Being a nanny isn't all it's easy as it's said to be. Apparently, babysitting a couple of teenagers is somehow supposed to be a big deal, a really huge deal. Honestly though, I don't see how can I change the lives of two teenagers when I barely have mine in order? It is impossible for me to feel like I'm even a bit useful, not when I can't even figure out the one thing that ever really matters, not when I keep on having doors slammed on my face everytime I try to have a conversation with them. No one expects me to feel sad about things like that, half of the people I know think my mind is consumed by unicorns and rainbows, while the other half thinks it's all law school and books. No one realized that what it is really consumed with, what it's always been consumed with

With all of the promises I made with Mr. Fredrik, all of the internship I am supposed to do, all of the books that I have to read and re-read until my mind goes so numb that they actually start to make sense, I hardly ever have time to do anything I want to do. I don't have time to travel like how I imagined my summer would be, don't have time to talk to my old friends and only have time to talk to the people who don't even want to talk to me unless they're hungover and want my help. The perfect example is sleeping somewhere among the four turrets of this manor. Even if she hasn't responded to any of my old text (they were attempts for me to be friends with her), here I am, trying to cook for her.

I don't know what she wants for breakfast, so I choose to scramble some eggs. Consuela, the cook, gives me an odd look when I reach for the pan but her curiosity stops there. She resumes cutting peppers, ignoring my presence like any other day. I suspect that Consuela has a big fat crush on Mr. Fredrik Arandelle, a divorced Nordic CEO who hires us and my young fine ass must be a threat to the cook.

"Ms. Arandelle is feeling unwell," I crack the eggs, hitting them against the counter cautiously, afraid that I would mess the tidy, clean surface. "Could you make her some soup for lunch?"

There is no answer, not even a nod or an eye roll but I know she will do as I say. Apparently every employee in this house, except for me, has been serving the Arandelle household for at least a decade and their loves for Mr. Fredrik's children are quite visible. "There's no need to worry though, I can take care of Els- I mean, Ms. Arandelle."

Standing outside of her bedroom, I wonder if I put too much salt into the scrambled eggs. What if Ms. Arandelle doesn't even like her scrambled eggs salted? I probably should've tasted the eggs first. But that's rude, isn't it? Is it though? Maybe if I run to the kitchen now, Ms. Arandelle won't notice and I can ask Consuela to make her some toast

Mr. Fredrik's children are very impossible to work with. Ms. Arandelle here is a Stanford graduate, socially-impaired but flawless heiress who makes grown women like me look like teenage boys. Then there's Kristoff, the troubled adolescent whose best friend is an imaginary reindeer while his younger sister, Rapunzel is throwing herself to guys at least five years older.

I turn the doorknob and step into the room before the air-conditioner assaults me with its freezing cold air. "Ugh-" a shaky groan escapes from between my clattering teeth.

I look around and notice the familiar thin figure lying under the sheet. Gently, I place the tray on the end table, moving the nightstand ever so slightly with hope that it won't wake her up. Last night, I came to the house as usual after another Sunday night spent at The Fjord, unlocking the front door with the keys Mr. Fredrik gave to me on our second meeting, drafting Rapunzel's activities for the week before Ms. Arandelle made a rather scary entrance into my room. She was in her usual white button-down, black skirt and suit but there was something critically unusual about her and we both knew.

Her long, blonde hair was tangled and would probably take her an hour to comb the knots out if she was lucky. Her usually rosy complexion looked sallow and dry, and there were dark, puffy circles under her blue eyes. Her lips were crusted with a deep ruby stain, which, to tell the truth, would make a really nice lipstick shade. I wondered if the people at Sephora could come up with a way to turn your lips into that color without involving alcohol poisoning.

I stared at Ms. Arandelle with an amused feeling when she came to ask me for help for the first time. Her voice was exhausted and soft, I could barely make out the words that she said. I brought her upstairs as she commanded me to, our steps were cautious and slow.

"Wait." She stopped walking after climbing the fourth flight of stairs.

I obeyed the blonde, slowly releasing my supporting arm from her waist. With her remaining strength, she tried to shrug out of the suit and hesitantly, I assisted. My past encounters with her made it clear that she hates being helped by people and that she is impossibly egoistic but as I pulled her arms out of the sleeves, she stayed still, letting me helped her like I am paid to. I rested the suit on my shoulder, my arm secured around her waist once again and none of us spoke until I safely tuck her in bed.

