Prince Daddy & the Nanny. Brenda Harlen

told her.

      She smiled, because she knew it was true. “Will you come to visit me?”

      “If I can get away. But you really shouldn’t worry about me—there’s enough going on with the Juno project at the hospital to keep me busy over the next several months.”

      “Okay, I won’t worry,” she promised. “But I will miss

      you.”

      “You’ll be too busy rubbing elbows with royalty to think about anyone else,” he teased.

      She got up to clear their empty plates away, not wanting him to see the flush in her cheeks. Because the idea of rubbing anything of hers against anything of Prince Michael’s—even something as innocuous as elbows—made her feel hot and tingly inside.

      Heading up to Cielo del Norte on Saturday afternoon had seemed like a good idea to Michael while he was packing up the car. And Riley had been excited to start their summer vacation. Certainly she’d given him no reason to anticipate any problems, but if there was one thing he should have learned by now about parenting, it was to always expect the unexpected.

      The trip itself had been uneventful enough. Estavan Fuentes, the groundskeeper and general maintenance man, had been waiting when they arrived to unload the vehicle; and Caridad, Estavan’s wife and the longtime housekeeper of the estate, had the beds all made up and dinner ready in the oven.

      As Michael had enjoyed a glass of his favorite cabernet along with the hot meal, he’d felt the tensions of the city melt away. It was several hours later before he recognized that peaceful interlude as the calm before the storm.

      Now it was after midnight, and as he slipped out onto the back terrace and into the blissful quiet of the night, he exhaled a long, weary sigh. It was the only sound aside from the rhythmic lap of the waves against the shore in the distance, and he took a moment to absorb—and appreciate—the silence.

      With another sigh, he sank onto the end of a lounge chair and let the peacefulness of the night settle like a blanket across his shoulders. Tipping his head back, he marveled at the array of stars that sparkled like an exquisite selection of diamonds spread out on a black jeweler’s cloth.

      He jolted when he heard the French door slide open again.

      “Relax—she’s sleeping like a baby.” His sister’s voice was little more than a whisper, as if she was also reluctant to disturb the quiet.

      He settled into his chair again. “I thought you’d be asleep, too. You said you wanted to get an early start back in the morning.”

      “I do,” Marissa agreed. “But the stars were calling to me.”

      He smiled, remembering that those were the same words their father used to say whenever they found him out on this same terrace late at night. They’d spent a lot of time at Cielo del Norte when they were kids, and Michael had a lot of fond memories of their family vacations, particularly in the earlier years, before their father passed away. Their mother had continued the tradition for a while, but it was never the same afterward and they all knew it.

      Gaetan Leandres had been raised with a deep appreciation for not just the earth but the seas and the skies, too. He’d been a farmer by trade and a stargazer by choice. He’d spent hours sitting out here, searching for various constellations and pointing them out to his children. He’d once told Michael that whenever he felt overwhelmed by earthly burdens, he just had to look up at the sky and remember how much bigger the world was in comparison to his problems.

      Marissa sat down on the end of a lounger, her gaze on something far off in the distance. “I know they’re the same stars I can see from my windows in the city, but they look so different out here. So much brighter.”

      “Why don’t you stay for a few days?” he offered, feeling more than a little guilty that she’d driven all the way from Port Augustine in response to his distress call.

      “I wish I could, but I’ve got three full days of meetings scheduled this week.”

      “Which you should have told me when I got you on the phone.”

      She lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t not come, not when I heard Riley sobbing in the background.”

      And that was why he’d called. His daughter, tired from the journey, had fallen asleep earlier than usual. A few hours later, she’d awakened screaming like a banshee and nothing he said or did seemed to console her. She’d been in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room and Brigitte—her primary caregiver—was on a plane halfway to Iceland. Michael had tried to console Riley, he’d cuddled her, rocked her, put on music for her to listen to, tried 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