Chapter Text
The taxi ride across the Acquitart toll bridge into the heart of Delpha is almost suffocating, a stark contrast to the calming, cool Southern sea air pleasantly teasing at Laurent's nose through the open window.
He sighs, looking out at the pristine balustrades and straight lines distinct to Akielon architecture that replaced the once opulent spires and bright colours of Vere. Few buildings here were still a combination of both, even though the people were.
There's something inherently wrong, he thinks, about being on the cusp of turning twenty-two and being let go from your job. Although he knew it was coming– the employees of Charls’ were already put on notice that the boutique was failing– never in his wildest dreams did Laurent expect that it would come so soon.
He knew something was wrong the minute he entered the store and was greeted by Charls on the verge of tears, saying that he was, "So very sorry, Laurent. You’ve been such an asset to my little boutique, but I have to let you and everybody else go with immediate effect as I can’t afford to pay you anymore. You were one of the best, my dear boy."
Despite Charls’ willingness to give him a reference letter, Laurent knows that his year and a half experience working part-time isn't enough to land him a well paying job, which is what he really needs, considering Pa’s medical bills and his and Nicaise’s own therapy bills, Auguste’s physio and medication and his college tuition.
He hadn’t even had the heart to call Auguste yet— his brother, being the optimist that he is– would no doubt offer him a paid job, but there was only so much profit Auguste’s bakery could turn over. Laurent certainly didn’t want to add anymore to his brother’s plate– he’d only feel like a bigger disappointment than he already was.
What to do? What to do?
As if sensing Laurent’s thoughts, his phone rings, Auguste flashing across his screen. He breathes– once, twice– before clicking the “accept” button.
“Little brother,” comes Auguste’s cheery voice.
“Hello, Gus,” Laurent tries for a smile, but falters, “What’s up?”
“Just calling to check-in. Are you free next Tuesday? I was thinking you, me and Nic can do lunch. We can probably bring Pa too. The South air might be good for him, if he’s up for it,” his brother says.
Dammit.
Now he has to tell Auguste.
“I am, but I have to tell you something,” Laurent confesses, deciding to rip off the band aid, “Charls let me go today. He uh— he said the boutique wasn’t generating a profit, and because he can’t afford to pay us all, we were let go.”
On the other end of the line, Auguste hisses a swear.
“L, I’ve told you a hundred times, the bakery’s doing okay, and I’m sure I have enough security to afford taking out a loan to help out,” Auguste says, “You don't have to work. You should just focus on finishing your degree.”
“Gus, you already do so much for us,” Laurent replies, hesitating, “I know how steep my college tuition is… and your physio, I just feel like I have to help you–”
“L,” Auguste cuts him off gently, already detecting the guilt in Laurent’s voice, “Don’t you ever feel obligated to help out at home, you hear me? Pa and I just want you and Nic to be happy. I’m your brother. Let me take care of it.”
“And I’m your brother,” Laurent stresses the last part, “So that means we help each other out, no matter what. I’ll be sending out resumes soon, I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“You always were the biggest worrier out of all of us. And the most stubborn,” Auguste’s tone is still that soft, gentle thing, but Laurent knows he's going to relent. His big brother was always too soft when it came to him, “I heard from a reliable source that the Member of Parliament for Delpha might need a nanny. I know that might not be your thing, but you could try your luck.”
“Thank you, Gus,” Laurent smiles, “I gotta go now, but we’ll talk later.”
Auguste says his goodbyes and they cut the call.
"Tough day, huh, kid?" The taxi driver asks, picking up on his abysmal mood.
"Oh," Laurent says, biting his lip, embarrassed that the driver overheard his family's ongoing financial dilemma, "Kinda, yeah.”
"Look," the driver says, "I know Delpha like the back of my hand, so I know a pretty good bar not too far from Marlas’ General Store if that’s what you need. The food is decent and I'm friends with the owner."
Laurent's eyes widen, "Actually, my brother told me that the Member of Parliament might be for a nanny. Do you know if he’s still looking? Or where is his office so I can drop off a resume?."
"Oh yeah," the taxi driver says, grinning toothily, "My boyfriend is his chauffeur, so I can take you to the house instead of the office. Just tell Jord, the butler, that Lazar brought you."
"Is there a shop that does printing along the way?" he asks.
"Sure is. Delpha is known as the business capital of Akielos for a reason," the driver-- Lazar-- grins toothily, "I can wait for you to do your thing and then drop you off at his house. It's your call."
"Yes, please," Laurent says, smiling genuinely for the first time he'd been let go.
He silently thanks whoever's looking out for him when he enters the shop to print out his resume. Maybe today isn't going to be such a shitty day after all.
