Page 57 of The Good Girl Effect
Then he leans over and demonstrates how to use the large stick to push the boat onto the water. I stand back and watch them, savoring the way he speaks to her, explaining how the wind pushes the sails. She touches his hand, and I wonder if it’s the first moment they’ve really spent together since his wife died.
As she plays, he and I find a bench to sit on together and watch her. He seems at ease, and when I glance his way, I see the love in his eyes as he watches his daughter play. I’d like to ask him so many questions—like why has he been so distant with her? Why won’t he be the father I know he wants to be?
Instead, I keep my lips pressed together tightly, and I let him have this moment. Whatever I have to say, I will put it in my next letter.
After the park, we get lunch at a nearby café. The three of us share a Margherita pizza and three bottles of Coca-Cola. Jack is sitting across from me, and I can’t stop marveling at how sexy he looks as he leans back in the small café chair, his wool coat draped open to reveal the tight shirt over his muscled pecs. With a pair of pitch-black sunglasses on, he stares out at the people passing by, and I can tell that he loves Paris. He fits in well, as if he was made for this city.
“L’addition, s’il vous plaît,” he mumbles to the server as he walks by, and it catches me by surprise. Staring at Jack with wide eyes, I watch as he pulls out his wallet and hands the man his credit card.
Does Jack know French? It’s a simple phrase that I’m sure most tourists learn to ask for the bill, but hearing him speak my native language has an effect on me. Is he doing this on purpose? Making me fall for him when he’s very explicitly said we shouldn’t.
After collecting our things and standing from the table, Jack drapes his jacket over his forearm as the day has grown warmer with the clear skies. We continue to stroll around the city, stopping in the shops Bea wants to see. It all feels so comfortable and intimate. To anyone walking by, we look like a regular family. A man and his wife and their young daughter.
Shamelessly, I love that idea.
If only they knew I’m just the nanny to a grief-stricken man and the daughter he barely knows.
Everything always looks better on the outside.
When we finally board the Métro for the ride home, it’s far more crowded than when we rode it earlier. There are no places to sit, and Jack and I have to stand with Bea pressed between us to keep her safe.
She holds my hand as we squeeze in closer at one of the stops to let even more people on. When a rowdy group of young men board, I feel a hand on my lower back, and I look up at Jack to realize it’s him. He’s holding me close to his body while glaring protectively at the men, and it sends a thrill through my bloodstream.
As the train starts to move again, I stumble a little toward him, and his grip tightens. My gaze lifts slowly to his face and his to mine. It feels like I’m granted access to this connection between us.
Just like the night in the hallway and the moment in the kitchen when he gave me his letter, it’s as if Jack and I exist alone, separate from the rest of the world, when we allow ourselves to feast on the sight of each other. It’s a feeling so palpable I never want it to end.
I smell his cologne and see the flecks of green and brown in his eyes. His fingers are still on my back, and for the first time since he placed them there, he moves them slightly back and forth. It’s not much, but to me, it feels monumental. Just a subtle reminder of his touch. A hint of affection.
What is he doing? Doesn’t he realize what moments like this do to me? They obliterate boundaries and lines and rules. This longing is so much louder than all those reasons why we shouldn’t get involved with each other.
Unable to bear it anymore, I turn my head away from him, glancing down at Bea, who is nestled by my side.
Then Jack’s nose brushes against my head, and I hear him breathe in the scent of my hair. Suddenly, I wish I could tiehimup, because then I could force him to stay away from me so I never have to know what it’s like to feel his affection.
Rule #19: The only person you have to prove your loyalty to is yourself.
Camille
Sir,
I don’t want to cross that line either. Being Bea’s nanny is the best job I’ve ever had. In fact, it feels like more than a job. I care for her very much, and I agree. If things became complicated between us, it could end badly, and Bea would be the one to pay the price.
I can show restraint.
Thank you for the condolences regarding my father. He died three years ago. He was opening the restaurant one day and had an aneurysm. The doctors said it was instant. I’m glad there was no pain, but I can’t explain how strange it was to speak to him one second, and then he was gone the next.
You would have liked him. He was grumpy too but always nice to me.
He used to call me his little hummingbird because I was always moving from one place to another. I guess you’ve found a way to make me sit still, and I like it.
I’m glad you came to the park today. Bea loved having you there.
So did I.
Your good girl
Icurl my toes against the plush red carpet as Jack works. He’s doing a chest harness tonight, something he explained when I first walked in. This one isn’t as restraining—yet.
