The Rejected Wife: Chapter 31

‘Congratulations, I hear you hired Priscilla as your nanny, and she’s lasted—what’s it, almost five weeks now?’ Brody, my second youngest brother tugs down the shirt sleeve on his left arm. It’s to hide the scars I know cover the entire underside. A memento he picked up in the Marines. He’s never spoken about what led to it, so we can only speculate as to what might have caused it. Considering he’s the silent kind who prefers to limit his interactions to grunts, it’s telling that he made the remark.

I grunt in response.

“We’ve all noticed how much you’ve been juggling lately—looking after Serene and running a company at the same time—so I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to volunteer to host tonight.” Connor deals the cards with practiced ease, his fingers moving smoothly through the deck. Two cards to each of us.

Poker night is a ritual Arthur started, and after he got sick, my brothers and I began rotating who hosts. Tonight, we’re in the basement of my townhouse. I’m only able to host because Cilla’s upstairs with Serene.

Nathan calls, tossing a small stack of chips into the pot. “I figured it might’ve been awkward, since she was once engaged to Knox. But he’s happily married now. And Priscilla doesn’t seem to hold a grudge. Plus, she’s great with Serene—so I guess it all worked out, huh?”

“Priscilla wasn’t strictly engaged to Knox,” I growl. “He never bought her an engagement ring. And it was never serious between them.

‘It was all a part of Arthur’s ploy to get Knox to notice June, anyway.” June’s his wife now. And yes, they are happily married, and I don’t begrudge him his happiness at all. But damn, if it doesn’t feel like I’m being stabbed in my chest to be reminded of how I almost lost her.

My brothers exchange a look.

Connor shrugs. “Whatever you say, Bro.” He raises, sliding in a bigger stack of chips into the pot.

He’s humoring me. I’m about to tell him to fuck off, when he adds, “Guess it’s a case of ninth, or is that the ninetieth, time lucky?”

I narrow my gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

“Given the number of nannies you’ve tried, I’m glad you found Priscilla. We were beginning to despair you’d ever find anyone to help. And boy did you need help.” Connor scratches his chin. “You were drowning, ol’ chap.”

Brody laughs. “You looked like you were one dropkick away from collapsing into a sobbing heap in the corner.” Brody fixes me with a stare. “We’re glad to have you back in the land of the living.”

And it’s thanks to Cilla. I survey the cards I’ve been dealt. Then re-raise. I push forward a neat stack.

“Leave the bugger alone.” James—a good friend who served with me in the Marines and is now a Michelin-starred chef—who’s joined us for the first time, lounges back with a whiskey glass in hand. “He has a lot on his mind.”

I shoot him a frustrated glance. “Thanks for the concern. Not.”

James switches his cigar from one end of his mouth to the other and smirks at me.

“He does?” Connor picks up on what James said.

It’s been a week since my conversation with Arthur. A week during which Serene seems to be sleeping better at night. Other than one night when she had a nightmare, she’s slept through the others. Which means, for the first time in almost a year, I feel wide awake and alert.

I’m sure it’s Priscilla’s presence in my daughter’s life that’s led to her feeling more secure. Which, in turn, has led to Serene sleeping better. My daughter seems more at ease, happier, more content. It’s clear Cilla is the only person for me.

We had—still have—a connection. But so much has happened since I asked her to leave my penthouse that day. We’re both different people now. How can I ask her now without seeming like I’m doing it because it’s convenient? If she gets pissed off and resigns from her job as Serene’s nanny, then I’ll have lost her. If she feels the same way I do, and I ask someone else to marry me just to avoid upsetting her, again I’d lose her.

But if she stays—what then?

I’d be trapped in a loveless marriage, watching the only woman I want take care of my daughter, day after day, just out of reach. It would destroy me.

Arthur’s decree has me cornered. I know what I want—who I want—but how do I get her to marry me without pushing her away?

Unbidden, my gaze strays to the app open on my phone. It’s linked to the cameras trained on Serene’s bedroom. I use it to keep an eye on my daughter. Parents do it all the time. And if I end up sneaking peeks at my new nanny while she’s in my daughter’s room, it’s simply because she happens to be in the same space as Serene.

It has nothing to do with how the sight of her gives me as much pleasure as my daughter. It has nothing to do with the ring burning a hole in the pocket of my pants either. I only need to find the right time to propose to her. That’s not what’s making me nervous and jumpy and pissed off at my brothers. That, and the fact that every time one of them talks or asks after Priscilla, I want to tell them to not speak her name. That’s how possessive I feel about her.

“Are we referring to the tension between him and Priscilla at her engagement to Knox? Which, by the way, did not go unnoticed,” Nathan muses.

“It wasn’t a real engagement.” I glare at my older brother, only to find him fighting hard to stifle a smile. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. Once my brothers got married, they seemed to want the rest of us bachelors settled. For men who complained bitterly about Arthur’s machinations, they seemed to move over to his school of thought quickly once they get their Happily Ever Afters.

