Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Dominic
Dominic’s mother arrives unannounced on Saturday morning, which is very on-brand for Genevieve St. Clair, who believes in “spontaneous family visits” and “maintaining oversight” and other concepts that Dominic finds exhausting.
He’s having coffee with Valencia in the kitchen—she’s making French toast for Jules, he’s reviewing quarterly reports on his tablet—when his mother’s voice echoes from the elevator.
“Dominic! Darling! I’m here!”
Valencia freezes mid-whisk.
“Your mother?” she whispers.
“Unfortunately.”
“Should I—”
“Stay. You’re part of the household staff. She’ll need to meet you eventually.”
Professional distance firmly reestablished, even though five minutes ago they were laughing about Jules’s attempt to teach his stuffed elephant to read.
Genevieve sweeps into the kitchen wearing Chanel and judgment in equal measure.
Sixty-eight years old, impeccably groomed, the kind of old-money elegance that makes everyone around her feel underdressed.
Her eyes land on Valencia immediately.
Assessing.
Dismissing.
“Mother,” Dominic greets, not standing. “This is unexpected.”
“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d see my grandson. Where is Jules?”
“Still sleeping. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday.”
“At his age I was awake at dawn.” Genevieve’s attention returns to Valencia. “And you are?”
“Valencia Rivera. Jules’s nanny.”
“The new one. How long have you lasted?”
“Four weeks.”
“A record. Though I suppose we’ll see how long before you quit like the others.”
Valencia’s expression doesn’t change, but Dominic sees her jaw tighten slightly.
“Valencia is excellent with Jules,” Dominic says firmly. “He’s made more progress in three weeks than the past year combined.”
“Progress? The child still doesn’t speak.”
“He’s communicating more. Engaging with peers. She’s helping him heal.”
Genevieve sniffs. “We’ll see. May I have coffee?”
It’s not really a question.
Valencia moves immediately—pulling down a cup, pouring coffee, adding the exact amount of cream Genevieve prefers without being told.
She’s done her research.
Probably asked Mrs. Chen about family preferences.
Professional and thorough.
Genevieve accepts the coffee without thanks, settling into a chair like she owns the place.
Which, technically, through various family trusts and property arrangements, she kind of does.
“Dominic, we need to discuss your social calendar.”
“I don’t have a social calendar.”
“Exactly the problem. You’ve been hermiting since Amelie died. Eighteen months is more than enough mourning. It’s time to reenter society.”
Dominic’s fingers tighten on his tablet. “I’m not interested in reentering society.”
“You’re a St. Clair. You don’t get to hide forever. Charlotte Beaumont asked about you at the charity luncheon last week.”
“I’m not interested in Charlotte Beaumont.”
“You haven’t even met her.”
“I’ve met her type. Socialite. More interested in status than substance. Not interested.”
Genevieve’s expression hardens. “You need a proper wife, Dominic. Jules needs a mother. A real mother, not—” She glances at Valencia. “Hired help.”
Valencia is very carefully not reacting, focused entirely on her French toast preparation.
But Dominic sees the tension in her shoulders.
“Valencia is doing an excellent job—”
“She’s the nanny. Not family. You’re confusing roles by including her in family meals, treating her like—” Genevieve waves dismissively. “You need appropriate companionship. Charlotte is from a good family, well-educated, understands our world. I’m arranging dinner.”
“No.”
“It’s not a request, Dominic. The St. Clair name requires certain standards. You have a responsibility to Jules to provide proper maternal influence. Not some—” Genevieve looks Valencia up and down. “Common girl playing house.”
Valencia’s hand stills on the whisk.
Dominic stands, anger simmering. “Mother, that’s enough.”
“I’m simply stating facts. This girl—”
“Her name is Valencia. She’s not common. She has a teaching degree from NYU, five years of professional experience, and she’s done more for Jules in three weeks than anyone else in a year. Show her respect or leave.”
Genevieve’s eyebrows raise. “You’re defending the help?”
“I’m defending someone who deserves respect. And correcting your classist assumptions.”
The kitchen goes silent.