"Anna?" my attention is drawn to the sleepy voice of Ms. Arandelle.

Abruptly, I lean in. "I'm here. Are you feeling better?" Her platinum blonde hair is messily covering her eyes the minute she moves her head on the pillow. I find myself tossing them away involuntarily before she winces and shrinks her head backward.

Feeling slightly revolted, I bit the inside of my cheek. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Wait," she pants. "I've got this massive headache- and I was going to bath when I got dizzy and fell. I'm sick, Anna."

I feel guilty for some reason. For all of her flaws and the hurtful things that she has done, there is still a part of me that pities this - unbelievably pompous, cold-hearted, rude lady. "Let me help you up," I whisper and try to lift her up. After pondering for a few seconds, she rests her head on my shoulder and let me take her to the bathroom.

I pulled the Bobbi Brown brush that has been holding my hair into a bun, and flop onto my back. Ms. Arandelle was now upstairs, still in her work attire. I offered to help her change but all I was given was the sight of her sleeping on her side, utterly ignoring me. I felt hurt, of course. I meant, I had been working here for two months now and that's almost sixty days of Elsa Arandelle ignoring me. I knew I'm just a nanny, possibly a very crappy one because Kristoff still preferred hanging out with his imaginary reindeer friend and I caught the thirteen years old Rapunzel making out with some jock probably older than her brother but couldn't she at least treat me like I'm human?

My phone started playing the chorus to Drake's new song and as much as I like Drake, tonight had been too tiring for me to even do my usual 'incoming text dance', as Hans called it. Blindly, I ran my hand on the table, unlocked the screen and lazily read the text.

It was Ms. Arandelle.

Help. - Elsa A.

I climbed the stairs again for the second time tonight. In my hand was an umbrella, in case there was an intruder. On a second thought, I should've probably took a knife from the kitchen instead.

Dramatically, I slammed the door open but there was no one there, except for Ms. Arandelle who was sitting at the edge of her bed with her cellphone in her hand. I lowered the umbrella, my breathing still heavy from all the running. "Why- why'd you send the text?"

"I need you to sleep with me." her voice calm.

I stared at the exhausted-looking blonde, my mouth slightly agape. "Care to rephrase that?"

She frowned for a moment before she opened her mouth again as if she just remembered something. "I mean, in the same bed." From where I stood, my eyes traced the pink that colored her cheeks.

Now, I was wondering if by 'take care of my kids', Mr. Fredrik actually meant, take care all of his kids, including the heiress of Arandelle Emporium who worth more than I would ever be. "Okay," was all I managed to say to the bizarre wish even though I was dying to know why was she asking me to do this.

I swallowed nervously as Ms. Arandelle slipped beneath the covers. In the abstract, this might be a fantastic idea. Besides, Ms. Arandelle needed my help and that had never happened before today.

"Anna? Are you going to stand there all night?" she stared at me as if I was dumb.

"Sorry," I approached the bed, apprehension settling in my stomach. This might go bad and I might be embarrassing myself in front of her. What if I did something silly tonight? What if I suffocate her while we're both sleeping because I can't lie still? Still, Ms. Arandelle is looking at me expectantly, so I clamber awkwardly onto bed and set my head on the pillow. "Can I-"

Shit. Shouldn't have said that. But it was too late, she heard me.

"What?"

I ignored the heavy thumping of my heart and hoped for the best. "Can I hold you? I mean, I know this sounds really awkward but I have this stuffed snowman called Olaf I always snuggle with at night and I always have trouble sleeping so basically-"

"You talk too much."

I took that as a yes from the lack of no in her sentence. I was desperate. My arm slung hesitantly over her waist and tugged the blonde against myself as soon as she lied on her side. Ms. Arandelle's surprisingly firm rear nested against my groin and I tried to ignore the growing sensation.

"Why are you doing this for me?" the familiar smell of pinot noir lingered in the air. She was drunk.

Slowly, she took my arm and hugged it against her chest and I couldn't help but to let out a relieved sigh when I figured that she still had her bra on.

"Well, your dad pays me and my college fees won't pay itself."

"You don't go to college, you're a nanny."

I rolled my eyes, stopping myself from choking her with my arm. This was the problem I have with . Ever since the first day I worked here, she had been looking down on me and still wouldn't believe that I go to law school. She was still mean even when she was drunk.

"Do you want to sleep alone, Ms. Arandelle?"

She shook her head. "You smell nice."

"Ms. Arandelle."

