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“Oh. Okay,” I frown and glance over to Morgan’s father. They barely look older than Morgan. His mother has dark blonde hair that is pulled back into a severe bun, not a wrinkle in sight on her tight features.

She has dark green eyes and purses her lips the longer she can feel my stare. Immaculate makeup and expensive clothes, she’s wearing a damn suit with a long red trench coat and heels.

Morgan’s father has dark brown hair that is gelled back, making his thick dark eyebrows so much more prominent, and his thin lips press together as he stares at his lap. He’s also wearing a suit. How do they look so young? Plastic surgery? Genetics?

He snaps his brown eyes at me and sends me a small smile. “I’m Henry Bale and this is my wife, Patricia. So, you grew up in California?”

I nod and move to turn back around once Morgan finishes up figuring out how to place their bags in the trunk space. “I did. I just moved here about six months ago.”

He hums and nods, pulling out his phone and answers a call. Morgan jumps back in and smirks at me as he maneuvers his way back into traffic. “How’s the business?”

I tune out of their conversation that goes right over my head, even while Mr. Bale talks on the phone at the same time.

I’m pretty sure that Morgan mentioned his father is a lawyer, while his mother is an interior designer.

They’re freaking millionaires and can tell from one look that I don’t belong with their precious son.

I relax into my seat and close my eyes for the rest of the drive. I have no idea how much I’m worth, Andy is still working on everything from Betty’s estate and then suing her children for everything they already did, sold, and spent.

Money should even be an issue though. We’re happy, aren’t we?

“Where will we be eating tonight, Morgan? I need to look up the menu,” his mother’s voice drolls from the back.

Morgan glances up into the rear view mirror and winks at her with a wide smile. “Lillian is preparing a meal for us tonight.”

Patricia hums, “It better not be your idea of a feast, Morgan. Last year your wife prepared us raw chicken and frozen peas. With a side of boxed macaroni and cheese. For Christmas.”

I bite down on my lip and close my eyes. Ex-wife, thank you.

Morgan snickers under his breath and shrugs his broad shoulders, not taking anything she says to heart.

“Brittany couldn’t cook to save her own life.

Ask the girls what they’ve been eating for their meals, of late.

Lillian even packs Avery’s lunch every day.

She has a degree in nutrition and we’ve never eaten healthier.

The board in the kitchen is covered in recipes that she will be preparing for Thanksgiving tomorrow, you’re in for a treat. ”

Before Patricia can reply Avery sighs, not taking the animosity very well. “Grandma, Lily is a great cook.”

This is going to be a long week.

By the time we get back, Mackenzie is up and stalking around in her pajamas and she just smirks at us as we step in.

I have two of their bags in my hand and I drop them unceremoniously near the hall that leads to the bedrooms and shoot her a look.

She turns around and slams her bedroom door and I make my way into the kitchen to pull out the dinner that I had warming in the oven for them.

At least Mack can read my facial expressions and knows to hide.

The rest of us already ate so hopefully they can handle eating alone.

I serve Patricia and Henry at the island and pour myself a glass of wine. The clock on the microwave shows that it’s already past the girls’ bedtime. Shit. .

I continue drinking and drinking as Patricia complains about eating like a servant in the kitchen. How Morgan needs to eat in his proper dining room. He needs a full staff.

He needs this, he needs that.

The chicken is dry. The gravy tastes canned. My vegetables are probably not organic. The wine I chose doesn’t mesh with the dinner and tastes like it was from a gas station.

I walked right out of there and locked myself in my bedroom.

I took a long bath and turned on the TV.

Morgan can get the girls into bed and deal with his parents.

If this is how they’re going to be, then they can figure out how to watch their grandchildren and I’ll take Mackenzie with me back to that resort we stayed at last month while Morgan is out of town.

Fuck, it’s been a month since Morgan and I made things more official, I’ve tried so many times to tell him everything, but he just kisses my head and tells me it doesn’t matter.

He only cares about the present and our future now.

He doesn’t judge me for my past, for my scars.

And I don’t judge him for his poor dating choices. Sort of.

Mackenzie has watched the girls a few times so that we could go out, but we end up just picking up food and walking through parks.

We’ve gone to dinner once, but I enjoyed the fresh air, just us being together. Definitely in safer distances from his fans, the cameras, and waitresses falling over themselves to ensure he’s satisfied .

I never imagined I would date someone famous, I was just a lowly elementary school teacher. I loved my job, I loved San Francisco - for the most part.

Do I even want to teach again? I don’t want to be a burden, sitting around the house and being paid an insane amount of money for nannying three girls that I love more than life itself. Am I even really their nanny anymore?

What happens if Morgan and I get married? I want to contribute, I actually do want to work.

I sigh as I wrap myself up in my comforter and ignore my vibrating phone on my nightstand.

His parents are never going to like me, and I’m just going to have to get over it. I’m not up to par with their expectations, I don’t come from money. I’m just a lowly teacher. Oh well.