Chapter 15

Café Du Monde is surprisingly quiet at this hour. Because of the cool morning weather, we decide to grab a bite inside and find a table that can accommodate Isa.

Marley sets my now sound-asleep baby in her car seat carrier on the table, which is covered by a red-checkered tablecloth. She takes the bistro chair closest to Isa while I sit across from her.

Our night nanny’s breathtaking eyes circle the small, charming restaurant. Though I haven’t been here for a few years, nothing has changed. There are a dozen tables, and the menu is written on a chalkboard that’s nailed to a wall behind the fresh bakery. On the other walls, there are reproductions of belle époque posters. The most famous being Toulouse-Lautrec’s Moulin Rouge.

“This place is so charming! It doesn’t seem like a place that a man of your stature would frequent.”

I laugh. “Yeah, it’s definitely not the Polo Lounge, but then again, nothing is. My mom used to take me here when I was a kid. She was French, and it reminded her of her childhood in Paris.”

“Your mother…the famous actress, Isabelle Laurent?”

“You’re familiar with her?”

“Yes! Who isn’t? I’ve seen all her films. I’m kind of a movie buff. She was amazing!”

A cloud of sadness falls over me. I adored my beautiful, doting mother. Maman. “Yeah, she was amazing. Both an incredible mother and actress.”

She reaches across the table and cups her hand on mine. It’s soft and warm. A current of electricity runs through me. I feel a connection to her. Stronger than I’ve felt before.

“I’m sorry for your great loss,” she says softly, her eyes melting into mine. “The People magazine tribute to your parents was outstanding.”

“Yeah, it was a tragedy.” Both my parents died two years ago in a terrible boating accident. Their yacht blew up. “Hey, let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about you.”

A slight blush falls over her high cheekbones.

“Hey, you know you’re pretty enough to be an actress,” I say as she releases my hand.

Her blush deepens. She lets out a chuckle. “That’s sweet, but I have no interest in being on the screen. I’m more interested in being behind the scenes…”

“Oh?”

Her expression brightens with pride and confidence. “I’m an aspiring screenwriter. I’m almost done writing a movie.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I’d rather wait…and knock you dead when it’s finished.”

“Fair enough. But you know, if it’s good, I can help you. That’s what I do. That’s what IMAGE does. We make movie magic.”

“For sure, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Just then, Isa wakes up and cries at the top of her lungs. Her peaceful face scrunches up and turns beet red. Calmly, Marley reaches into the baby bag that’s resting on the chair next to her and pulls out a bottle. She sets it on the table and slides the car seat closer to her.

She comforts Isa, gently brushing her hand on her scalp. Then moves a hushing finger to her lush lips. “Shh, my sweet baby. I know you’re hungry.”

I watch as she angles the bottle and guides the nipple into Isa’s ready mouth.

“Be a good girl for Mama.”

Mama?I don’t overthink it. She probably says that to all her clients’ babies out of habit.

My eyes stay on her as Isa latches on to the latex or whatever it is. As she sucks greedily, the owner of the restaurant comes by.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Sinclair!”

“Bonjour, Nanette!” The robust redheaded sixty-something proprietor has been here forever…since I was a kid. My mother adored her.

I rise and stoop down so we can exchange kisses on both cheeks, the way my French mother used to embrace her.

I sit back down and her eyes instantly go to Marley and the baby.

“Ah, your beautiful new wife and newborn baby!”

Away visiting her family in France, she was unable to make it to my wedding and has never met Ava. On impulse, I refrain from telling her that Marley’s our child’s night nanny.

Marley makes eye contact with her. “Thank you. Her name is Isa.”

“Magnifique! So thoughtful you named her after Monsieur Sinclair’s beautiful maman. She would have been so happy to have a grandchild,” she adds with a sigh.

She’s right. My parents were so adamant about having a grandchild, an heir, and for me taking responsibility for it that they wrote it into their will. And stipulated that I had to stay married to the child’s mother until he or she was eighteen for me to receive the bulk of my inheritance, which is being held in a trust fund. It’s a boatload of money, close to a hundred million, but is it worth it? I wonder as Marley continues to feed Isa, the bottle now half empty.

