Page 139 of The Nanny Goal

I kissed her silly and told her how grateful I was for her help.

So when I come home from practice on that Thursday, with presents for my girls in the back of my G-Wagon, I’m not surprised I have to park on the street because there’s an unfamiliar car in the driveway.

I know who is probably inside, and I know this is all for the best.

I take a deep breath before opening the front door.

“Papa!” Inessa comes running, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside.

In the kitchen, Emery is leaning on the kitchen island, chatting with a woman who looks a bit older than both of us.

She’s great,Emery’s eyes say as she finds me and holds my eyes.The exact opposite of Nanny Nyet.

“Hello,” I say, holding out my hand.

Our guest takes it enthusiastically. “Georgiana.”

“Alexei.”

“Time got away from us,” Emery says. “We were talking about TikTok.”

That makes Georgiana laugh, which makes Inessa laugh.

Emery rubs my arm. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

As the espresso machine hisses to life, I ask Georgiana about herself, in Russian.

She’s Romanian by birth, but she speaks Russian and English pretty fluently, and she has a ton of experience with toddlers and pre-schoolers. When her own children were young, she worked in daycares, but they are in high school and college now.

And while she has her own family and would prefer a live-out situation, she is willing to work evenings and overnights as needed.

Most importantly, she seems curious and supportive of Inessa, getting down to her level and asking all sorts of questions about her toys.

“I don’t know how to play hockey,” she says to me after a third pull-away by my daughter. She adds an endearing little giggle that reminds me of my mother. “But the tiny sticks seem to keep Inessa occupied, so I will learn.”

It’s the right answer, of course. Still, my chest feels like it might cave in at the thought of coming home and hearing the slap of mini sticks, but it not being Emery playing with my daughter. “Great,” I hear myself say from a distance. “And you don’t mind the late nights?”

“Oh, no.” Another laugh. “I’m not a morning person. Do you know how hard it is to find childcare that doesn’t start so early in the morning?”

“None of us are morning people,” Emery and I say at the same time.

We share a bittersweet smile, because it’s a lie.

I am a morning person now. Morning is when I get Emery all to myself.

The basement door creaks open, and my father pops his head out. “Oh, Georgiana! You’re still here,” he says in Russian. “Would you like to meet my wife? She’s awake now.”

Our new nanny claps her hands together. “Of course, of course. Bring me to meet Baba.”

Inessa runs over, happy to lead the way downstairs.

“We’ll meet you down there,” I say, my voice hoarse, but they don’t seem to notice.

Emery does, though.

As soon as they disappear, she crosses the kitchen again and wraps her arms around me.

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