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“I never put Isa in our bed…well, except once, but that was to nurse.”
“Well, maybe you fell asleep while attempting to nurse her. I have proof if you want to see it. Pictures don’t lie!” Her violet eyes drill into mine. “Ava, I have a professional obligation to call Child Protective Services if I believe you are neglecting or abusing your child.”
“I’m not!” I cry out. “Please, Ned, you have to believe me.”
Ned looks at me as if I’m a child who can’t comprehend the bad thing she’s done. His voice softens. “Sweetheart, Nurse Marley is going to continue to work here full-time. I fear she’s right, that you’re not in your right mind and are a danger to our child. You need to get professional help. Maybe someone who specializes in postpartum depression.”
“I’m not depressed!” After my bonding experience last night with my daughter, I’ve never been happier or more hopeful in my entire life.
Marley looks at my husband, a concerned frown on her face. “Ned, the thing with PPD, is that women don’t understand what they’re going through.”
He nods, acknowledging her words.
Marley smiles smugly as she hugs my baby close to her chest. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m sure I can find someone who can help your wife.”
“That would be excellent.” Ned drains his coffee as if he’s had enough of this discussion. In addition to OCD, he suffers from attention deficit disorder. A lot of powerful men do. “Now if you two ladies would excuse me, I’m going to take a shower and get ready for the day.” He sets down his mug. “Oh, and a reminder, Ava, in case you’ve forgotten, I am going to Palm Springs tomorrow on a corporate retreat and won’t be back until late Monday. I’d have Nurse Manners stay with you, but Sunday is her only day off.”
Isa begins to scream like she’s standing up for me. Fighting for me.
“I should feed her,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Marley glowers at me. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll make her a bottle.”
Without another word, she saunters over to the kitchen counter, Isa in her carrier.
I want to scream at her, “Give me my baby!” But I don’t. What would Ned think? And it’s not like I can lunge at her and possibly harm my child.
My blood sizzling, my nerve endings about to combust, I stalk out of the room and keep tears at bay.
Why is this woman doing this to me?
And why is Ned standing up for her?
I’m going to find out.
THIRTY-SEVEN
NED
I swear for the last twenty-four hours I’ve felt like my seven-year-old self, waiting for Christmas morning. I couldn’t wait to get up and open all the presents Maman left under the tree. I wonder what Nurse Marley has in store for me. My imagination runs wild.
Showered and dressed in my travel clothes, a slick black tracksuit, and equipped with my overnight bag, I stealthily leave the house. Managing not to wake up Ava or our sleeping baby.
At this early hour on a Sunday, there’s virtually no car or foot traffic on Sunset; even the homeless are still asleep. I know where Marley lives from having taken her home what seems like only yesterday. It takes a mere fifteen minutes to get to her house. It looks the same as before—just more depressing with the gloomy gray weather.
I get a text from Gabe, but choose to ignore it. I don’t need him giving me a morality lecture, not today. I’ve thought long and hard about it. I want Nurse Marley more than anyone I’ve wanted in my entire life.
And I’ll be discreet. No one will know. Not Gabe. Not the Japanese investors. Not my wife.
And besides, it may just be a one-time thing. I need to get Nurse Marley Manners out of my system.
I park my bright-yellow Lambo down the street from her house, though in retrospect I should have driven a less flashy car. So much for discretion. Taking my phone and wallet, I jog up to her front door and ring the bell. My heart is beating a hundred miles a minute. I feel jittery. Jumpy. I pick off some lint from my pants. Maybe I should have brought flowers.
The door opens. Marley is standing in the entrance. Barefoot, clad in white cutoff denims that barely graze her smooth, bronzed thighs, a cropped white T-shirt that exposes her taut abdomen, and this adorable little ruffled apron wrapped around her waist. Her lustrous blonde hair is gathered at the top of her head in a messy bun.
She gawps at me. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
My stomach roils. Is this all a mistake?
