to read stories to her, but nothing had worked.
It hadn’t occurred to him to call his mother—the princess royal wouldn’t know what to do any more than he did. It wasn’t in her nature to offer comfort or support. In fact, the only things he’d ever been able to count on his mother to do were interfere and manipulate. So he’d picked up the phone and dialed his sister’s number. During the first year and a half after Sam’s death, before he’d hired Brigitte full-time, Marissa had been there, taking care of both him and his daughter. And, once again, she’d come through when he needed her.
“Do you think I should have stayed in Port Augustine with her?” he asked his sister now.
“That would have meant a much shorter trip for me,” she teased, “but no. I’m glad you’re maintaining the family tradition.”
Except that he didn’t have a family anymore—for the past four summers, it had been just him and Riley. And Brigitte, of course.
“When does the new nanny arrive?”
Marissa’s question drew him back to the present—and to more immediate concerns.
“Tomorrow.”
She tilted her head. “Why do you sound wary?”
“Do I?” he countered.
“Are you having second thoughts about her qualifications?”
“No,” he said, then reconsidered his response. “Yes.”
Her brows rose.
No, because it wasn’t anything on Hannah’s résumé that gave him cause for concern. Yes, because he wasn’t completely convinced that a teacher would be a suitable caregiver for his daughter—even on a temporary basis.
“No,” he decided. “Dr. Marotta would never have recommended her if he didn’t believe she was capable of caring for Riley.”
“Of course not,” his sister agreed. “So what are you worried about?”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even deny that he was worried, because his sister knew him too well to believe it. Worse, she would probably see right through the lie to the true origin of his concern. And he was concerned, mostly about the fact that he’d been thinking of Hannah Castillo far too frequently since their first meeting.
He’d had no preconceptions when he’d agreed to interview her. His only concern had been to find someone suitable to oversee the care of his daughter during the summer—because after conducting more than a dozen interviews, he’d been shocked to realize how unsuitable so many of the applicants had been.
Almost half of them he’d automatically rejected because of their advanced age. Logically, he knew that was unfair, but he had too many unhappy memories of strict, gray-haired disciplinarians from his own childhood. Another few he’d disregarded when it became apparent that they were more interested in flirting with him than caring for his daughter. Two more had been shown the door when they’d been caught snapping photos of his home with the cameras on their cell phones.
At the conclusion of those interviews, he’d almost given up hope of finding a replacement for Brigitte. Then, during a casual conversation with Riley’s doctor, he’d mentioned his dilemma and Phillip had suggested that his niece might be interested in the job—but only for the summer.
So Michael had agreed to interview her and crossed his fingers that she would be suitable. Then Hannah had walked into his office, and suitable was the last thought on his mind.
“Oh,” Marissa said, and sat back, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
He scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She’s very attractive, isn’t she?”
His scowl deepened.
“I should have guessed. Nothing ever flusters you—okay, nothing except anything to do with Riley,” she clarified. “But this woman has you completely flustered.”
“I am not flustered,” he denied.
“This is good,” Marissa continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And it’s time.”
“Mar—”
She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t push for any details.”
“There are no details,” he insisted.
“Not yet,” she said, and smiled.
His sister always liked to get in the last word, and this time he let her. It would serve no purpose to tell her that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship with Riley’s temporary nanny—it only mattered that it was true.
And he would repeat it to himself as many times as necessary until he actually believed it.
With every mile that Hannah got closer to Cielo del Norte, her excitement and apprehension increased. If she’d been nervous before her previous meeting with the prince—simply at the thought of meeting him—that was nothing compared to the tension that filled her now. Because now she was actually going to live with him—and his daughter, of course.
She could tell herself that it was a temporary position, that she was only committing two months of her time. But two months was a heck of a long time to maintain her objectivity with respect to a man she’d fallen head over heels for when she was only twelve years old, and a little girl who had taken hold of her heart the very first time she’d met her.
Hannah cranked up the radio in the hope that the pulsing music would push the thoughts out of her head. It didn’t.
She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, her palms sliding over the smooth leather, and was reminded of the feel of his hand against hers. Warm. Strong. Solid.
She really was pathetic.
She really should have said no when her uncle first suggested that she could be anyone’s nanny. But as she drove through the gates toward the prince’s summer home, after showing her identification to the guard on duty, she knew that she’d passed the point of no return.
Cielo del Norte was even more impressive than the prince’s home in Verde Colinas. Of course, it had once been the royal family’s official summer residence, bequeathed to the princess royal by her father upon the occasion of her marriage to Gaetan Leandres.
Hannah had been advised that there were two full-time employees who lived in a guest cottage on the property, the groundskeeper and his wife. Hannah had been thrilled to hear that Caridad, the housekeeper, also cooked and served the meals, because she knew that if she’d been put in charge of food preparation as well as child care, they might all starve before the end of the summer.
She parked her aging little car beside a gleaming black Mercedes SUV and made her way to the door. An older woman in a neatly pressed uniform responded to the bell.
“Mrs. Fuentes?”
“Sí. Caridad Fuentes.” She bowed formally. “You are Miss Castillo?”
“Hannah,”
