The door had barely clicked shut before Nanny Nia released a low, irritated growl from deep in her throat.
"She hates you," Nia muttered as she paced the edge of the room. "And I don't care how sweet she tries to sound, or how often she wears lace and perfume to mask it—she hates you."
Jasmine sat back against her pillows, eyes closed, hands resting over the soft swell of her stomach.
"Nia," she murmured. "Please."
"I mean it," Nia continued, her boots tapping softly against the wooden floor. "You saw the way she looked around the room like she was casing the place. Like she was just waiting to find a crack. Something to poke at."
Jasmine opened her eyes slowly. "She always looks like that."
"And that's the problem," Nia snapped. "Why is she even here? After everything, after all the whispers and the way she hovers around Erik like she's staking her claim. What reason does she have to suddenly care how you or the baby are doing?"
