Baby for the Billionaire - By Maxine Sullivan Page 0,56
didn’t scream as she often did with the other nannies he’d hired. Nor did she appear the least interested. Instead, she stared with apathetic acceptance. He sighed. Too many changes in too short a period of time.
“Isabella, this is Annalise. She’s your new nanny. The three of us are going to spend the day together getting to know each other.”
Recalling Annalise’s concern about the room, Jack swept a swift assessing glance around. Now that he looked—really looked—the place resembled nothing more than a toy store that had exploded in messy exuberance. She was right. The kaleidoscope of colors created an agitated blur that didn’t allow the eye to settle. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed it before?
“You know—” he offered tentatively “—it’s pretty crowded in here, isn’t it? There’s hardly any room for you, let alone all these toys. I wonder if your new nanny can fix that problem.”
No response from his niece, but Annalise caught the ball he lobbed in her direction and put it in play. “You’re right, Jack. It is too crowded in here.” She took a seat on the floor, folding her lanky frame so her height wouldn’t seem as intimidating. “I’ll bet your toys would like to have their own room so they’re not so uncomfortable crammed in here. What do you think, Isabella? Shall we pick out a special room where your dolls can stay when you’re not playing with them?”
A debate raged in vivid detail across Isabella’s face. She shot Jack a questioning glance. At his smile of encouragement, she nodded in agreement.
“Why don’t you pick out your favorite dolls and put them on the bed,” Annalise suggested, pitching her voice so it remained calm and nonthreatening. “They’ll stay here with you. Then we’ll pick out a special room for the others.”
Isabella hopped off the mattress and made a beeline across the room. She seized a porcelain doll that had seen better days and placed it with great care on the bed. To Jack’s amazement, she turned and faced Annalise, waiting for the next instructions.
“That’s the only one?” he prompted. He couldn’t explain why he was so horrified when she nodded. “If you want another—”
Annalise shook her head in silent warning. “What about the stuffed animals?” she asked. “Are there any who should stay with your doll?”
This time Isabella gathered up three: a threadbare puppy, a cashmere-soft kitten and a ferocious lion. Over the next half hour, Annalise worked her way through each type of toy until the favorites had been whittled down to a select couple dozen.
When she’d finished, Jack found he had to swallow hard before speaking. “They’re all the toys she brought from home,” he commented in a rough undertone. “She’s spent three full months here with hundreds of brand-new toys and all she wants—”
To his horror, he couldn’t finish his comment. Fresh grief welled up inside, ripping through him. What was money in comparison to Joanne and Paul? What were all these toys he’d drenched his niece in, compared to the lives of her mother and father? He’d trade every penny of his billions to have his sister and her husband alive and well. But that wasn’t possible. And so Isabella clung to the tattered remains of that old life while he clung to Isabella.
Beside him, Annalise gathered his hand in hers and squeezed gently. She waited until he’d regained his self-control before continuing. “Anything you’ve forgotten about?” she asked Isabella.
There was a momentary hesitation and then she darted to the small bedside table and snatched up a picture frame, hugging it close. It was too much. Jack was at Isabella’s side in an instant, lifting her into his arms. He took a seat on her bed and cradling her close. “Don’t worry about your pictures,” he murmured. “They all stay in here. Every last one of them.”
Gently he pried the frame from her grasp so they could both study the photo. Joanne and Paul beamed out at them, a slightly younger version of Isabella tucked protectively between the two. He ran his index finger over his sister’s image. Memories crashed over him like waves advancing before a storm front.
“Your mom and I looked alike, didn’t we?” he managed to ask his niece. Not that he expected a response. To his surprise, she leaned her slight weight against him and nodded.
His sister’s rich, brown hair was a couple shades lighter than his, the highlights more red than the gold that streaked his own hair. But they shared the same