Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 41105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“So, you need me to be her nanny?”
“Temporarily, yes,” he says.
“Do you expect me to stay here twenty-four seven during these weeks?”
“I would prefer it…”
“Ryder...” I sigh. “It’s a little soon for me to be moving in, don’t you think?”
“If we were talking about moving you into my suite, yes,” he says. “You have your own. You’re free to slip into mine whenever you like though.”
“I don’t have any experience nannying children, and I—”
“Please…” The soft tone in his voice catches me off guard. A flicker of vulnerability flashes in his eyes.
“I wasn’t planning on asking you for help in this department at all,” he says, “but it’s too late for me to vet anyone else who works for me, and even then, my supply of trust is low.”
Silence.
“Can you help me with this, Autumn?” he asks, stunning me again. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair. “I appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you need to grab anything from your Airbnb, or would you like me to get you a new wardrobe?”
“I’ll take you up on the new wardrobe.”
“Good.” He smiles, and I remember the binder Kylie gave me, still safely tucked in my purse. “You’ll get a call from someone soon about the type of clothes you want.”
“Will the business trips you take be long?”
“A couple days here and there,” he says. “I always give Adeline the departure and arrival times.”
“Noted.”
He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close enough to kiss me, looking like he wants to fuck right here and now, but his phone sounds in his pocket.
Letting me go, he pulls it out and glances at the screen.
“I need to take this,” he says. His voice isn’t soft anymore. “Adeline is in the practice room, Miss Jane.”
The whiplash is instant, the boundary drawn up without any lead-up—like I’ve gone from lover to employee in a single breath.
I walk away before I can think too much about the way he’s so easily able to shut himself off—or why I’m starting to think I’ve just been locked inside a gilded cage.
End of Episode 14
Formata
EPISODE 15
Autumn
The long and lush notes of Bach’s Chaconne pull me closer as I walk down the west wing of the estate. The strings from the violin sing as if they’re being tamed by a professional—perhaps Adele’s teacher—but when I peer into the room, the teacher is staring at the sheet music.
Adele is standing near the window, playing the piece without even looking at the printed notes.
I lean against the doorframe and listen in awe, letting her precision lure me out of my thoughts. I’m falling into the story, feeling my fingers itch to play along, when suddenly the teacher taps a ruler against the stand.
“Very nice,” she says. “Let’s stop for today.”
“Bravo!” I clap from where I’m standing. That doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve just heard.
The two of them look toward me, and I clear my throat.
“Sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t help it. You’re incredible, Adele.”
“Thank you, Miss Jane.”
“Acht, acht, acht!” Her teacher taps the ruler again. “Curtsy or bow with your thanks, child. You know better.”
Adele forces a smile and curtsies. “Thank you, Miss Jane.”
“Much better.” The teacher motions for me to step inside and extends her hand. “Mrs. Hannah Foglienne, a long-time friend of the estate.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m Adele’s nanny.”
“Well, don’t be offended if she runs you off after a few days,” she says. “She tends to have that effect, but I’ve learned all her ways over the years. I even knew to expect her back from London this week. I just know.”
Adele walks toward her case and opens it.
“What are you doing, child?” Mrs. Foglienne asks.
“I thought we were done for the day.”
“You thought wrong.” She points to a chair. “I’m done, but you still owe a performance of the first part of Bruch: 1. Violinkonzert, and you’ll play it for Miss Jane. Play it well, and when I return, I’d like to hear some feedback.”
She hands me the sheets and whispers, “This piece takes at least fifteen minutes to perform. Enjoy.”
Grabbing her mug and scarf, she pats my shoulder before leaving the room.
Adele sighs and picks up her bow. Then she shuts her eyes and begins the concerto with ease.
Like before, the notes are full and beautifully strung, painting a picture that fills the room.
At least, they would be to someone who’d never played them before.
I can hear exactly where she cuts corners—where she chops off a note instead of letting it linger, rushes through rests, or slides into the next phrase. It’s the mark of a prodigy who’s so gifted she never has to try. She knows they’ll excuse a fudged vibrato or a hurried passage.
Just like I did.
“She’s so young…” they said. “It’ll come with time.”