Nanette turns her attention to me, her cheerful voice hurling me out of my conundrum. “So, chéri, can I bring you some café au lait…breakfast eez on the house!”

“Thanks, Nanette, but you don’t have to do that.” The poor woman and her café barely managed to survive the recession. She’s still struggling to make ends meet.

“I insist!”

I acquiesce; the stalwart woman has pride. I’ll leave her a big tip.

Fifteen minutes later, Isa once again soundly asleep, Marley and I enjoy our milky coffees, herbed omelets, and buttery croissants.

“This is amazing!” she gushes. After another bite of her croissant, her expression grows serious. “Ned, have you thought further about my offer?”

I look at her dumbfounded.

She polishes off her coffee. “You know, about working for you and Ava full-time. Becoming your live-in nanny.”

A flush of embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. I forgot about that.

“Honestly, I haven’t. I conked out last night and this morning Ava was sick as a dog.”

She swallows a forkful of her eggs, then folds her hands on the table.

“Listen, Ned, I’ll be frank with you again. I really don’t think your wife’s capable of taking care of Isa during the day. I’m worried.”

Sipping my coffee, I let her go on.

“With her PGP and C-section, she simply doesn’t have the strength. She’s healing slowly…too slowly. I fear that something terrible might happen to Isa, like Ava might fall down while holding the baby or drop her. And yesterday afternoon when I returned to your house…” Her voice trails off.

“What happened?” Concern racks my voice. My eyes stay fixed on her.

Marley’s voice lowers as if she thinks people will overhear her, though there’s no one in the restaurant except us. “Don’t tell your wife I told you…I found Isa lying in your bed on her stomach under the heavy comforter. So close to the edge she could have fallen off. She could have died from a fall, or suffocation, or SIDS.”

I have no idea what Sid’s is. Except the name of my pricey shoemaker. “What’s that?”

“S-I-D-S. Sudden infant death syndrome. It happens to some babies, often when they’re infants, and there’s no explanation.”

“That’s scary,” I say.

“Yes, it freaked me out. Do you want to see a photo?”

“No, it’s okay. I believe you.”

She looks at me sternly. “Ned, I’m going to say it again. I think your wife, in her fragile condition, needs around-the-clock help.”

I digest her words as I finish my latte. “So, Marley, what exactly are you proposing?” My mind once again is in deal-mode.

“Ned, it has nothing to do with money—I’ll even cut my rate in half to twenty dollars an hour—that’s how strongly I think I should move into your house and work for you full-time as your nanny. I can help out Ava and do some household chores. Most importantly, I can watch over Isa twenty-four-seven so nothing happens to her.” She gazes down at my sleeping baby and I can see the love in her eyes.

She meets my eyes again. “What do you think?”

Without consulting Ava, I make an executive decision. “I think it’s a great idea.” And what a deal!

“Ava will too.” Marley smiles. “And you’ll both get the sleep you need.”

My father always said sleep is for the dead, but I’ve never bought that. I’m a living testament to what a good night’s rest can do. Yesterday I was a zombie; today I’m on top of the world.

And I more than like the thought of having this gorgeous, caring woman in my home twenty-four-seven—something, someone I can look forward to coming home to after a hard day at the office.

“There’s just two things…”

She brushes back a wisp of her platinum-blonde hair. “Yes?”

“I need you to sign a contract and an NDA. I’m a stickler about privacy.”

She nods. “Of course. All my high-profile clients make me do that. I only have one request.”

My brows lift. That I’ll keep my pants on? “And what’s that?”

“I want Sundays off.”

She explains that she likes to go to church. While not a religious person myself, I respect that. Maybe I’ll go with her sometime. Send prayers out to the universe.

“When can you start?” I ask.

She raises a playful brow. “I’ve already started.”

Grinning, I’ve forgotten the other question I wanted to ask her.