Page 57 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

“Nothing good ever starts with those words.” Rhys picked up his empty glass and went to the minibar for a refill. Whatever was coming next, he had a feeling it would go down better with a stiff drink.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously. “I know how Oliver feels because I was like him growing up.”

He stopped mid-pour. “Your mother died?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But from the time I was twelve I felt like a prisoner in my own home.”

“Why twelve?”

“That’s when I was diagnosed with cancer.”

Cancer. The word hit him like a sharp right hook to the gut, bringing back memories of his mother, her once-healthy frame thin and pale in a hospital bed.

“Non-Hodgkin lymphoma,” she explained. “My parents reacted a lot like you. They thought the best way to make sure I got and stayed healthy was to keep me as close as possible. For a long time, I went along with it. I’d caused them enough pain. Why make them worry any more than they already did? Then one day I woke up and realized the life I was living wasn’t my own. So I left. And came here. I guess the rest is history.”

Her eyes met his, the uncertainty in them another punch to his midsection. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I didn’t know how you’d react. “

“Are you—? Is it—?”

He couldn’t complete the thought, but she understood and answered anyway.

“I’ve been in remission for years, but I get follow-up care every six months. There’s always the risk it will come back, or I’ll develop another kind of cancer.”

He set down the bottle and downed what little he’d managed to get into his glass before her shocking revelation. Shocking, but the more he thought about it not surprising. Her veiled comment about survivor’s guilt made complete sense now. How many of her fellow patients had she watched lose their battles with cancer? “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you won’t put Oliver through what I went through. Say you won’t suffocate him. Say you’ll let him be a regular kid.”

“He is a regular kid.”

“Regular kids go to the movies. And playgrounds, parties, and playdates. They socialize with other kids.” Mallory’s voice rose with each new example. “Please. Don’t do to him what my parents did to me. It took me years to work up enough courage to break free. I won’t live like that again, and I won’t stand by and watch Oliver live that way, either. I care for him—and you—too much to let that happen.”

Rhys ditched the glass and returned to the sofa. More alcohol wasn’t going to solve this problem.

“I know I’ll have to lighten up eventually.” His stomach knotted at the admission. “But I feel like I’m making real progress with him. I can’t let him go now.”

“You’re not letting him go,” Mallory insisted. “You’re letting him live.”

“I can’t. Not yet.” Rhys rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.

“If not now, then when?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, his voice muffled by his hands. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you a better answer.”

Silence hung heavy in the air between them for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said finally, her voice catching on the last word.

He lifted his head. His insides twisted at the tears swimming in hereyes. “What are you saying?”

She looked down at her lap. “I’m saying there’s only one thing left for me to do.”

“What’s that?”

His heart stopped in his chest as he waited an agonizing minute that seemed like hours for her response. When she raised her head, the tears that had been brimming in her eyes spilled down her beautiful, serene face.

“Pack.”