Page 65 of Accidental Doctor Daddy
“God, Dom,” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathy.
I growled softly, tightening my grip around her waist, wanting—needing—to feel her come apart in my arms all over again.
Then—
The piercing wail of one very awake baby cut through the air.
We both froze.
Ella let out a frustrated laugh, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Every. Time.” She laughed, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before turning toward the nursery.
“Yeah,” I muttered, adjusting myself with a sigh. “But damn, it was worth the attempt.”
Chapter 25
Ella
Nanny interviews weren’t supposed to be this stressful. Then again, I never pictured myself as a single mom to twins—let alone interviewing high-end nannies that Dom insisted on paying for.
I sat on my battered couch, phone on speaker, scrolling through polished résumés that looked more like LinkedIn profiles than childcare applications.
“You’re really sure about this?” I muttered, eyeing one candidate with a PhD in early childhood development and a client list that read like a Manhattan social registry. “She’s impressive. And expensive.”
Dom’s voice crackled through the line, calm and confident. “Let me handle the cost. I want you to feel good about whoever’s with our girls.”
I blew out a breath, frustration simmering. “I’m not used to people paying my bills.”
“I know,” he said. “But this isn’t a bill. It’s support. And you need it.”
I glanced over at the twins, asleep in their bassinets. I hated how right he was. “Fine. I’ll meet them. But I reserve the right to be skeptical.”
He chuckled. “You’re always skeptical.”
“Text you after,” I said, ending the call and rubbing my temples. Deep breath. I wasn’t quitting Suivante. Which meant I had to find someone I trusted with the most important job in the world.
Even if I hated every second of it.
Thirty minutes later, I sat at my kitchen table—baby bottles everywhere—facing three hyper-qualified nannies who smelled like money and competence. They rattled off answers about safety, feeding schedules, and twin care like seasoned CEOs.
Meanwhile, I sat in a milk-stained T-shirt and a messy bun, trying not to sweat through the interview.
“So,” I said, closing my notes. “That’s it?”
Amanda, the oldest, smiled. “Your girls will be in excellent hands.”
“Right. I’ll talk to Dom and let you know.”
They left with perfect posture and polite nods, and I collapsed into my chair like I’d just run a marathon. I glanced at Marissa stirring in her bassinet and sighed. “No idea if I’m ready for this. But here we go.”
By the next day, Amanda was hired. She had the warmest energy of the bunch—even if she still scared me a little. Dom handled the deposit. The contract hit my inbox.
She arrived for a trial shift looking like she could run a Montessori empire. I hovered while she breezed through bottle prep like she’d lived here for years. My stomach churned. Amanda looked calm. I looked... not.
“You’ll see them again soon, Ms. Green,” Amanda said kindly, after the tenth time I repeated instructions. “They’ll be fine. Enjoy your time.”
“Sure,” I said, heart pounding. Time? I’m just going to the restaurant to prep. But it felt like a colossal leap. Still, I stuffed down my motherly panic, grabbed my bag, and headed out.
Dom texted me en route:
