THE DON'S NANNY

Bound by a Dying Wish

ELODIE.

I really wanted to believe he was the one.

For a long time, I had clung to that thought like it was the last solid thing left in my life. After everything I had lost, after the silence that followed grief, believing that it was him had felt like hope, like a second chance I hadn’t earned but desperately needed.

But standing there that day in the living room, I knew I had been wrong. He couldn’t be the one. The question crept into my mind without permission, sharp and sudden, leaving me breathless.

Could he have done this on purpose?

I pushed it away as quickly as it came. It was easier to doubt myself than to believe the alternative. Adelina stepped into the living room just then, her presence warm and steady as always. She smiled at me, the kind of smile that felt like reassurance even when no words were spoken.

“Elodie, you’re welcome,” she said gently, then turned toward him. “This is Vincenzo.”

He stood near the window, tall and still, his posture stiff like he already resented being there. The light from outside brushed against his face, but it did nothing to soften it. His eyes moved to mine, slow and assessing.

There was no flicker of recognition. No pause. No confusion. No sign that he had ever seen me before.

That should have been a relief, but instead, something twisted painfully in my chest.

I had imagined many versions of this moment. I had feared shock, anger, maybe even guilt in his eyes whenever I finally got to cross paths with him again. But this—this blank indifference—hurt more than any reaction I had prepared myself for.

I drew in a shaky breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. Whatever I had been expecting, I reminded myself, didn’t matter anymore. I needed to stay composed. For Adelina. For myself.

But even before he spoke, I felt it.

His disapproval filled the room like cold air. It was immediate, heavy and clear. He didn’t need words to tell me he didn’t want me there. His eyes said enough. His jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as if my presence offended him.

He wanted me gone, and I could see that so plainly.

Adelina must have sensed the shift too, because she moved closer to me, her hand brushing my arm in quiet support.

“Oh, Vincenzo,” she said lightly, though her voice held an edge beneath the softness. “Elodie will be staying with us for a while.”

He turned to her, his expression unreadable, but his silence spoke loudly. Whatever resistance he felt stayed behind his eyes.

Adelina didn’t back down.

She gave small excuses for him, as if trying to smooth over something sharp. “He’s been under stress,” she told me. “Change is difficult for him.”

I watched her speak to him then, her voice soft but firm. There was a strength in her calm that demanded attention. He listened, barely, but I saw it—the smallest flicker of reluctant obedience in his eyes.

Finally, he nodded once. That was all. There was no welcome, no acknowledgment of me as a person, just permission for me to exist in his space.

The days that followed were unbearable, as Vincenzo ignored me completely.

At first, I thought that would be easier. Silence often was. But this wasn’t simple indifference. It was deliberate. He moved through the house as if I were invisible, walking past me without a glance, speaking over me, addressing others while pretending I wasn’t standing right there.

And when ignoring me wasn’t enough, he made sure I felt small.

He treated me less like a person and more like an inconvenience—something misplaced that he couldn’t remove. Once, in front of the staff, he accused me of taking something that belonged to him. The room fell quiet as his words landed.

I didn’t even defend myself. I was too tired, too numb from grief to care what he thought of me or what they thought of me. Humiliation required energy, and I had none left to give.

So I let it pass.

Instead, I focused on Matteo. He was quiet, with big blue eyes that always seemed to be watching the world from a distance. His dark curls fell into his face, and he rarely spoke unless spoken to first.

In him, I saw myself—the same withdrawn sadness, the same careful silence that came from knowing loss too early.

At first, he kept his distance. He stayed close to Adelina, watching me from behind her like he wasn’t sure if I would disappear too. I didn’t push him. I knew better than that.

I started small and gently, sitting near him during meals. Asking simple questions. Letting silence stretch without trying to fill it. In a matter of days, slowly and patiently, I earned his trust.

One afternoon, he handed me a drawing without saying a word. It was messy and uneven, but I smiled like it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His lips twitched then, just slightly, like he was trying not to smile back. That moment stayed with me. It was the first time since I arrived that I felt useful, the first time I felt needed since I got here.

One evening, everything changed.

The house was quiet, too quiet that if a pin dropped, I could hear it from the other side of the mansion. Adelina called me into the sitting room. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She looked smaller somehow, her shoulders slumped, her face pale in the dim light.

“Elodie,” she said, patting the seat beside her.

I sat.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then the words came, slow and heavy.

“I'm sick.”

I waited, unsure how to respond.

“And it’s terminal.”

The room seemed to shrink around us. The word echoed in my head, louder each time I repeated it.

Terminal?

A fresh wave of grief washed over me, not for myself but for her. For this kind woman who had opened her home to me without question. For Matteo, who didn’t yet know what he was about to lose.

She reached for my hand, her grip firmer than I expected.

“I don’t have much time, Elodie,” she continued softly. “And I need to know they’ll be okay.”

Her hazel eyes searched mine, filled with fear and hope all at once.

“Please, do me a favor, alright?” she said. “Look after Matteo and Vincenzo when I’m gone. Please.”

The weight of her request settled heavily on my shoulders as I watched her blink back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

I stared blankly at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. What she was asking of me wasn't just a favor. It was a promise—one I knew, even then, I couldn’t refuse.

I squeezed her hand and nodded, my throat too tight for words. And at that moment, I understood something clearly for the first time. I wasn’t here by accident, and whatever lay ahead in wait henceforth, I would face it—for her, for Matteo, and for the promise I had just made.