Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~9 min read
POV: Valencia
Jules won’t stop talking.
It’s been three days since the park breakthrough and Valencia has discovered that a child who’s been silent for thirteen months has approximately seventeen million things to say and will say all of them, repeatedly, with enthusiasm that knows no volume control.
It’s the most beautiful chaos Valencia has ever experienced.
“Val! VAL! Look at my tower! It’s SO TALL! Do you think it’s tall? I think it’s tall! Daddy, is this tall?”
“Very tall, buddy,” Dominic says from where he’s working on his laptop at the kitchen island, trying to maintain some semblance of productivity while Jules narrates his entire block-building process.
“Val says it’s architecture! Is that right, Val? Architecture?”
“Architectural structure,” Valencia corrects gently, sitting beside Jules on the living room floor. “Architecture is the art of designing buildings.”
“I’m doing ART! Daddy, I’m doing art! This is art-i-tecture!”
Dominic catches Valencia’s eye and they share a smile—the kind of smile that feels dangerous, the kind that says “we’re co-parenting” which is absolutely not what’s happening because Valencia is the nanny, not the mother, definitely not thinking about being the mother, absolutely not fantasizing about this being permanent.
Definitely not.
(She’s lying to herself. Again.)
Jules’s speech therapist came yesterday—Dr. Lisa Huang, who’s been working with Jules since six months after the accident—and spent forty-five minutes crying happy tears while Jules told her about dinosaurs and ice cream and his new friend Emma who talks a lot but is nice.
“This is miraculous,” Dr. Huang said to Valencia and Dominic after the session. “I’ve never seen selective mutism resolve this completely this quickly. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
“It’s all Valencia,” Dominic said immediately.
“It’s the environment we’ve created together,” Valencia corrected, maintaining professional distance even though Dominic was looking at her like she hung the moon.
Now it’s Friday afternoon and Jules is chattering while building and Valencia is pretending her heart doesn’t do complicated things every time Dominic looks at her.
Things have been… tense since the park.
Not bad tense.
Aware tense.
The kind of tense that comes from both of them knowing something shifted when Jules spoke, both of them feeling the charge in the air when they’re in the same room, both of them very carefully not acknowledging it.
Valencia’s phone buzzes. Text from Maria:
Girl. GIRL. You haven’t called in three weeks. Are you alive? Did the billionaire murder you?
Valencia smiles and types back:
Alive. Busy. The kid started talking.
TALKING?! That’s huge! Call me tonight. I need details.
Will try. Might be kid-talked-out by then.
Is the billionaire still hot?
Valencia glances at Dominic—hair slightly messy from running his hands through it, wearing casual Friday jeans and a henley that shows his forearms in ways that are frankly inappropriate for daytime, completely focused on his work but also clearly listening to Jules because he smiles every time Jules says something particularly adorable.
Yes.
The billionaire is still hot.
Devastatingly hot.
And also kind and attentive and good with his son and looks at Valencia like she’s solving all his problems and she’s in so much trouble.
Focus on the kid, Valencia types back. Everything else is complicated.
Complicated like “he’s my boss” or complicated like “I’m in love with him”?
Valencia doesn’t respond.
Maria sends another text:
OMG YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM.
I’m not—
YOU ARE. VALENCIA MARIA RIVERA YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH YOUR BILLIONAIRE BOSS.
First: don’t full-name me. Second: it’s not that simple.
It never is. Call me tonight. I want ALL the details.
Valencia pockets her phone just as Dominic stands, stretches, walks to the living room.
“I’m taking a break. Want to go to the park?”
Jules cheers. “PARK! YES! Can Emma come? Please please please?”
“Emma has a playdate scheduled for tomorrow, remember?” Valencia says. “But we can go to the park just us.”
“Just us is good! You and Daddy and me! Family park time!”
Family.
Jules keeps using that word.
Keeps including Valencia in the “us” without differentiating that she’s staff.
To him, they’re a unit.
Father, caregiver-who-might-as-well-be-mother, child.
Family.
At the park, Jules plays while Valencia and Dominic sit on a bench watching.
Close.
Closer than professional distance probably allows.
But not touching.
Never quite touching.
“He’s doing so well,” Dominic says quietly.
“He is. Speech is age-appropriate now. Vocabulary is excellent. Dr. Huang thinks he’ll catch up to peers completely within a few months.”
“Because of you.”
“Because he was ready. Because we created a safe environment. Because you started being more present.”
“You keep deflecting credit.”
“Because it’s not just me. You’re a good father, Dominic. You’re trying. That matters.”
Dominic’s quiet for a moment. Then: “My mother called.”
Valencia’s stomach drops. “Oh?”
“She wants me to have dinner with Charlotte Beaumont tomorrow night. The Metropolitan Club. Very formal. Very society.”
“Are you going?”
“I should probably say no.”
“But?”
“But she controls family trusts that fund part of my company operations. Refusing could have professional consequences.”
