Page 26 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

26

DEX

T he house is quieter than it should be. I pace back and forth across the living room floor, Ellis nestled against my chest, but the weight of the silence presses on me like a physical thing. The floorboards creak beneath my hooves—a sound that used to be drowned out by Maya's humming or the soft murmurs she'd direct at Ellis. Now it's just me, the creaking wood, and the hollow echo of emptiness.

"Well, little one," I say to Ellis, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet, "just you and me again, huh?"

Ellis coos softly in response, his tiny fingers wrapping around my thumb. His grip is surprisingly strong for such a small thing. I run my thumb over his hand, feeling the softness of his new fur, still downy and tawny-colored like mine was at his age. His gold eyes—so like my own—stare up at me with what I can only describe as confusion.

He misses her too.

"I know," I tell him, as if he's asked a question. "I miss her too."

Three days. Three days since we've been home without her, and it feels like three years. I've faced down angry merchants, haggled with the stubbornest traders in Karona, shit, I've even stood my ground against Varina's withering stare, but coming home to a house without Maya? That broke something in me I didn't know could break.

I move to the window, adjusting Ellis so he can look outside too. The view is the same as always—the garden she started, the footpath she would take each morning to her shop. I half expect to see her silver-blonde hair catching the sunlight as she comes around the corner, that practical, no-nonsense stride of hers carrying her back to us.

But she doesn't come.

"I really messed this up, didn't I?" I ask Ellis, who responds by trying to stuff my knuckle into his mouth. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

The problem with being known as the jovial one—the friend who's always ready with a joke or a booming laugh—is that admitting when you're heartbroken doesn't come easy. People expect you to bounce back, to find the humor, to keep smiling. But there's no humor in this. There's just the ache in my chest that grows heavier each day.

I walk past her room—Maya's room—and pause at the door. I haven't been able to bring myself to look inside since she left. The sheets are probably still rumpled the way she'd leave them each morning, too practical to waste time on what she called "pointless tidying." There might still be a hint of her scent—herbs and earth and something distinctly Maya—lingering in the air.

"I told her she was just the nanny," I confess to Ellis, my voice dropping to a whisper. "After everything... after she was the first one to make you laugh... after she stood up to Varina for us... I told her she was just the nanny."

The memory of the hurt in her gray eyes haunts me. Not anger—that I could have handled. But hurt, deep and wounded, like I'd confirmed her worst fears. That she wasn't truly part of what we were building here. That she was replaceable.

When the truth is, she's anything but.

"I love her," I tell Ellis, the words feeling strange and right all at once. "I love her, and I don't know how to fix this."

Ellis makes a gurgling sound and pats my chest with his free hand.

"You're right. Simple but not easy." I sigh, tracing one of his tiny horns just starting to peek through. "She never meant to stay with us, though. That was the deal. Temporary help until I found a permanent solution."

But somewhere along the way, Maya became the solution. She became essential—the missing piece that made us feel like a family. The way she'd roll her eyes at my jokes but laugh anyway. The way she knew exactly what Ellis needed before he even cried for it. The way she'd argue with me about the right way to fold baby clothes or the best herbs to help him sleep, never backing down, never intimidated by my size or my horns or my occasional stubbornness.

Ellis yawns widely, his tiny mouth forming a perfect circle. His eyelids droop.

"Time for your nap," I murmur, heading toward the nursery. "Though I warn you, my swaddling technique isn't nearly as good as Maya's."

As I lay him down in his crib, I can't help but think of the first night Maya stayed over. How terrified I was, how out of my depth. How she showed me how to wrap Ellis just right, her hands sure and confident as they tucked in corners and smoothed wrinkles.

"I miss her, little one," I admit, watching Ellis's eyes close. "And I don't know if she'll ever come back to us."

Once he's settled, I move to the living room and stare out the window, staring out at the garden Maya planted. Tiny green shoots struggle upward between rows of stone markers, each labeled in her precise handwriting. Sunlight winks off the collection of glass jars she'd arranged on the windowsill—once filled with dried herbs, now empty like the rest of the house.

The hollow feeling in my chest expands. When did these walls start closing in? When did silence become so deafening?

I press one hand against the cool glass, my reflection staring back at me—a massive frame with slumped shoulders, bronze rings in my curved horns catching the light. The minotaur in the window looks lost, nothing like the confident merchant who can charm customers with booming laughter and quick wit.

"This isn't working," I mutter to myself, my breath fogging the glass slightly. "None of this works without her."

The realization settles over me like a physical weight. It's not just that Ellis misses her—though he does, the gods know he does. It's not just that she made things easier—though she did, with her practical efficiency and unwavering calm. It's that this house, this life I'm trying to build for us, feels fundamentally wrong without Maya in it.

I've been a fool. A stubborn, proud, terrified fool.

Terrified of admitting how much I need her. Terrified of giving someone else the power to leave me. Just like Iris left. Just like my parents. Just like Arekia. But in trying to protect myself from that hurt, I've caused a deeper wound—for her, for Ellis, for myself.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Three light taps, followed by a pause, then two more—Lyra's signature knock. I almost don't answer, not feeling up to company, but Lyra isn't one to be deterred by silence.

When I open the door, she's standing there with a knowing look in her bright green eyes. Her copper-red hair is braided as usual, woven through with some kind of small white flowers that smell faintly medicinal. One hand rests protectively over her slightly rounded belly, a habit she's developed since her pregnancy began to show.

"You look terrible," she says bluntly.

I snort despite myself. "Good afternoon to you, too, sunshine."

"When's the last time you slept?" She steps past me into the house without waiting for an invitation, her eyes tracking around the room, taking in the scattered toys, the unwashed dishes, the general air of disarray.

"Ellis went down about fifteen minutes ago," I say, dodging the question. "Should be out for an hour at least."

Lyra doesn't reply immediately. Instead, she makes a slow circuit of the living room, straightening a blanket here, picking up a toy there. When she finally looks at me, her expression is gentle with understanding.

"I'm here to babysit," she says simply, as if reading my mind. "Go get her."

For a moment, I just stare at her, processing the words. Then the dam breaks, and everything I've been holding back comes rushing out.

"Maya thinks I don't want her. That I just see her as—" I run a hand through the fur between my horns. "She put her heart into this family and I pushed her away and?—"

Lyra steps forward, putting her small hand on my forearm, the size difference between us almost comical. "Dex," she cuts me off firmly. "I know. She's told me everything."

"Everything?" I wince.

"Everything," she confirms, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "Including some details about that night that I really could have done without, to be honest."

Heat rushes up my neck and into my ears at the memory of that night, of Maya's skin under my hands, the sounds she made when I?—

"Focus, Dex," Lyra snaps her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to the present. "The point is, she's miserable. You're miserable. Ellis deserves better than two miserable guardians. So go fix it."

I nod, a wave of relief flooding through me. The decision crystallizes in my chest, solid and certain.

"There are bottles in the?—"

"I can find where everything is," Lyra interrupts, shooing me toward the door. "I've been taking care of babies while you were still learning to count trade goods. Now go, before you overthink this too."

I don't say anything else, but the decision is made. I leave Ellis with Lyra, determination settling in my chest like a physical weight. I'm going after Maya. I'm not losing her again.