***
When he gets to the house, Laurent tips Lazar generously. He was very helpful and very good company, after all.
Calling the building Laurent currently stands in front of a house was an understatement and frankly didn't do it justice. It's a mansion: three stories tall, with equally tall columns and wrap-around balustrades, large windows bathed in golden sunlight, a garage, and a long, winding cobblestone driveway leading up to the Akielon-style portico. The entire property was fenced around with elaborate, heavy looking wrought-iron bars and a matching gate in white.
And it's not too far from the University of Marlas either, so getting to school wouldn't be difficult if Laurent ever needs to go in. He approaches the doors and presses the doorbell, nervously.
Please, I really need this job, he thinks.
"Hello, may I help you?" A man, who looks like he's in his early thirties, answers the door.
"Hi, I'm Laurent de Vere," he says, "I heard there was a vacancy for a nanny, and I'd like to apply for the position. Er, Lazar brought me here. He said to ask for Jord.”
“Yes, I’m Jord,” the man says, raising an eyebrow, giving the impression that he thought Laurent was playing a practical joke.
"I brought my resume and everything…" Laurent trails off, handing over the paper.
"Come in and have a seat. I'll bring your resume to Mr. Vallis," the man says, clearly making an effort to keep his face blank, "I'm sure he'd like to interview you himself."
Then, taking the nondescript yellow envelope from Laurent, he mumbles under his breath in a tone so soft that Laurent isn’t sure he’s supposed to hear, “This ought to be good.”
Laurent, already nervous, takes the time to examine his surroundings. The living room is large, with high ceilings, and a sofa set facing the television on the wall above a fireplace. A coffee table sits in the middle of the room with some children’s books atop it. A half-wall separates the living room from the dining room and along the far right walls are a set of sliding glass doors that no doubt lead to a pool area. The neutral tones calm him, somewhat and he inhales deeply, allowing himself a small break from his hectic morning so far.
Jord comes back a few moments after.
"Mr. Vallis will see you now," he says.
He bids Laurent to follow him up the floating glass staircase and into what he assumes is Mr. Vallis' home office.
Jord knocks twice.
"Come in," a smooth voice says.
Laurent enters the room and almost comes to a halt. Mr. Vallis looks young. Really young. A few years older than him with a face and body painstakingly sculpted to perfection by the Akielon gods themselves.
A wave of thick, dark curls tumbles over his forehead. His nose is straight, classically Akielon in shape. His lips are full and pink, with a charmingly handsome smile playing at them. His crisp white shirt fits sinfully snug, a singular button at the top tastefully undone, stretching across warm brown skin and pure muscle as he moves.
His sleeves are rolled up, giving a laid-back touch and a glimpse of his expensive gold and black wristwatch, in addition to exposing thick, veiny forearms that make Laurent's knees weak and his throat suddenly as dry as the Patran deserts.
He looks right at home in the office, with its dark walls, contrasting brown fixtures and sliding glass doors. Behind his desk are twin teak shelves stacked high with books—from classic Akielon philosophy to mythology to children's tales to bound copies of the laws of Akielos and Vere. The books grab Laurent's immediate attention, so much so that he almost misses when Mr. Vallis offers his hand.
Laurent quickly composes himself, shaking the offered hand.
Mr. Vallis’ smile develops into a boyish grin, “I take it you’re into the books.”
If his smile is charming, then his grin is devastating, Laurent thinks, oh, does he know there’s a dimple in his left cheek?
“I’m very much into the books,” Laurent smiles in return.
"Have a seat," Mr. Vallis says, grin still in place, gesturing to the leather chair behind his desk. His voice is rich and warm, free from judgment, "Jord tells me you're here for the, um, nanny position?"
"I am," Laurent's voice is shy, quiet.
He delicately clears his throat, then adds with a confidence he does not feel, "My brother mentioned that he heard you were looking for someone, and Lazar brought me here instead of your office. He said his partner is your chauffeur?."
"Ah, Pallas, yes," Mr. Vallis nods, then says teasingly, "Far be it from me to enforce gender roles, so as long as you’re good with my kids, that’s all that matters. Tell me, Mr. de Vere, do you have any experience in child care?"
Laurent’s first instinct is to lie, but that may come back to bite him in the ass.
“I do,” he says reluctantly, “But not professionally. I have an adopted younger brother at home that I practically raised.”
"Oh? So you’re the oldest in the family?" Mr. Vallis asks, eyes piqued with interest.
"No, I have another brother—older. He did two tours with the Veretian Army," Laurent explains, hoping Mr. Vallis doesn't keep up the questions about his family, “Due to some complications, he wasn’t able to return, so he eventually ended up opening up his own business when he moved to Delpha.”
