The nannys second chance.., p.1
The Nanny's Second Chance: A Sunshine Virgin Romance, page 1
The Nanny's Second Chance
A Sunshine Virgin Romance
HAILEY BARR
Copyright © 2024 by Hailey Barr.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. The Proposal
2. Far Far Away
3. The Stick Man
4. Taking the Fairies to Town
5. The Lion and the Mouse
6. Feed Me
7. Three Pedals, Two Feet. What?
8. The Biscuit Master
9. The Dream
10. The Old Iron Bench
11. Twisted Fate
12. You Again
13. On My Way
14. The Hulk
15. They All Knew The Truth
16. A Kiss Tells The Truth
17. The Revelation
18. The Grand Gesture
19. Giving Back
20. A Big Big Family
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
The Proposal
Isabella
My eyes couldn’t grow any wider. I was sure my mouth had dropped to the floor. My stomach hadn’t felt so sick since my chemotherapy. I stared at the fat, bald man on the other side of my father’s dinner table and couldn’t tell if he was smiling or smirking.
Marriage.
My father wanted me to marry a man almost triple my age so he could dominate his empire.
My father’s dining room, with its monochrome colors and modern art adorning the walls, felt colder than ever. The oversized chandelier cast an unforgiving light over the impressive mahogany table, where my father, Lloyd Ellis-Cox, sat at the head, radiating authority. Opposite me was Myers Bollinger, his portly figure barely contained by his expensive suit. They were discussing figures and contracts, treating me like a mere commodity in their business transaction, when they both turned to me, mentioning a marriage to seal the deal.
“Father, I won’t do this,” I interrupted, my voice quivering but firm. “I can’t believe you’re even entertaining this idea.” The room fell silent. The clinking of cutlery ceased. My father’s gaze, sharp and assessing, turned towards me.
Myers Bollinger wiped his mouth with a fine white linen napkin, his small eyes twinkling with a hint of greed. “It’s an excellent proposition, my dear,” he said, his voice oily and smooth. Then he turned to my father and added, “Your daughter is quite a gem. Beautiful, educated, and now part of a legacy.”
I felt my father’s gaze on me, heavy with expectation. “Isabella, think of it. The power, the influence you’ll have. Bollinger’s resources combined with our construction empire? The magnitude is unstoppable.” My father’s words devolved right into his British accent. A clear sign he was getting angry. Since he’d come to America, he had blended his accent to an American one. I, on the other hand, never let it invade me.
The word ‘unstoppable’ echoed in my ears, but it sounded more like a death knell than a promise of power.
“Isabella, you must understand the importance of this union,” he began, his tone as cold as the marble floor beneath our feet. During my father’s business meetings, his accent was a mix of British and American. Only when he was angry did the British come out like a cold winter gale.
“I’m not a bargaining chip in your business deals,” I countered, feeling a surge of defiance. “I refuse to marry him.”
It wasn’t the first time my father was throwing me to the wolves. I frequently had to entertain his business partners. Most of them just wanted a pretty face, laced with a smile. Some did try to let their wandering hands roam free. I made it clear that I was not that type of entertainment.
I was steadfast; I never allowed greed to take hold to such an extent. Maybe it was the fight I had had with cancer before I entered college that shaped me into who I was today. Tough enough to withstand the harsh business world my father wanted me to be part of.
But it was the first time he was selling me to one of the wolves.
Bollinger’s face, which had been flushed with eagerness, turned to a sullen shade of red. “Now, now, Isabella,” he started, but I didn’t let him finish.
“Excuse me,” I said abruptly, standing up. The heavy wooden chair screeched against the marble floor, echoing through the vastness of the room. Without uttering another word, I turned on my heels and left, my heart pounding in my chest.
I hurried to my room, the only place in this cold mansion that felt somewhat safe. Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. The walls, painted in neutral tones, felt suffocating, the designer furniture impersonal and alien. It didn’t feel like a home; it never did.
An hour after the tumultuous dinner, there was a hard knock on my door. My father entered without my permission. He would never ask if he could come into my room; he’d just barge in, expecting me to be ready for his visit, dressed and primed to greet him and talk business. I had learnt to be ready, but his control over me was emotionally exhausting.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, bracing myself for the confrontation, which I was expecting. I hadn’t even bothered to change into my pajamas yet.
He closed the door gently behind him. His tall figure seemed to dominate the room, making the large space feel small, suffocating. His expression was unreadable, a practiced mask of composure.
“I know you’re upset,” he began, his voice measured. “But you must see the bigger picture. This marriage will secure your future.”
I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his. “I don’t want a future built on a loveless marriage,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside me.
