All Chapters of Lawfully Wedded Nanny (BWWM): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Monet’s car eased into the drive. The estate stood timeless, ivy-wrapped and sun-dappled, like it had watched generations pass through its stone archways without blinking. Wild roses bloomed at the edges, unruly and beautiful—like something that refused to be tamed. The kids were out before the engine clicked off. “Granny Florence!” Meredith’s voice chimed like wind through crystal. Florence stepped out before they reached the door, regal in a deep emerald two-piece tracksuit that fell like water around her frame. Her silver hair was freshly trimmed in the latest short do, her posture a lesson in poise. She took the children into her arms like they were made of starlight. Monet climbed out slower. Composed. Contained. The morning had taken its toll — the way Richard had pulled her aside, the ache in Carter’s voice when he said, “Monny back now. You go.” The pantry. The silence. The scarf. Florence’

Monet and Kyle sat on the molded bench beside the koi pond, so close their thighs brushed. The backyard was lush and sun-drenched, the summer air rich with cut grass and blooming roses. They’d tried rinsing the mud from Kyle’s chinos and tee after the garden mess, but had made an even bigger one and given up entirely. Monet traced a petal on her lap, but the image of Richard standing stiffly by the garden hedge, bouquet in hand refused to fade. She almost flinched at the memory. He’d clearly meant to say something. Maybe even apologize. But for what, exactly? For last night? For everything? The night in Hannah’s room had left no illusions about what he thought of her. Or maybe worse what he tried not to think. “I went to a convention,” Kyle said, breaking into her thoughts. “That’s why I didn’t turn up in Elmsworth right away. I wanted to follow you immediately, but... I couldn’t. I’m really sorry for that.” She looked up, brushing

The talent show was being held under an open canopy strung with warm fairy lights, paper lanterns swaying gently overhead in the breeze. Laughter and music filled the air, but Richard couldn’t focus on any of it. Not really. His eyes kept drifting to the side of the stage, where Meredith stood in a pale blue sundress with a daisy crown nestled gently in her dark curls. She clutched a small microphone with both hands, her knuckles white. Monet sat stiffly beside him in the front row, her fingers twisted tightly together in her lap. Her whole body was buzzing with something like pride, but layered over with nerves. Meredith hadn’t told her what she’d be performing. Just smiled softly that morning and said, “You’ll know it when you hear it.” Now, the lights dimmed slightly, and the hush that fell was almost reverent. The first soft, familiar notes floated from the speakers — gentle, dreamy. “All those days watching from the windows…” Her vo

“Is this Miss Monet Palmer?” The cool, professional female tone filtered through her phone speaker, filling her with an uneasy dread. “This is her,” she answered quietly, perched on the edge of Meredith's bed, the laundry she was folding forgotten. “Good morning, ma. I'm calling from Mercy Spring Hospitals about your hormonal profile test. We need you to come back for follow-up testing, the results were inconclusive.” A small rush of relief surged through her initially, but it was quickly replaced by a cold wave of anxiety as the implications sank in.“What reasons could the test come back inconclusive?” she asked, her voice a thin whisper. The woman hesitated. “I'm just the receptionist passing a message, Miss Palmer. Will you be available this week so I can book a date for you?” Her mind raced. She’d have to find a sitter. She’d have to tell Richard she was heading back to Manhattan and find a good enough excuse.And worse, she had every reason

Richard watched from the shadows of the living room as she tiptoed down the staircase, avoiding every loose floorboard that might creak under her weight. It didn’t surprise him how well she knew his house. She’d taken the shambles Hannah left behind and, with her quiet warmth, molded it into a home for two small, grief-stricken children. She wore a baggy sweater over snug blue jeans, her feet tucked into plain white socks, Vans dangling from one hand. An eco tote bag hung over her shoulder, brushing lightly against her hip as she moved. Her synthetic braids were piled in a messy bun atop her head, soft wisps escaping to frame her face. The gentle curve of her long neck was bare and unguarded, her smooth brown skin catching the faint light in quiet grace. There was something effortlessly beautiful about her like a moment you didn’t realize you were holding your breath for. At the final stair, she paused, her head lifting instinctively, eyes searching the darkness like