“I see. And how old are you?” Mr. Vallis asks, thankfully changing the subject.
“I’m turning twenty-two in the spring.”
“Were you working before?”
“I was. I was a sales representative at Charls’, but I was let go because the boutique wasn't as profitable as it used to be.”
“What about school?” Mr. Vallis asks.
“I attend college,” Laurent replies, “Part time during the week at the University of Marlas.”
“Oh,” he touches his chin, “So if you work with us, would you have to attend classes while the kids are in school? That might be difficult."
“It’s mostly online, so I hardly ever have to go to the University. I can attend classes from home,” Laurent says firmly, “Look, Mr. Vallis. I hope I’m not being too forward by saying that I really need this job. Because I really, really do. I’m willing to go the extra miles I have to.”
“How about this,” Mr. Vallis says after a pregnant pause, “I’ll give you a week. If you can properly handle the children for a week, then the position is yours.”
“Thank you,” Laurent smiles, grateful for the opportunity.
“You’ll meet them at dinner,” Mr. Vallis tells him, “And Jord will show you to your room. The nanny position is a live in one, as of course, the children will require the services of their nanny during the week. However, the weekends are yours to do as you please. And you are entitled to days off as well."
They talk about other little things--salary, duties, boundaries-- before Laurent leaves the office.
Jord leads him to a room a few doors down from Mr. Vallis’ office. It’s spacious, with a built-in bathroom and a walk-in closet. The walls are a pale blue colour, and a bed occupies the middle of the room with soft, silky cream-coloured sheets covering the mattress, and twin stands beside it. Cream blackout panels that match the sheets block sliding glass doors that lead out to a small balcony, which offers an impressive view of the pool and alfresco area Laurent had seen from the living room.
It’s breathtaking.
He sits on the bed, taking out his phone to call his brother. It rings twice, before there’s a click and a sleepy voice says, “Hello?”
“Auguste,” Laurent breathes, suddenly feeling the lightest he’d felt all day.
He knows his brother would be happy for him.
“What’s up, little brother?” he can hear the grin in his brother’s voice.
“I have something to tell you,” Laurent says, “I got the job.”
“See? What did I tell you?”
“I still can’t believe it,” Laurent breathes, “It’s a live-in, too. I have my own room and the pay is good, Auguste. I'm talking six thousand dollars a month.”
“Holy shit, Laurent! You're not stripping on the side are you?” Auguste asks, disbelief colouring his tone.
“No, I'm not stripping on the side,” Laurent laughs, “I just have a one-week trial phase before Mr. Vallis decides whether he keeps me on, but if I can handle Nicaise, I can handle anything.”
Auguste bursts out laughing, this time.
“You and Nicaise are birds of a feather, that’s why he was easy. Either way, I have a feeling that the job’s yours already, knowing the way you’re stubborn and determined,” Auguste mutters, “I suppose you’ll need a week’s supply of clothes and stuff from home?.”
“Yes,” Laurent nods, “I’m starting tomorrow, but I was going to try to grab a cab and go home to pack some things. Mr. Vallis told me I can stay here tonight if I wanted."
“No worries,” Auguste says, “I’m actually on my way to check up on Pa anyways, so I can pack a few bags and bring them to you. That way I can look around, make sure you’re safe, and you can save the cab money."
“Thank you. Make sure Pa takes his meds,” Laurent says, “And make sure he eats the soup I made. You know how he gets leading up to his chemo appointments.”
He doesn’t say anything about Auguste’s impending visit, though. He knows his brother would feel much more secure knowing that he was safe.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Auguste says, and Laurent could hear some rustling in the background-- Auguste getting out of bed, “Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye,” he says, softly, ending the call.
***
Laurent pulls out a chair from the kitchen and sits, observing Jord.
“Are you sure that I can’t help you with anything?” he asks, watching as the other man cuts vegetables in half.
“No, it’s fine,” Jord smiles easily, “Please, relax. You’ll need to save your energy for the children later.”
“Can you give me, like, a heads-up about them? Just so that I don’t appear to be a bumbling idiot when we meet,” Laurent says.
“Ah, smart,” Jord says, voice fond, “None of the other nannies ever took that initiative. The eldest of the children is Master Isander Jase Vallis. He’s thirteen and goes to Marlas Academy. He’s quiet, likes to read and is an avid equestrian. The middle child is Master Helios Theo Vallis. He’s nine, and he’s the middle child. The youngest is his twin sister, and they were born ten minutes apart. Master Helios is frighteningly mischievous, and he loves to play sports like his grandfather. None of the other nannies have ever managed to discipline that one. He goes to the Marlas Academy Boys Preparatory School. The youngest is Miss Selene Laurel Vallis. Like I said before, she’s Helios’ twin. She goes to Miss Kyrina’s Preparatory School for Girls in Karthas. She and Master Helios will join their brother at Marlas when they turn thirteen. Miss Selene… is a complex child. Has been, since the loss of her parents. She has therapy sessions twice per week and she likes to play and write music."
