Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny
Amy Andrews
MILLS & BOON
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Table of Contents
Extract from ALESSANDRO AND THE CHEERY NANNY:
Alessandro pulled up short in the doorway as the sound of his son’s laughter drifted towards him. It had been months since he’d heard the noise. He’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. And after an arduous day it was a surprising pick-me-up.
His midnight gaze followed the sound, widening to take in the picture before him: his son, cuddled up next to a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes.
His welcoming smile froze before it had even made an indent into the uncompromising planes of his face.
Chapter One
NAT DAVIES was instantly attracted to the downcast head and the dark curly hair. There was something about the slump to the little boy’s shoulders and the less than enthusiastic way he was colouring in. He seemed separate from the other children laughing and playing around him, and it roused the mother lion in her.
He was the only stationary object in a room full of movement. And he seemed so…forlorn.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked, bumping Trudy’s hip with hers to get her boss’s attention.
Trudy stopped chopping fruit and followed Nat’s gaze. ‘Julian. It’s his second day. Four years old. Father is ooh-la-la handsome. Italian. Perfect English. Just moved from London. Widower. Recent, I think. Doesn’t smile much.’
Nat nodded, well used to Trudy’s staccato style of speech. ‘Poor darling.’ No wonder he looked so bereft. ‘How awful to lose your mother at such a young age.’ Not that it mattered at any age really. She’d been eight when her father had left and it still hurt.
Trudy nodded. ‘He’s very quiet. Very withdrawn.’
Nat’s heart strings gave another tug. She’d always had a soft spot for loners. She knew how it felt to have your perfect world turned upside down while life continued around you. How alienating it could be. How it separated you from the bustle of life.
‘Well, let’s see if I can fix that,’ she murmured.
Nat made a beeline for the lonely little boy, stopping only to grab a copy of Possum Magic off the bookshelf. In her experience she found there was very little a book couldn’t fix, if only for a short while.
‘Juliano.’ Nat called his name softly as she approached, smiling gently.
The little boy looked up from his lacklustre attempt at colouring in a giant frog. His mouth dropped open and he stared at Nat with eyes that grew visibly rounder. She suppressed the frown that was itching to crease her forehead at the unexpected response. Surely he was used to hearing his name spoken in Italian?
He was looking at her with a mix of confusion and wonder, like he was trying to figure out if he should run into her arms or burst into tears.
She kept her smile in place. ‘Ciao, Juliano. Come sta?’
Nat had learnt Italian at school and spent a year in Milan on a student exchange after completing grade twelve. Given that she was now thirty-three, it had been a while since she’d spoken it but she had been reasonably fluent at one stage.
Julian’s grave little face eked out a tentative smile and Nat relaxed. ‘Posso sedermi?’ she asked. Julian nodded and moved over so Nat could share the bench seat with him.
‘Hi, Juliano. My name’s Nat,’ she said.
The boy’s smile slipped a little. ‘Papa likes me to be called Julian,’ he said quietly.
The formality in his voice was heart-breaking
