Page 25 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Maya steps inside, moving through the entryway with the familiar comfort of someone who belongs here. Her green dress sways with each step, the fabric catching the lamplight as she moves to light the lamps in the main room. It's a dance we've perfected over the past weeks—she handles the lamps while I close up behind us, securing the locks and checking the windows.

I follow her inside, watching as she moves efficiently around the space. The house feels different with her in it. Before she came, it was just walls and furniture—a place to sleep and eat between business trips. Now there are herbs drying by the kitchen window, soft blankets draped over chairs, and small touches that make it feel like a home rather than just a house.

Ellis fusses against me, his tiny hands gripping at my shirt. I gently untangle him from the carrier, cradling him in my arms. His gold eyes—so like mine, so like Iris'—blink up at me sleepily.

"Hey there, little one," I murmur, my voice automatically softening the way it always does for him. "Ready for bed, are you?"

Maya glances over, a small smile touching her lips as she watches us. There's something in her eyes I can't quite decipher—something soft and maybe a bit sad.

"I'll warm his milk," she says, heading for the kitchen.

I nod, unable to articulate the gratitude I feel for her simple competence, for the way she's stepped into our lives and made everything function when I was drowning. Instead, I focus on Ellis, rubbing my thumb gently over his soft fur, marveling at how someone so small can have such a powerful grip on my heart.

The tension between Maya and me still crackles in the air, unspoken and electric. I want to break it. I want to cross the room and pull her to me. I want to thank her properly for everything she's done. I want to see if her lips are as soft as they look. I want to know if she tastes like the herbs she works with all day.

I want Maya in ways that terrify me, because wanting means risking. Risking rejection. Risking her walking away. Risking Ellis losing yet another person he's come to depend on.

When did I start thinking of us as a family? When did Maya become essential rather than convenient?

She returns from the kitchen, bottle in hand. "Here we go," she says, reaching for Ellis.

Our fingers brush as I pass him to her, and the contact sends heat racing up my arm. Her eyes flick to mine for the briefest moment before focusing on Ellis, who eagerly reaches for the bottle. I watch as she settles into the rocking chair by the window, cradling him with practiced ease.

"He's getting stronger," she observes, her voice soft. "Look at how he grips the bottle now."

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. "That's all your doing. He was wasting away before you came."

"Don't sell yourself short, Dex. You're learning fast." Maya's fingers gently brush Ellis's cheek as he drinks. "Most people would have panicked with a newborn dropped in their lap."

"I did panic. That's why you're here."

A small smile curves her lips. "True enough."

I push away from the doorframe, moving to stand beside her chair. The scent of her fills my senses—herbal and clean, with something underneath that's just Maya. I want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I want to run my hands through that silver-blonde hair and see if it's as soft as it looks.

I want Maya desperately, completely, in a way I've never wanted anyone before. And I have no idea how to stop it. But I can't lose her either.

I don't know what to do.

15

MAYA

Iopen the door to Ellis's room just a crack, watching as Dex lowers the baby into his crib. Seven weeks of this arrangement, and I still find myself mesmerized by how those massive hands—hands that could crush stone—can be so impossibly gentle with something so small.

"Sleep tight, little one," Dex whispers, his deep voice barely audible as he adjusts Ellis's blanket.

The domesticity of it all hits me like a physical ache. This isn't mine. None of this. I'm just here until Dex finds someone permanent, someone who makes sense for his life. Not an herb farmer with dirt perpetually under her fingernails and a family history better left forgotten.

I step back, waiting in the hallway's shadows as Dex backs carefully from the room. He's learned to avoid the creaky floorboard by the door—a small triumph we celebrated with awkward high-fives three weeks ago. The memory makes my chest tighten.

When he emerges, closing the door with practiced precision, his green eyes find mine instantly. Surprise flickers across his face, followed by something darker.

"Maya? Everything alright?"

Instead of answering, I step forward. My body moves before my brain can stop it, closing the distance between us. Dex's fur rises slightly—a minute tell I've learned means he's caught off guard. I need to say something. Explain why I'm standing here, invading his space, breathing in the scent of him—something earthy and warm that's become as familiar as my own herbs.

But words fail me completely.

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