Page 47 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

“Are you going to tell me who the letter is from or not?”

Collins leaned against the paneled wall and sipped. “Beth.”

Rhys recoiled like someone had slapped him. “I don’t understand. Why do you have a letter from my wife?”

“Do you remember how sick she was during her pregnancy?”

“Of course.” She’d been diagnosed with preeclampsia, putting both her and the baby at risk. Rhys had thought his troubles were over when Oliver was delivered without incident.

“She had a lot of time to think about her own mortality while she was on bed rest.” Collins resumed his seat and took another nip of bourbon. “She worried about what would happen to you without her. She wrote letters for you and the baby and left them with me. Oliver will get his on his eighteenth birthday. She asked me to give you yours when you met someone new.”

Beth had pictured him with someone new? Ironic she’d been able to when it had been impossible for him.

Until recently.

Rhys picked up the envelope between his thumb and index finger. “And you think that’s Mallory?”

“I think she’s the closest you’ve come in three years.”

For the first time, Rhys studied the envelope. His name was scrawled across the front in Beth’s distinctive, flowery script. He traced her handwriting with one finger. “Why didn’t you give the letters back to Beth after Oliver was born?”

“I tried. She didn’t want them. Said nothing had changed and I should give them to you both if anything happened to her.” Collins finished off his bourbon. “It was almost like she knew her time on earth was short.”

“She never said anything like that to me.” Rhys flipped the envelope over and fingered the flap.

“She wouldn’t, would she?” Collins stood and returned his empty glass to the bar cart. “I’ll let you read it in peace. Call me if you need anything.”

He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, and turned. “And Rhys?”

“Yes?” Rhys looked up from the sliver of white in his hand.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not the only one who approves of you and Mallory. We all agree she’s good for you.”

“Who said I needed anyone’s approval?”

“No one,” Collins admitted. “But you have it anyway. You’re different with her here. Working less. Spending more time with your son. You seem happy for the first time in a long time.”

He turned back to the door for a second, then spun around, pointing a finger at Rhys. “Don’t mess it up.”

With that parting shot, Collins was gone, leaving Rhys alone with his thoughts and Beth’s letter. He turned it over in his hands for a few long minutes before he worked up enough courage to slide his index finger under the flap and rip it open.

His palms damp and his throat dry, he pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper—no fancy stationary for his always-practical Beth—and read.

My dearest Rhys,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer with you, and you’ve met someone new, someone you can see yourself sharing your life with.

I’m glad. Really and truly, I am. I don’t expect or want you to live like a monk. I’d be a lousy wife if I wanted that kind of life for you.

And I think I was a good wife, wasn’t I?

Anyway, I know if you’ve judged her worthy of your love she must be caring and compassionate. I hope she makes you laugh and reminds you to eat three square meals a day and take time off from work to stop and smell the sunshine. I hope whatever happened to me that our child is with you and that your new partner loves him or her as much as I did, and I know you do.

I want you to know I have no regrets. Our life together may have been short, but every moment I had with you was a blessing. Yes, even the ones when you forgot to put the toilet seat down or snored so loudly you kept me up all night. True love and soul mates do exist, and I was unbelievably lucky to spend over a decade with the love of my life and my best friend.

Be happy. Be healthy. Be good. Don’t be afraid to love again. And don’t forget that every day matters. Make them count.

See you on the other side.