But she had slipped beyond the realms of communication. Her lips brushed against my knuckle as she snoozed and I allowed a fierce blush when no one was around to see it.

I turn on the shower as she waits beside me, with unfocused eyes and shaking lightly. "You can get in now. If you need my help, I'll be waiting outside." I already have my hand on the doorknob when I suddenly feel a cold hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I am greeted by her tired green eyes.

"Can you help me?" she says. "I believe I can't stand up and wash my body properly."

She stares at me for a moment with pleading eyes and I realize I have no choice. This time will be worse than having to sleep on the same bed with her. "How are we gonna do this? Would it be better if I fill the tub? A nice, warm bath for your headache?" Maybe that is less awkward.

"Although I hate being in a pool of my own filth, I believe your proposal make sense." she says with a frown, the headache must really hurt.

"OK then, I will prepare your bath." After filling the bath, putting some bath salts I found in the cabinet, I glance at her who is leaning against the counter and say, " Get in."

Noticing her discomfort as she unbuttons her shirt in front of me, I turn around and wait for her to get in the tub. Looking at the skirt lying on the ground, I feel the same tingly feeling I felt in my stomach when I woke up today with her nose brushed against the nape of my neck.

"Can you wash my back? I can take care of the rest myself." She is holding her knees against her chest. She sounds childlike, vulnerable, shy - almost scared.

I pick up the sponge and kneel on the floor, facing her back. Her messy golden locks are rested against the tub and I tie them up into a bun. She looks like an ethereal being, so lean and I can't help but to notice how pale her skin is. Like she was specially made by porcelain. At the first touch, she flinches. "You have to relax, Ms, Arandelle." She sighs softly and loosens up a little. I start slowly, washing her neck with gentle strokes and she shudders as soon as the sponge reaches her pale skin.

I dip the sponge into the tub, my eyes locked on the trail of freckles I now notice exist. Cautiously, I wipe her spine, pressing the sponge softly, water cascading down pale skin. I wonder where the freckles lead to and maybe if I just lean in closer, I can see … What the fuck is going on? This is Elsa Arandelle, the condescending, icy, arrogant, Elsa Arandelle. Anna, you have to get out of here.

"Is something wrong?" she asks and thankfully, her head doesn't turn to witness my face turning redder than my hair.

"Nope. Uh-," I cough the moment I realize my voice comes out hoarser than usual. Am I aroused? Do I have a pale skin fetish? "So, where were you last night? I mean, what exactly happened? You were so drunk," I let out a nervous laugh and regret as soon as I hear it.

"I met some old friends."

Then it hits me. Probably she is normal. I keep on looking at her as this physically-flawless, emotionless, asexual creature who works for 80 hours a week but probably, underneath her Armani suit and shades, she might be a party animal for all I know. Last night's encounter proved my theory to be right. Then, the thought of her grinding against a stockbroker in a nightclub makes my head spin. I need to stop imagining everything that crosses my mind.

And as if she can sense my unholy imagination, she clears her throat and says coldly, "I think that's enough. You can see yourself out,"

"Do you want me to tuck you in? I can get you some aspirin and maybe tea?" I ask, still kneeling behind her.

She sighs in deeply and says, "I'm good."

"Alright, then. If you say so." Feeling a little hurt, I abandon the sponge on the floor and head for the door.

It takes three seconds later for me to hear a loud thump coming from the bathroom. As I rush back in, my scream is abated when I see her supporting herself with her two arms, towel wrapped around the slender frame and tiny bottles of things scattered on the floor. "Are you alright?"

Her face is red and her eyes are watery. She looks terribly weak and sick, I am worried. "I'm fine. It's just an accident."

Ms. Arandelle has always been stubborn and even when she looks like she just ran over a wall, she is still the stubborn Ms. Arandelle that I know. "Okay but it would make me feel better if I know that you're safe, lying on your bed. So, if we can just-" I place her arm over my shoulder, "- work together here. Come, let's get you in bed Ms Arandelle."

I sit her on the edge of her bed, take the first sweatpant and blue jumper I see from her wardrobe and tuck her under the sheet once I fake admiring the carvings on the ceiling as she settles into the clothes. "You've definitely got a fever," I conclude as soon as I feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

She leans back against the headboard, her head falling on her right slightly as she closes her eyes, shielding them against the bright sun. I consider closing the windows with the curtains, but seeing her trying to peek while her eyes are being assaulted by the sun is pretty adorable. "I need aspirin. And tea, too. With four sugars."