‘Don’t you guys have anything else to do beside worry about my personal life?’ I glance around the table.

‘You admit hiring Priscilla is linked to your personal life?’ Brody tosses his cards into the pile.

‘Of course, hiring her is linked to my personal life. She’s taking care of my daughter.” I turn on him, only to notice his eyes gleaming. ‘Wanker,’ I say mildly.

The fact that my normally reticent brother has joined in on the ribbing tells me they’ve, indeed, discussed me when I’m not around.

‘How is it that we’ve been granted the pleasure of your company?’ I turn on James in a bid to move the spotlight from me. ‘Thought you were married to your restaurant?’

‘I am.’ James surveys his cards. ‘But even I need a break…on occasion.’

‘Anything to do with a certain member of your team?’ I can’t resist asking.

His features darken. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘So, you did come here to get away from said sous-chef?’ Connor theorizes.

‘I’m the boss.’ James glowers at him. ‘What I do with my time has nothing to do with my team. I needed some downtime, is all.’

‘And you chose to spend it with us? I’m so humbled.’ My voice oozes mock gratitude.

James looks at me, then places an Ace of Spades and Ace of Hearts on the table.

Brody groans.

I chuckle. ‘You have the luck of the devil, don’t you?’

‘Not always,’ James murmurs. There’s a look in his eye hinting at shadows from his past. I know, he’s referring to a particular mission that went badly for him. He sees the understanding in my eyes, and his own shutter.

He has his secrets. As do I. Neither one of us is going to betray the other about it.

I deal the next hand.

Brody looks at his and groans, then throws his cards face down and folds.

Connor, too, makes a sound of disgust and folds. Nathan does the same.

“You folding, too?” James asks, calm as ever. Man’s the coolest customer I’ve ever met. Whether he’s in the control room or out in the field, you’d never guess the pressure he’s under. The way he keeps his emotions locked down is almost as good as mine. Almost.

In response, I turn my cards over. It’s all four Kings, plus a Five.

“Well, glad to see the Monarchy’s thriving,” Brody says, deadpan.

James places his cards one-by-one, face-up. Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten and Jack. All hearts.

“Show off,” I scowl.

Connor clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “I thought you loved me, man.”

Brody reaches for an olive and stares at it. “Since when are we snacking like influencers?”

‘Since I found out Tyler survives on processed food, which is unhealthy.’ Priscilla walks into the room with a couple of platters. One of which is a plate of cut vegetables and that brown stuff—hummus—she insists on plating out with it.

I stifle a groan.

Nathan levels a glance at me which I interpret as asking, “Since when does nannying stretch to playing hostess?”

I shrug. In the time she’s been here, she’s already made changes to my diet—and to Serene’s diet—for which I’m grateful, and this included throwing out all the pre-packaged food I had on-hand, saying nobody should be eating those additives.

She’s right, but I had enough on my plate—pun intended—with ensuring a relatively healthy diet for Serene. I stopped making any effort when it came to my own diet. So, having her step in and plan my meals is something I gratefully accepted. In retrospect, I could have paid a housekeeper or a chef to do this, but it hadn’t occurred to me. Am I taking her generosity for granted by accepting this from her?

I stare back at Nathan, trying to communicate with my eyes that: This wasn’t part of the job description. But when she offered to cater food for the poker game, I couldn’t say no. Another way I’ve taken advantage of her thoughtfulness?

‘You could try the French fries,’ she hastens to clarify. ‘Baked, of course.’

‘Baked Fries?’ Brody winces.

‘You can’t even tell the difference.’ She places them on the table, not noticing Brody shooting me a knowing glance. One which I pretend not to notice.

James samples one of the fries, then looks at her with surprise. ‘You made these?’

She nods. The light of recognition in her eyes tells me she realizes who he is, but she doesn’t make a big deal about one of the most famous chefs in the country sampling her cooking.

‘They’re good,’ he says slowly.

Her face brightens.

‘It’s good to see you, Priscilla.” Connor winks at her.

I glare at the mofo, but he continues to stare her with an entranced look in his eyes. Jealousy stabs at my chest. I squeeze the edge of the table, trying to hold back my anger. Asshole’s doing it to provoke a reaction from me, and I’ll be damned if I’ll give him that satisfaction. I stifle the growl bubbling up.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Connor,’ she says in her sweet voice.

Connor’s smile widens. “I’m so pleased you’re Serene’s nanny. I bet Tyler appreciates the help.’

‘All credit to Serene. She makes it so easy. She’s a wonderful little girl.’ She begins to gather up the empty beer glasses.

Connor jumps up to help her, but when I glare at him, he slowly sinks back, a smirk on his face. One which turns me hot under my collar.

I should not have agreed to let her bring us food. It’s exposing her to the gazes of my brothers and my friend. With the exception of Nathan, they’re single.

