coffee mug. He glances at me and pauses.

Our gazes collide, and it’s almost like some strange truce descends on us. Like we got tired of the dance and avoidance. Or maybe it’s just me.

“Kids delivered okay?” he asks.

I nod.

He opens his mouth. Is he going to talk about what happened in the kitchen? But then, to my relief and disappointment, he bows his head curtly and goes upstairs.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and slouch against the wall. A part of me wishes he didn’t tell me all those things this morning.

An equally persistent, darker part of me—I didn’t even know I have this side—is reveling in his brief loss of control. I did that to him. It’s a heady feeling.

But as I sit on the sofa, enjoying the view, the rational me comes through. He is right, this attraction has no chance of blossoming.

I work for him. My past is holding me back. His children need stability. He doesn’t want to pursue it, and I need to respect that. Even though I want to throw tantrums.

Declan doesn’t come downstairs for lunch. Thankfully. I put crackers and cheese on a small plate and decide to sit outside before I have to leave to pick up the kids.

I balance my water and the plate in one hand, jutting out my hip as I reach for the handle. Everything tumbles to the ground when a shrill, piercing wail stabs my ears.

The silence shatters with unforgiving intensity. The high-pitched screech I prayed to never hear again reverberates off the walls, its urgent rhythmic blare demanding attention.

I freeze, paralyzed as the fear overtakes my body, along with the relentless sound drilling into my skull.