I wish my mother was here. She would never allow him to take this so far. She would never permit him to make such a proposal just for a business deal. No, my mother was kind and tender. She was my father’s weakness. He loved her with every fiber in his being, and when she died in that helicopter accident, he became cold, controlling. Greedy.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re being selfish, Isabella. Think of the empire you’ll command. After I’m gone, after Bollinger is gone, you’ll be one of the most powerful women in New York.”
I shook my head, a lone tear trickling down my cheek. “Can you not understand that power holds no value to me if it comes at the cost of my soul?”
He stopped pacing and turned to face me. “You think this is just about business, but it’s more than that. It’s about securing our family’s position, our legacy. You need to think practically.”
“I am thinking practically—about my happiness, my life,” I replied. “I want an authentic life, a real one, not this … facade you’ve built around us.”
He sighed, a rare sign of frustration from a man who always seemed in control. “Isabella, I’ve given you everything. I’m trying to ensure you never want for anything.”
“But at what cost, father?” I asked, my voice rising slightly. “At the cost of my freedom, my chance to follow my heart and find true happiness?”
He paused, his jaw tightening. “I’m giving you a month to reconsider. Think about it carefully. Remember, this is not just about you, Isabella. It’s about our family’s legacy.”
With those words, he turned and left the room, his footsteps heavy against the floor. I felt all alone, the weight of his words and the enormity of the decision pressing down on me.
As the door clicked shut, I realized the extent of the gulf between us. My father, so consumed with his vision of success and legacy, couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand my desire for a life defined by my own choices, not the dictates of wealth and power.
I saw the heaviness of my father’s ultimatum taking its toll before the month was over, when I found myself back in the sterile environment of a New York hospital room. My abdomen ached, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil I endured. Please let it be my appendix or something less serious.
Dr. Aston, my oncologist, entered the room with his characteristic gentle smile. “How are we feeling today, Isabella?” he asked.
“Not great,” I admitted, trying to muster a smile.
After a thorough examination and several tests, Dr. Aston’s previously warm expression turned grave. “I’m afraid the results aren’t good. The cancer has returned, this time in your ovary. We need to start treatment immediately.”
My heart sank. The thought of going through chemotherapy again was terrifying, but the news of the cancer’s location was a brutal blow. “What are my options?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“We will have to start with chemotherapy and surgery, as soon as possible, to remove the affected ovary,” he explained.
“Okay.” I sucked in a breath. Maybe it was to find courage in the oxygen that filled my lungs. Who was I kidding? There wasn’t enough of it to take away the fear. “Let’s get this over with.”
The prospect of losing an ovary was alarming in itself, but the thought of the cancer spreading was even worse.
Dr. Aston furrowed his brows further and looked at his chart. There was something he was not telling me, and more fear took over the pain in my insides. When he looked up at me, I saw worry in his eyes.
“There is an issue with your billing.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Okay, when do you need my answer?” I asked.
“As soon as possible.”
“I’ll talk to my father,” I said with a determination I didn’t feel.
My father visited me the next day, his tall frame filling the doorway of the hospital room.
Dr. Aston stood on the other side of my bed, his face hopeful that I’d start treatment by the end of my conversation with my father. But his expression was bleak. Whether a mask of concern or just plain cold hearted, I could never tell. His eyes, though, were calculating, betraying his true intentions.
“I’ll pay for your treatment,” he began, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed, “but only if you agree to marry Myers Bollinger.”
I stared at him, incredulous, feeling a mix of anger and disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” I countered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m lying here, fighting for my life, and you’re still thinking about making a deal?”
Dr. Aston glanced from my father and me, his expression a mixture of shock and sympathy.
“It’s not just any marriage, Isabella,” he said, moving closer to my bedside. “It’s a union that will ensure our family’s future. It’s for your own good,” he insisted, making an earnest effort to sound convincing.
I shook my head, feeling a surge of strength despite my physical weakness. “No,” I said firmly. “My health is not a bargaining chip. I won’t marry him.”
He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “Isabella, you’re being short-sighted—”
“My life, my choices, they are not part of your business deals,” I argued, feeling a sense of resolve. “I’d rather struggle on my own than live a life chained to someone I don’t love, all for the sake of money and power.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his face hardening. “You’re making a mistake, Isabella. One you will regret.”
“I’ll take that chance,” I replied, meeting his gaze steadily.
With a final look of dismay and rage, he turned and left the room. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving me grappling with my own racing thoughts and a shocked Dr. Aston.
That marked the final encounter between my father and me.
After he left, Dr. Aston sat beside me. “Isabella, we’ll find a way to get you the treatment you need. The hospital is prepared for these scenarios, and we have a department in place that secures funds for patients that don’t have any.”
Nurse Fei entered my room, her lilac scrubs not enough to cheer up the look of worry on her face.
“Who was that?” She pointed to the door. “The man stormed out of here like you’d just stolen his last lollypop.”