“Oh-kay,” Laurent breathes, “Shouldn’t be difficult at all.”
“You still haven’t asked the obvious,” Jord says, kindly, "About Mr. Vallis."
Laurent, surprised, says, “It’s not my place to ask. Or judge.”
Of course, they’re talking about why Mr. Vallis’ eldest is thirteen, when Mr. Vallis himself is so young.
“He’s their biological uncle,” Jord tells him, “The children’s parents, Kastor and Jokaste, have been dead for almost three years. Mr. and Mrs. Vallis were seeing to their care, but Mr. Vallis decided to take up the mantle when he turned twenty-nine and realized that his parents are not what they used to be. Especially since the elder Mr. Vallis retired.”
“That’s sweet,” Laurent says, intertwining his fingers, “But should you be telling me this?”
“Mr. Vallis is well known for his kindness,” Jord says, “And if you’d like to understand him, you have to understand his family.”
***
Laurent hears a knock on the front door while he’s helping Jord with the dishes a few hours later.
“I’ll get it, Mr. de Vere,” he says, “Just keep an eye on the stove.”
"You can call me Laurent, if you'd like," Laurent tells Jord, "It's alright."
“I know," Jord smiles, "But Mr. Vallis prefers to keep a bit of formality for the children's sake. If they see him respect us, they will too."
"I see," says Laurent, understandingly.
There's knocking at the door again.
"Oh," Jord shakes his head, "Excuse me, let me get that."
A few moments later, Jord comes back into the kitchen with a tall blonde in tow.
“Mr. de Vere--”
“Gus!” Laurent exclaims elatedly, wrapping his arms around his brother.
“Hello, little brother,” Auguste affectionately ruffles his hair, “Brought your things, like I promised.”
“You’re the best,” Laurent grins.
Jord clears his throat, watching their exchange. Laurent can see Mr. Vallis at the kitchen door too, amusement colouring his liquid gold eyes.
“Mr. Vallis,” Laurent says, flushing red, “I'm sorry. This is my brother, Auguste. He’s here to drop off some stuff for me.”
“And to check up on him, of course,” Auguste says, ruffling his hair.
“Of course,” Mr. Vallis once again flashes that handsome smile, “I’m sure you have some questions for me, Mr. de Vere. Come into the living room. Let’s talk.”
***
“I can assure you that your brother will be perfectly safe here, Mr. de Vere,” Damen says, as he sees the elder de Vere easily look around the living room with probing blue eyes a couple shades darker than his brother's.
“Auguste, please,” the blond tilts his head and smiles as Damen gestures for him to have a seat.
Auguste has sandy blond hair and cobalt blue eyes, unlike his younger brother, whose hair was like sunshine itself, gleaming and gold, and sparkling eyes the colour of the cerulean Ellosean Sea down at the Ios coast– eyes so invitingly blue that Damen can drown in them. They're both pale, tall and svelte, with graceful movements that are distinctly Veretian in nature.
However, Damen can see that Auguste's movements are more favoured to the right side of his body, and the way he walks– with a limp, which would no doubt handicap him on the labour market. If Laurent had to help his brother with running the family’s finances, it would make sense as to why he wanted the job this badly, although, to be fair, Damen had been ready to offer him the job the minute he walked into the room and he laid eyes on him.
He could have practically seen Nikandros shaking his head in disappointment and saying dammit, Damen, at least interview him first, which he'd ended up doing. Somewhat.
“Your brother’s determination is something to be admired, I’ll admit,” Damen says.
“Well, thank you for giving him the opportunity in the first place. Laurent always tends to make the bigger sacrifices out of both of us, no matter how hard I try to stop him,” Auguste sighs, “At the beginning, I wanted to be able to make sure Laurent had an easy, comfortable life after our mother died, so enlisting was an easy way to make money to send home. Then, he started university and I had to leave the Army due to my injury. Our Pa couldn’t work and I could only work part-time and Laurent, well, he always worries about things he shouldn’t be worrying about-- me, Pa, our other brother– and he's always determined to find any opportunities to help out, so here we are."
“My father is the same way,” Damen says, “He likes to make sure his family is well taken care of, the children especially.”
“I hope you realize that I’m trusting you with one of the most important persons in the world to me,” Auguste smiles, warmly, a silent threat in its own right, “And I hope that trust isn't misplaced.”
“Of course,” says Damen, with a smile.