“He won’t let me do my job,” the nanny whispered, a frown settling over her features.
They’d discussed the situation before, how whenever Cyrus was around, the nanny seldom had the opportunity to take care of Michael. The woman was worried she would be seen as useless and then dismissed, and Daniella’s reassurances hadn’t been enough.
“I’ll take care of it.” She patted the nanny’s arm.
“Well…”
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Daniella said with a smile.
“All right, then.” She still appeared uncertain and lingered for a moment before finally taking the stairs down to the lower level.
Daniella entered the nursery to find Cyrus seated in the wing back chair beside the baby’s crib. He held four-month-old Michael in one arm, safe and sound against his bare chest, both of them fast asleep. She stood there for a moment, taking private pleasure in watching them both. She’d snapped photos of them like this before, so it was nothing new, but the sight still warmed her insides.
Cyrus was every bit the doting father she’d expected him to be. She couldn’t imagine what the employees and business people he dealt with every day would think if they saw him the way he was tonight—in a pair of dark slacks, cradling his son against his chest. He could bottle feed and burp with the best of them. Changing diapers was another matter altogether. Whenever his son soiled his diaper, Cyrus always found her or the nanny, holding his son away from him with a wrinkled nose. It was the only time he would willingly hand him over.
He claimed he was no good at changing diapers. Cyrus Johnson, who did everything perfectly. Yeah, right. She smiled to herself as she watched him. That was his excuse so he wouldn’t have to perform the unsavory task.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered his name. His eyes flew open and he blinked several times to catch himself. “Time for you to go to bed.”
He had an early meeting before a flight to London the next day. They were still searching for someone to head up European production. A headhunting firm had narrowed down and vetted the list of candidates, and he and Xavier were on their way to London to interview Hardy Malcomb’s potential replacements.
She lifted their son out of Cyrus’s arms and Michael protested, whimpering until she rocked him back to sleep with soothing caresses to his back. She kissed her little bundle’s soft cheek before placing him carefully in the crib. When she turned around she saw Cyrus staring at their son between the slats. He was always staring at their son, as if he still couldn’t believe Michael actually existed.
She took his hand. “Come on.”
She led him into their bedroom and sat him on the bed. She knelt before him and removed his shoes and socks. When she stood and started unbuckling his belt, he pulled her between his legs, and his hands slipped to her bottom.
“How’s your father?” he asked.
“They want us to come visit,” she said. Carlos and his wife had moved to the beautiful island of St. John. He had invited her, Cyrus, and Michael to come see them, and she’d promised to discuss it with Cyrus. A year ago she would never have guessed she could have such a fulfilling relationship with her father. The resentment she felt toward his wife was still hard to set aside, but she was working on it.
By reconnecting with her father, she’d learned a few things about his relationship with her mother she hadn’t known before. He had, in fact, tried to reestablish a relationship with Daniella after he divorced her mother, but her mother had been opposed to it. He’d overnighted a box of mementos—cards and letters he’d sent her for the first five years after the divorce that had been returned unopened. Afterward, he’d given up.