The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Six

A/N: Friendly reminder that this is a work of fiction intended for entertainment purposes only. These are not real people, these are not real situations. This is not a representation of reality, nor is it a suggestion of how people should behave. 

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I stood outside the parlor while Augustine gave them the news—fully expecting the worst. Leaned back against the wall by the entrance, I couldn't hear him as he spoke, but when Matthew yelled, "Why!?" I knew it had happened.

"Matthew, calm down."

"You always do this! You never care about what we want, you always do what you want to do!"

"Well, when you can support the entire staff on your income, you can have a say."

The flustered groan that followed told me the conversation was over. I tried to scurry away, but Matthew stormed from the other entrance and nearly bumped into me. He looked angry, but underneath his glare, I saw his sadness. "Matthew," I sighed, gripping his arms to keep him with me.

"Did you have something to do with this?!" he shouted at me.

"No," I assured him. I placed both of my hands at his cheeks and looked into his eyes. "Mildred was my friend. I wanted this to happen as little as you did."

"Yeah, sure." He pulled my hands from him and pushed past me, shoulder checking me as he did. 

My rage simmered. I wasn't mad at Matthew, rather I was mad at the person who hurt him in the first place.

Augustine walked out after him with a look of annoyance. If he somehow managed to have a heart buried somewhere deep in his chest, it was too calloused to feel anymore. Or, at least that's what he'd have people believe.

The twins sat at the table, Tabitha comforting Sebastian as he cried. I rushed over. 

"Are you two okay?" I asked them. They both hugged me, crying onto each of my shoulders. Watching them cry over Mildred brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of the pain I felt after first losing my mother. But I was thirteen. Knowing it must be that much harder to understand as a six-year-old, I hugged them tighter to me and comforted them the only way I knew how. "I'm still here. I'm not leaving."

. . .

When I had the twins settled in their room again, I went looking for the widower. I walked past his office and found him shoving things into his expensive-looking travel bag. "Are you leaving again?" I asked him angrily. This time he was the one who looked surprised by my presence.

"Yes," he answered. "To London."

"So soon? You just got back." He didn't respond and it enraged me further. I was angry at him for leaving me as the sole caretaker of his family and even angrier that he didn't realize that was what he was doing. "You work so much your children hardly get to see you. Did you not plan to spend some time with them after taking their caretaker away?"

"They'll be fine. They have you, do they not?" A simple, hollow threat that showed his cards. Now, I knew he wouldn't fire me. Who else would be here to raise his children for him? 

"I'm a teacher, not a nanny."

He gives me a condescending glance. "You are whatever I pay you to be."

Taken aback, I felt my coy façade falter. I stormed around his desk and snatched the bag from his grasp. "You are fucking up your kids, you know that, right?" He stood up straighter and looked me up and down as if assessing how I would have the audacity to say that to him. He placed his hands on his hips, daring me to continue. "They need regularity and structure. They need consistency. If they keep having people come in and out of their lives, they're never going to be able to trust that someone will stay."

His scowl turned angry. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know more than you think." What happened to my parents was inconsequential. Ironing out this fucked up family, however, was. "I slept in Tabitha's bed with her last night because she had a nightmare that you let her drown. Your six-year-old is having dreams that you don't care about her."

"It was a dream. Don't be childish."

"Don't be childish? She is a child," I seethed. "They lost their mother and their father is too busy working to acknowledge their presence. They need a real parent in their lives. Not a placeholder their father pays."

He looked at me for a moment and then started to laugh. "You have some bollocks, don't you?"

"I don't need balls to know when you're being a prick."

He gave me a condescending look and reached for his bag. When I pulled it away from him again, his expression grew angry.

With a hand at my chest, he pushed me back against the wall—the surprising force made my heart race with fear. His hand slid up to the base of my throat as he leaned in closer to threaten me. "I'm not someone to be fucked with, Ms. Nielson," he growled a mere breath from my face as he pulled the bag from my grasp.

Blinded by rage, I reached down between his legs, grabbed his package, and dug in my fingers. His eyes widened when he gasped with pain. "Neither am I, Mr. Montgomery."

I stared into his eyes, daring him. When his smirk returned, I gripped him tighter, loving the groan of pain and pleasure he let out. He dropped his bag and braced himself against the wall, his expression strained under the pain I inflicted.

"I'm not fucking with you when I say your children need you. Stop worrying about work and start worrying about being a better father," I fumed, letting out all the anger I had been suppressing over the past few days. 

I let him go and he fell back to rest against his desk, his hand falling to his manhood to soothe it. He glared at me from beneath his brows but failed to hide the smile on his lips.

"Enjoy your trip, Mr. Montgomery," I said. 

With that, I strutted out, well aware that he watched me the whole time.

Once in the hall, I stopped in my tracks when I saw Matthew. He stared at me for a moment, a mix of emotions on his face. Without saying a word, he hugged me. 

I stood in a surprised stupor for a moment, but when it started to make sense to me, I hugged him back. He pulled away and looked at me with a sad smile. Then he turned and ran up the stairs.

As fucked up as this family was, that day taught me two important things:

They needed my help and they knew it. 

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