Meeting Princess Diane.
735 Words
The moment I stepped into the room, I was caught off guard by a hug.
A small pair of arms wrapped around me tightly. “You must be the new nanny! Want to see my room? It’s super clean and really well arranged,” she said without breathing, pulling back with a bright smile.
Wait... this was the monster? The child who’d allegedly gotten twenty nannies fired in one week?
All I could think was: either this kid was an angel in disguise or she was luring me into a trap.
So I immediately tried acting shrewd with her and said what do you think you're doing, you think you can lure me into your trap?" Guess what I'm here to stay!
She just laughed and said “I like you, you are really Funny!”. I couldn't get the truth about it.So i just played along and forced out a giggle.
"What is your name," she asked. My name is Rennie. You can call me “Renzy for short”. Immediately she became serious, saying "Aren't you going to make me call you"Mom” or “aunt" like the rest.
At that point I understood why nannies couldn't stay longer because they either wanted to be the wife of the dreamy Mr Shawn. Or force their way into the family through his daughter. Which was pretty much messed up, grown women forcing themselves on a man who wouldn't even think about them even if his daughter chose them.
Immediately I rebuked that thought. No, I'm not interested in becoming your mom and auntie just call me “Renzy”. Mom and aunt are for “old woman”.
She caught me off guard again and hugged me even tighter. So I thought of an idea, that was asking her a few questions about herself.
So what is your full name, she replied, saying “Diane Wolfe”, princess to the king “Mr Daddy” Shawn Wolfe.
I nearly burst out laughing. This little girl was a whole character. And I knew she was going to be a handful. Okay princess, what grade are you? "I am currently in grade 3, "she said.I wanted to tease her by saying you are so slow, you're still in grade 3." She laughed," I'm not slow, you're fast. I'm just eight years old.
All of a sudden, she said she was hungry, so it was literally part of my job to feed her, not as the chef, but as a caretaker. So we went to the kitchen downstairs. I couldn't see Mr Shawn anymore, so I assumed he must be at work.
I asked the chef if he could prepare a meal, so he immediately said yes and in less than five minutes, I saw grilled steaks, stir-fried vegetables, French soufflé, chicken broth with about five kinds of protein. It was the kind of meal you’d expect at a five-star restaurant, not for a third-grader.
Immediately she saw the food, and she said she didn't want to eat it. This made me happy, but I realized that it was my job to make sure she feeds, so no feeding, no salary.
I begged her one more time. She still didn't agree to eat it, so I asked what she wanted to eat. All of a sudden, she went upstairs to my room and got the takeout I was planning to eat when I got the job. She said it smells nice I was planning to give her, but I remembered what if she had dietary restrictions, because most billionaire children always have those. It's either they were lactose-intolerant, grease-intolerant or one thing or the other.
I tried to reason with her, saying she couldn't eat that because it was too greasy. It was a hamburger with double ham and extra oily fries. She still insisted, so I knew what I was getting into, and I didn't want her to start whining, so I gave her a bite. Immediately she became obsessed with it. She unexpectedly shouted BEST !FOOD !EVER !.
Diane started running all around the sitting room with a half-eating burger. I was trying to calm her down before anyone knew I gave her something which was contraband in their home. Before I could reach out to grab her, Mr Shawn came in through the door looking at both of us.
- Writer