“So you’re going.”
“I haven’t decided.”
Jules runs over, excited about something. “Val! Daddy! Can we get ice cream again? Please?”
“We had ice cream two days ago,” Dominic says.
“But that was TWO WHOLE DAYS! I need ice cream! For my bones!”
“Ice cream doesn’t help bones, buddy. That’s milk.”
“Ice cream has milk! Val, tell him ice cream has milk!”
Valencia laughs. “It does have milk. But maybe tomorrow? After your playdate with Emma?”
“Deal! You’re the best, Val! I love you SO MUCH!”
He hugs her enthusiastically, then runs back to the playground.
Leaving his casual “I love you” hanging in the air.
Children say “I love you” easily.
It’s not weighted like when adults say it.
But Valencia’s heart still clenches.
Because she loves him too.
Loves this sweet, talkative, dinosaur-obsessed five-year-old who spent thirteen months in silence and came out the other side.
“He loves you,” Dominic says quietly.
“I love him too. He’s wonderful.”
“You’re wonderful. With him. With me. With—everything.”
Valencia turns to look at Dominic.
He’s already looking at her.
Something in his expression makes her breath catch.
Something warm and intense and wanting.
“Dominic—”
“I know. I know we can’t. But I need you to know—you’ve changed everything. For Jules. For me. For this family.”
“I’m your employee—”
“You’re more than that. You know you are.”
“We can’t—there’s a power dynamic. I work for you. This would be inappropriate—”
“Everything about how I feel about you is inappropriate.”
The admission hangs between them.
Valencia’s heart is pounding.
She should shut this down.
Should remind him of professional boundaries.
Should protect herself.
Instead she says, “How do you feel about me?”
Dominic’s jaw tightens. “Like I shouldn’t. Like I can’t help it anyway. Like you’re the first person since Amelie died who makes me feel human instead of just functional.”
“Dominic—”
“I’m not asking you to do anything about it. I know the situation is impossible. I just—I needed you to know.”
Valencia can’t breathe.
Dominic St. Clair, her billionaire employer, just confessed feelings.
For her.
The nanny.
This is every terrible workplace romance cliché.
Every reason she swore she’d maintain boundaries.
Every complication she wanted to avoid.
And she feels exactly the same way.
“We can’t,” Valencia says, but it sounds weak even to her own ears.
“I know.”
“The power dynamic is real. I depend on this job. My family depends on this income. If we—if this goes wrong—I lose everything.”
“I would never—if we tried and it didn’t work, I’d make sure you were taken care of. References, severance—”
“That’s not the point. The point is I can’t risk my professional reputation on feelings. No matter how—” She stops.
“How what?”
“No matter how much I might want to.”
Dominic goes very still. “You want to?”
Valencia shouldn’t answer that.
Should stand up, walk away, reestablish distance.
Instead she says, “Yes. God help me, yes. But wanting and doing are different things. We can’t act on this.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my employer. Because there’s a child involved. Because your mother already hates me. Because the world will think I’m a gold-digger. Because this could destroy everything we’ve built for Jules. Because—”
“Because you’re scared.”
“Of course I’m scared! You’re a billionaire. I’m working class. You could have anyone. I’m just the nanny who happened to help your son. This doesn’t make sense.”
“Feelings rarely make sense.”
“That doesn’t make them actionable.”
Dominic reaches out like he’s going to take her hand, then stops himself.
Professional distance maintained.
Barely.
“What if we could figure it out?” he asks. “Find a way to remove the power dynamic? Make this—us—possible?”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But Valencia, I—” He stops, jaw clenched. “I haven’t felt this way since Amelie. Didn’t think I could feel this way again. And I know it’s fast. I know it’s complicated. But I can’t ignore it anymore.”
“Dominic—”
“Val! Daddy! Come see! I made a sand castle! With Emma’s brother! He’s nice! Come see!”
The spell breaks.
They both stand, walk to where Jules is proudly showing off his sand creation, and pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen.
Pretend they didn’t just confess feelings.
Pretend everything is still professional.
But it’s not.
It can’t be.
Not anymore.
Something’s shifted.
Acknowledged.
Made real.
And Valencia doesn’t know what to do with it.
Doesn’t know how to be Dominic’s employee when he’s looking at her like that.
Doesn’t know how to maintain boundaries when she wants exactly what she can’t have.
Doesn’t know how to protect her heart when it’s already too late.
She’s falling for Dominic St. Clair.
Has been for weeks.
Maybe since the first time he defended her to his mother.
Maybe since the 2 AM kitchen floor conversation.
Maybe since the moment Jules spoke and Dominic looked at her with such gratitude and something else.
Falling.
Completely.
Inappropriately.
Inevitably.
And there’s absolutely nothing professional about it.
Starting now.
Starting with this admission.
Starting with the knowledge that they both feel the same impossible thing.
Dangerous.
Complicated.
Undeniable.
And Valencia has no idea what comes next.
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