I blew out a breath. Nurse Fei had been my rock in the last week I’d been there in the hospital. She was cheerful, always smiling, and had an upbeat way of talking to you. Fei, her Chinese name, meant dancing in the air, and it suited her perfectly.
“That was my father.”
“Oh.” Confused, she added, “I thought he was like your accountant, or tax guy. You know, the ones that are always grouchy and mean.”
“Yes, that would be my father. But he’s no accountant. He did try to tax me, though.”
She tilted her head and I told her everything. From the controlling life I had lived with him, to the marriage deal I just refused.
“I think I need to change my name,” I told her jokingly.
Dr. Aston lifted his pen and brought it to his clipboard. “That can be done. What will it be? I’ll change it on the chart right now.”
I laughed and regretted it as my abdomen tightened in pain.
“Isabella Agnelli. It was my mother’s family name before she married my father.”
“Isabella Agnelli,” Fei repeated. “Welcome to New York’s finest oncology hospital. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“And we’ll find you someone to fund your treatments, I promise,” Dr. Aston reaffirmed.
The following weeks were a blur of pain medication and hospital personnel. Doctors and nurses became my constant companions. I had lost track of time when my father’s lawyer visited me. He was an older man, maybe in his seventies. I remember him taking care of my mother’s contracts and he was always pleasant to her. I hadn’t seen him in almost a decade. His hair had gone white; his face showed deeper grooves. But his smile had not changed.
“I’m sorry to hear about your condition, little one,” he began. He’d always referred to me in that way when my mother was alive. When she died, my father demanded he call me by my given name—he did not tolerate nicknames or sweet abbreviations. That’s why I never called him ‘daddy’ or ‘dad.’
“I’ve survived it once. I’ll pull through it again.”
“And I’m sorry about what your father did.”
“Does it surprise you, Mr. Kranz?”
“Unfortunately, no, it does not. And that’s why I’m here. Your mother was afraid something like this might happen, and before she died, she made a trust fund for you. She couldn’t make a big one. She didn’t want your father suspecting and she didn’t have much time to gather the money either. Your father is aware of it, but I know he never mentioned it to you. You have the money to pay for your treatment, Isabella. It’s not much, but it will most probably be enough for what you need here and a little more when you leave to recover.”
Shock washed over me like a lightning bolt. My mother had left me a trust fund and my had father kept this concealed from me? Somehow, I knew why. He knew the minute I had the right to it, I’d leave him. I couldn’t help the hatred sneak up on me for that man. I was ashamed to call him my father. I disliked the feeling. I was never a person to hate my enemies, but my father was breaking all my codes of conduct.
“Thank you, Mr. Kranz.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ve transferred the money to your account already. I hope it still comes on time to get you to do the surgery.”
My financial situation had halted the treatment and, of course, the surgery. The hospital was kindly trying to assist me with funds. But it was a slow process and then the fact I was an Ellis-Cox naturally caused skepticism from the donors.
As soon as Mr. Kranz left, Dr. Aston entered the room with a reassuring smile, telling me he was already aware of the news. Fei was right behind him, and she moved past to the other side of the bed to hold my hand gently with warmth and empathy. The silent emotional support every patient craves.
“The hospital has just been informed that you’ve got the funds to get on with the proper treatment and surgery. I’d like to start immediately.”
I couldn’t prevent the emotions welling up inside of me. Tears of joy came running down my face and the sobs were uncontrollable. All that packed up stress, fear, sense of abandonment, and relief, spilled out all at once.
Fei closed in and gave me a bear hug. I held on to her lilac robe as tightly as my weak fingers could. Appearing gaunt, like a skeleton, in comparison to the lean figure I had. I felt weak and tired all the time. I was ready to fight this thing before it took what I had left.
I let Fei go as she wiped the tears for me and, taking a deep breath, I told Dr. Aston I was ready.
I could feel my eyes trying to open with difficulty. Sleep seemed to be a welcomed state in the last month. But waking up this time was different to waking up after a session of chemo. I didn’t feel that rising nausea in the pit of my stomach; I didn’t feel like I needed to run to the bathroom, fearing I’d not make it on time and lurch all over the floor. Waking up after the anesthesia felt like I was finally getting my head out of deep waters that were drowning me.
When my eyes finally sharpened the blur that surrounded me, Dr. Aston’s solemn face came into view.
“Just breathe, take in a deep breath. You’ll feel fine,” his voice told me calmly.
I did what he said and let the air fill my lungs naturally. I looked over to my side and found Fei. Her hand was warm and she squeezed me gently. Her eyes were clouded in a painful expression and my heart sank. In my mind, I pictured the cancer spreading to proportions that it was too late to save me from this time. All that wasted time, because my father refused to fund the surgery, made the cancer spread. I was already preparing myself for the doom in their words.