Valencia is staring at her French toast batter like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
Genevieve is staring at Dominic like he’s a stranger.
“Well,” Genevieve says icily. “I can see the nanny has made quite an impression. How inappropriate.”
“Nothing inappropriate is happening—”
“Then why are you so defensive?” Genevieve stands. “I’ll expect you at dinner with Charlotte next Friday. The Metropolitan Club, 7 PM. Wear something presentable. And Dominic?” She glances at Valencia one more time. “Don’t get attached. She’s the help. Remember that.”
After Genevieve leaves—in a cloud of expensive perfume and aristocratic disapproval—the kitchen stays silent.
Valencia finally speaks: “I should check on Jules.”
“Valencia—”
“It’s fine. Your mother’s not wrong. I am the help. That’s my job. Nothing more.”
She leaves before Dominic can respond.
Leaving him alone in the kitchen realizing he just defended Valencia a little too passionately.
Realizing his mother noticed.
Realizing he’s been treating Valencia less like an employee and more like family.
Realizing that might be a problem.
Later, after Jules wakes up and the day proceeds with forced normalcy, Dominic finds Valencia in the library.
She’s reading while Jules plays with Legos on the floor, building an elaborate spaceship.
“Can we talk?” Dominic asks.
Valencia looks up. “Of course.”
Jules, sensing adult conversation, pipes up with a gesture: can he go watch TV?
“Thirty minutes,” Valencia says. “Your dinosaur show.”
Jules nods, runs off with his Legos to watch in the living room.
Leaving them alone.
“I’m sorry about my mother,” Dominic says.
“You don’t need to apologize for her opinions.”
“Her opinions were inappropriate and classist. You’re not common. You’re not just the help. You’re—” He stops.
What is she?
Employee, yes.
But also the person who makes Jules smile, who calls Dominic on his parenting shortcomings, who’s made this penthouse feel less like a mausoleum and more like a home.
Who he looks forward to seeing every morning over coffee.
Who he thinks about more than he should.
“I’m your son’s nanny,” Valencia finishes. “That’s all. Your mother’s right about boundaries. Maybe we’ve been too casual. I should eat separately, stay in my room more, maintain professional distance.”
“I don’t want that.”
“What do you want?”
Good question.
Dominic doesn’t have an answer that’s appropriate to say out loud.
“I want Jules to continue benefiting from your care. I want you to feel comfortable here. I want—” He swallows. “I want you to know you’re valued. As a person. Not just an employee.”
Valencia’s expression softens. “Thank you. That means a lot. But your mother’s watching now. She’ll use me against you if you’re not careful.”
“She can try. I don’t care what she thinks.”
“You should care. She controls family money, social connections, things that affect Jules’s future. Don’t damage your relationship with her over me.”
“You’re Jules’s nanny. That’s reason enough to defend you.”
“Is that all I am?”
The question hangs between them.
Loaded.
Dangerous.
Begging for an answer Dominic absolutely shouldn’t give.
“Yes,” Dominic lies. “Of course. Professional relationship. Nothing more.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Valencia returns to her book, conversation clearly over.
Dominic leaves feeling like he just failed some test he didn’t know he was taking.
His mother’s words echo: Don’t get attached. She’s the help.
But it’s too late.
He’s already attached.
To Valencia’s laugh when Jules does something adorable.
To the way she challenges him to be a better father.
To how this house feels when she’s in it versus the emptiness when she’s not.
Attached.
Completely.
Inappropriately.
And his mother knows.
Which means this is about to get complicated.
Because Genevieve St. Clair doesn’t back down from perceived threats.
And Valencia—beautiful, kind, thoroughly unsuitable by his mother’s standards Valencia—has just been identified as a threat to the St. Clair family standards.
This won’t end well.
Dominic knows it.
Just doesn’t know how to stop it.
Doesn’t know how to not feel what he’s already feeling.
Doesn’t know how to maintain professional distance when every fiber of his being wants the exact opposite.
Starting now.
Starting with his mother’s ultimatum.
Starting with the realization that he’s falling for his son’s nanny and there’s absolutely nothing appropriate about it.
But inevitable anyway.
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