All three are watching her like she’s an angel. Which I admit, she is. And dressed in that simple pink wrap dress and ballet flats, she looks almost virginal. Contrasted with the thick hair that flows down her back and her obvious curves, she exudes an allure which calls to me. It makes me want to pull her into my lap and kiss her, regardless of who’s watching. I hadn’t realized having my brothers and my friend look at her with interest would make me want to jump up from my seat, push her behind me so she’s out of sight and growl, “Mine.”

I don’t like the idea of her waiting on the others at the table. In fact, I don’t want her lowering herself to the role of domestic help by gathering up the used beer glasses. I realize, while I want her to take care of Serene, I don’t want her to do it as a nanny, but as something more. I want her to be my wife. And how selfish is that? Am I thinking of her as the most likely candidate because she’s here and available? No, that’s not it. It’s because she’s the only person I can see myself with. It’s been her or no one else, since I met her.

All of these thoughts run through my head, along with anger at myself for sending Priscilla away in the first place. Now, I’m nervous that when I spring my proposal on her, she’s going to turn me down. If she does… She won’t. She can’t. I’m going to make it so irresistible that she has to accept it. But if she doesn’t? Sweat breaks out on my brow. I shove aside the churning in my guts, and when I say, “Leave it,” it comes out on a snap.

Priscilla seems taken aback, then manages a smile. ‘It’s no problem. I’m heading back into the kitchen, and⁠—’

‘You don’t need to do it. I already pay someone else to help with the cleaning, as you’re aware.” Again, my voice comes out harsher than intended. I curse myself, but the damage is done, for she stiffens. The glass that she grabbed slides out of her grasp. It hits the table, but before it can bounce off, Connor grabs it and rights it.

‘Thank you,’ she says in a low voice.

“You’re welcome.” He flashes her another smile, this time apologetic—on my behalf—and I want to bury my fist in his face. Tosser.

She turns on me. “Thanks for the clarification.” She huffs. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Anger sparks in her eyes, making me feel like a heel. Which, in turn, makes me even more pissed off. At myself.

She leaves the glasses where they were, then spins around and walks out, her spine rigid. Her dress stretches across the ample curves of her butt in a way that draws my attention. I look around to find I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Again, except for Nathan, who’s glaring at me. The other three are watching her exit, and goddamn, that’s the last straw.

‘Stop looking at her like that,’ I bite out.

‘Like what?’ Connor asks in an innocent voice.

‘You know what I mean!’

‘You calling dibs, Davenport?’ James drawls. ‘Because if you aren’t…’

Anger squeezes my rib cage. I know he’s yanking my chain, but goddamn, if I can’t stop myself from taking it seriously. I throw down my cards and glare around the table. ‘She’s out of bounds, you bastards. If I see any of you looking at her with anything other than respect, I’m going to kick your arse all the way back to whichever hole you climbed out of, you feel me?’

Brody whistles, then slowly nods.

The others, too, seem to realize I’m being very serious, for James jerks his chin. ‘Message received, mate.’

Connor leans back in his seat. ‘For someone who’s sweet on her, you have a funny way of showing it.’

‘Whaddya mean?’ I snap.

‘She was doing a nice thing by bringing us food to eat—food, by the way, which smells and tastes delicious.’ He dips a fry in the mayonnaise—bet its low fat—and pops it into his mouth. He chews and swallows, then stabs his finger at me. ‘If you’re not going after her and apologizing, I’m going to have to assume you don’t have the balls.’

He’s right, of course. I should tell her I’m sorry for behaving like a dickhead. I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve spoiled any chance of her listening to my proposal.

‘Fuck.’ I run my fingers through my hair.

Connor nods. “You did fuck that up, royally.”

‘Fine. I’ll go.’ I jump up and walk out the room.

I head to the kitchen to find she’s not there. Also, the counters have been wiped down. Every surface is gleaming. She didn’t have to do that, either.

The cleaner leaves by six p.m., but given there’s a kid in the house, I normally end the day with dishes in the sink and half-eaten takeaway cartons—none of which has happened since Priscilla got here. And I haven’t thanked her for it. Not once. I kept telling myself I wouldn’t take her for granted but, apparently, I have. Without even realizing it.

My blood still boils from how jealous I felt when the other men watched her or spoke to her. I might try to tell myself she’s only Serene’s nanny, but clearly, I was never going to be able to limit it to that when I’ve always seen her eventually having a different role in both my life and Serene’s. I can blame Arthur for accelerating things, but the truth is, I’m glad he did.

I want this and I can’t keep delaying. What if I’ve fucked things up too badly by allowing my frustration with myself to alienate her? I need to apologize, and I need to convince Cilla to marry me. Right now.

Where is she, though? Has she already left for her apartment over the garage? The thought has me racing toward the front door. I pull the door open and see her storming across the driveway.

I grab her coat, which she forgot to take in her hurry, and rush after her, calling out, ‘Priscilla.’