The Billionaire's Nanny

Pinata

It was our last day here, and one full of activities. The day before had been an endless cycle of trying to recall the last time I had taken the pill, realizing I was too far lost to keep track, refreshing my period tracker app the hundredth time, throwing up everything that had made it past my throat only to crave more food, or would I rather say candy.

At some point, I had felt the kick of cramps in my lower abdomen and after rushing to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet seat for minutes, there was nothing, not even a drop of blood. Add that to the frustrating mix of horniness, thankfully Lucas could match my uncanny wave of desires.

I was relieved to know that we would be out of here first thing in the morning after Zoey's birthday. I just had to make it one more day. I had gone to bed the previous night, convincing myself that this was something else, a bug, the flu, or maybe an ulcer. I just had to sleep it off and I would be fine by morning. At least that was what I told Lucas when he showed his concern.

Thankfully, he was up and busy before I woke up this morning, so he could not see how much worse I felt now. And as the day moved further, it definitely did not get better.

The supposed small family dinner had quickly extended to a full-on kids' fest. Trying to keep my mind busy, I offered my help to oversee the kitchen, and well I hate to say it, but it was a choice I was almost regretting. Who knew Italian spices could be so nauseating. That along with the commotion and buzz filtering through the two-story mansion—adults chattering, kids screaming, balloons popping one after the other, kitchenware clattering, the mad rush of footsteps running here and there, a phone clearly with no owner since it was on the fifth ring now. I was on the brink of losing my mind.

The head chef gave me an apologetic look as she glanced my way again. Even she could tell that I would much rather not be in here right now. Don't get me wrong, I loved Zoey and I really wanted to be part of her third birthday, or at least help to make sure it was a huge success. I mean have you seen that kid, she is a real bundle of joy, but right now, I just was not feeling it.

A sweet and honey-like smell—one very different from the various spicy aromas filling the air and making me want to retch my guts out—wafted up to my nose and I swiveled my head just to see some part of what looked like a tray of pastries before it was placed carefully into the fridge.

"What's that?" I asked, biting back the sudden urge for something sweet again.

Slow down girl, we ate a whole pack of candies yesterday.

The young chef regarded me with a puzzled smile, "Cannoli, Signora," he said in a slight accent. "They're Italian pastries, for the birthday girl."

"That's nice," I nodded, holding myself back from asking for a taste test. The sudden craving was weird, seeing as I had turned down all their offers for one all afternoon mostly out of fear that I would be puking my guts out if I had even a bite of anything. Also, I was not exactly the biggest fan of sweets. "so what are we doing next?"

"We are mostly done here," the head chef answered, wiping her hands on a towel in the pocket of her apron. "you should take a break Signora, you don't look so good."

Forcing a laugh, I waved my hand, "I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed by the day's activities."

She smiled with understanding, "My point exactly. I know something that can help." she reached into the fridge and brought me a can of ginger ale. "get some fresh air outside too."

With a little hesitancy, I took the drink from her. "Are you sure you'll be fine?"

She chuckled, "this is my job Signora, all day every day. We'll be fine."