DR DE LUCA'S CHUBBY QUEEN

I don't hire au pairs for my daughter.

I hire distractions so I don't lose my mind in this Fifth Avenue penthouse.

Ten nannies in three months. All skinny. All perfect. All fired. My daughter Lily hated them. She screamed, she threw toys, she said "Not my mom."

My ex-wife left us for a yoga instructor in Bali. Left a 5-year-old and a billionaire surgeon who doesn't know how to braid hair.

So I stopped looking for a nanny.

I was looking for peace.

Then the door opened.

And peace left the building.

She walked in wearing a white crop top that had no business being in a job interview. Soft belly showing. Thick thighs. Hips that made my hands itch. Chubby arms clutching a cheap folder. Her hair was messy, her lipstick was cheap, but her eyes —

Her eyes said "I need this job, but I will not let you disrespect me."

"Isabella Reyes?" I said, not looking up.

"Yes, Mr. De Luca. I'm here for the nanny position."

I finally looked up.

God.

25 years old. Voluptuous. The kind of woman New York tells to hide. The kind I have been dreaming about since I was 20 and told curvy women were "not my type."

They were my only type.

"What experience do you have?" I asked, my voice colder than I felt.

She swallowed. "I raised my little brother. I have no degree, sir. I dropped out to pay my mom's hospital bills. But I know how to love a child. And I cook. And I clean. And I won't steal."

Honest. Too honest for this city.

Lily, who had been hiding behind my desk, peeked out.

Lily never peeks.

She walked straight to Isabella. Grabbed her chubby hand.

"Are you soft?" Lily asked.

Isabella laughed — a real laugh that shook her whole body. "Very soft, baby."

Lily hugged her waist.

In five months, Lily had not hugged anyone.

I stood up. 6'3. Suit. Cold.

Isabella stepped back. She was intimidated but she didn't look down. Good girl.

"You are not what I advertised for," I said.

Her face fell. "I know I'm not thin like—"

"I said you are not what I advertised," I cut her, walking closer. "I advertised for a nanny. You walked in like a queen. That's different."

She stared at me. Her chest rising fast.

I looked at that soft waist I wanted to grip. At that mouth I wanted to shut up with my own. At those thighs I wanted to pull onto my lap in this office.

I wanted to ruin her professional interview.

The contract on my desk said 30 days. Au pair. No touching. No feelings. Professional only. $5,000 a month.

It was a lie. A contract to keep me from doing what I was already planning.

I picked up my Montblanc pen.

"You're hired, Miss Reyes. You start tonight. In my house. Second floor. Next to Lily's room."

Her eyes widened. "Tonight? But—"

"My daughter just chose you. When my daughter chooses, I don't argue." I signed. "And I already paid your mother's hospital debt. $8,000. It will be cleared by morning."

She gasped. "You— you did what? You can't—"

"I can. I did."

"Why?"

I leaned across the desk, close enough to smell her vanilla perfume — cheap but intoxicating.

"Because I don't want you worrying about money when you are taking care of what's mine. And because now you can't quit."

I handed her the pen.

"Sign."

She hesitated. Her hand shook. That soft belly trembled.

She signed: ISABELLA REYES.

She had no idea she just signed away her entire life to me.

She had no idea I had been watching her application for 3 days, waiting for this interview, telling my assistant "Bring me the chubby one."

She had no idea I already bought the white dress for our fake engagement next week.

I pressed the intercom. "Car will take Miss Reyes to get her things in the Bronx. Bring her back before 8."

Isabella looked up, scared. "Mr. De Luca—"

"Luciano," I said. "When we are in this house, you call me Luciano."

"Okay... Luciano."

My name in her mouth sounded like sin.

"Welcome home, my chubby queen."

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