Page 55 of Undeniably Corrupt (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #7)

Our previous nanny, the one who had been there during the “accident,” had left us almost immediately after.

Since then, it’s been a string of people who are either too terrified or self-absorbed to stick it out or can’t handle my less-than-warm disposition.

I’ve been called disagreeable by my mother and aunt. I feel that’s putting it mildly.

“When did she leave?” I question, taking a sip of my coffee, not at all surprised after my encounter with her last night.

“Before dawn,” Javier says. “Packed her bags and left. But not before screaming about what an asshole you are.” He wipes away a smirk.

I don’t even bother trying. “That could be because I caught her entering my bedroom when I returned from my run and told her to get the fuck out.”

“What was she trying to do in your bedroom?” Althea asks.

I take another sip, finishing off my third cup of the day. “I’m sure you can guess, Aunt, without me going into specifics about what she was wearing and what she wasn’t. I’m just grateful she wasn’t helping herself to my bed, otherwise I would have had to burn my sheets.”

“This makes eight nannies in three years.”

I lean back in my chair, my hands resting casually on my stomach. “What would you have had me do? Invite her to stay for the night?”

Affronted by the suggestion, Althea straightens her spine in her chair. “Certainly not. At least not that woman.”

I give her an unamused look.

She holds up a placating hand. “So now we have the unfortunate task of trying to find yet another nanny. And quickly.”

“Yes,” Emily agrees. “This week the prime minister is coming for a visit along with a few other members of parliament. I won’t have as much time with the children as I might otherwise.”

“Same for me,” my aunt agrees.

My time will be even more limited than theirs with this visit.

I have the unhappy task of dealing with Samil Batorini.

Sniveling rat bastard the prime minister is.

I hate him, and the feeling is entirely mutual.

We were school friends, but when I married Nora, that all changed.

He was in love with her and was never able to get over his jealousy, despite the fact that she had turned him down straight and had never felt the same for him in return.

Sour on this whole situation or not, I’m no fool. I’m still running my country. And raising three growing children who need a mother. One they’ll never have again. They need someone to care for them during the times when I cannot.

That would be a nice change of pace.

Not some glorified twenty-something influencer who thinks she’ll become famous by blogging her life within the infamous cursed palace walls.

Not some evil, wart-covered witch who promises a stern hand and a life of discipline are the only ways to get them over the grieving hump.

Not some gold-digging woman who thinks she can fuck her way to the crown.

No. They need… Hell, I’m not even sure what my children need at this point other than more. I’d give them anything I could so long as it keeps them safe. But I’m limited. Forever divided between my duty to my children and my duty to my kingdom.

“I’ll put out inquiries to all the big prestigious firms in Europe,” Emily tells me.

I don’t laugh, though I’m tempted. That’s gotten us nowhere in the past. Just more of the same I mentioned, despite background checks and rigorous interviews and references.

It’s as if once they get here, they forget they’re here to work with my children and instead think they can make a quid off our family.

“That will lead to nothing,” I grumble.

“Perhaps,” she agrees. “But what other choice do we have?”

Frustrated, I sit up in my chair, running my hands over my face and back through my hair.

“You could marry again,” Althea tries gently only to wince when my gaze cuts sharply to hers. I’ll never marry again, and she knows it. A woman warming my bed won’t change the reality of my life. It won’t cure the fear and misery either. She’d be nothing more than a liability to me.

Women are a complication. A headache. Emotionally needy. And frankly, not something I have the time or desire for.

I can hardly balance what’s in front of me now.

I stand, march over to the window, and stare down at the back gardens where the girls are playing on the playscape, pushing their baby brother in his child swing.

The cook, that poor woman who is supposed to be prepping lunch, is out there watching them since the rest of us are in my study.

I used to have sisters. I never see Brea, and Desta is gone, likely dead, though we never found out what happened to her.

I have a brother who shows up every now and then and is the closest thing I have to a friend and confidant.

My mother is in her residence two hundred kilometers from us, and much like us, now refuses to leave it.

I had a family once. Now all I have is this.

“Find me someone new,” I command. “Find me someone different.”

“Someone different?” my aunt repeats as if the words are foreign to her.

“Yes. Different.”

“Different…how?” Emily picks up.

“Someone who doesn’t scare so easily,” I say. “Someone who will give a shit about my children. Someone who isn’t in this entirely for themselves and what they can get out of it.”

“Someone who can put up with you and your less-than-pleasant disposition, you mean.”

I raise my eyebrow at my aunt, and she returns the gesture, finding her backbone once again after the marriage comment.

I blow out a silent breath, my hands gripping the window frame.

The children are growing sick of the revolving door of caretakers and, frankly, so am I.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, though over the last three years, that’s all this seems to be.

Hell, it’s been like this since I took over the throne when I was just a teenager.

Too young by any measure to rule, it’s a wonder I’m not streaked in gray.

The only light I see is when I look into my children’s eyes, but the terror that keeps me up at night overshadows everything else.

“I don’t care how you do it or where you find them,” I tell the room. “They have to be qualified and capable, but for fuck’s sake, find me someone different,” I repeat.

Then I frown to myself. Already knowing it’s impossible. There isn’t a woman out there like that. If there was, we’d already have found her.

**Want to find out if the Beast King meets his Belle? Get your copy of Cursed King now and dive headfirst into this dark, STEAMY, fairy tale world. And yes, this is written under my pen name, Julie Saman.