Manuel

"This is Mr. Lorenzo Perez, or Enzo for short. He's your new boss," the butler said, turning to the other side. "And this is your new bodyguard, Mr. Enzo."

Then I saw him. He had jet-black hair, just like Gerardo's. His eyes were also dark, like his father's. He was sitting on his bed, looking at me with innocent yet mischievous eyes. They seemed capable of pulling one's soul out of their body. Upon looking at him, I could tell he would be a troublemaker.

I already disliked my job. My boss was a cute 2-year-old toddler with thick, long eyelashes. He gazed at me curiously, and I'm sure we were both surprised to see each other. I had never expected to be the bodyguard of a toddler. I had anticipated guarding a teenager, which had worried me. However, I thought being the bodyguard of a toddler could prove even more annoying than guarding a teenager.

His skin was pale, and his lips were a rosy pink. He was the cutest toddler I had ever seen. He didn't even look real. He resembled a doll that you would want to hug tightly. Again, I didn't like my job already. I couldn't deal with children, no matter how cute they were. I knew they cried a lot. But I had already signed the papers. It never said how old he was. That was a trap - neither Mr. Garcia nor Mr. Gerardo had mentioned I'd be guarding a toddler when I signed that employment agreement.

"This is your job description, sir. I hope Mr. Garcia told you the most important details," the butler said with a strange smile. As a warning, Mr. Garcia had mentioned that I couldn't negotiate or disclose anything that occurred inside, under threat of severe consequences. That's why he smirked.

"Wait, does the child have a nanny?" I asked the butler, who was quickly going downstairs.

"No, sir. You have to take care of him. You must stay with him 24 hours a day. The next room is your room. And everything you should follow is written in those papers," he explained.

"I don't even know how to look after a toddler," I admitted.

"I'm pretty sure about that. You may have to learn by yourself. Maybe you can get advice from some of the servants with children?" he suggested before leaving.

Enzo was still looking at me with curious eyes. I quickly read through the papers while sitting on the couch in the room, and it became clear that I wasn't just his bodyguard. I was supposed to be his nanny as well. What the hell?

The job description didn't state it directly, but I was supposed to feed him, help him bathe, put him to bed at night, and take care of him when he was sick. At the end of the document, it stated I shouldn't get emotionally attached to the child.

I should only feed him at the scheduled times stated in the document. I shouldn't let him sleep in my bed even if he got scared at night. Hugging was not permitted, nor kissing, nor petting. Picking him up to comfort him when he cried was also prohibited. But I wasn't sure how to resist picking up a baby when he cried.

"Hello Boss! I'm Manuel, your new bodyguard," I said to him. He opened his arms, gesturing for me to pick him up. "No picking you up, little one," I informed my tiny boss.

Mr. Garcia had already informed me that Enzo's Mama died a few weeks ago in a car accident. Enzo was also in the car with his Mama but survived without the slightest scratch. My heart sank as I saw Enzo's sad face, his pink lips turning red and wiggling while he cried. The little boy approached me, hugged my leg, and looked up at me with teary eyes. I felt terrible for him. When I didn't pick Enzo up, he started to cry louder.

"Shh... shh... don't cry, don't cry," I said, but Enzo didn't stop.

I picked him up, and he put his head on my chest, sobbing. I felt sorry for the boy, who was so soft and smelled like baby products. Enzo's face was beautiful, and his eyes were even more stunning up close. I wished I would one day have a son who looked like him. Wait, what? What was I thinking?

Enzo was cute, but I didn't want to be a nanny. I couldn't remember the last time I had held a child in my arms. I patted Enzo's back to comfort him.

"Mama?" Enzo said, looking at my face. Mr. Garcia had told me Enzo knew his Mama had died, so there was nothing to hide from him. But he was only two years old, and I wasn't sure if he understood.

"I'm Manuel," I said, looking at him.

"Mama," he said as if he were asking me a question. Even his voice was cute.

"Manuel," I said again.

"Mama," he repeated.

"How about calling me bodyguard?" I didn't want him to call me Mama. I wasn't a mother or a woman.

"Papa," he said then.

"I'm not your Papa," I said, unsure how to explain to him that I was his bodyguard.

He pointed his tiny finger at my face and said, "Papa."

"No, baby. I'm... Okay. Whatever," I gave up.

"Weh-ver," he said in his baby language and laughed. I smiled at him. Then he cuddled more into my body. I let him do that so he wouldn't cry.

According to the job description, it was his playtime now, so we went to his playroom on the left side of the staircase, facing his room. The room had a box filled with his toys, a bookshelf with storybooks, a little study table and chair, and a normal-sized sofa. On the floor, there were cushions everywhere, both big and small. There were also stuffed animals. I took his toys outside. I didn't know how to play with children. Was I allowed to play with him? But I had to do that now. He showed me one of his toy cars. It was a red one.

"Mama," he said and looked at me with sad eyes. He looked like he was about to cry.

"Mama... Mama...," he repeated 'Mama' several times and started to cry. Maybe his mother used to play with him.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, but he only said, Mama. I wasn't supposed to pick him up, but he was crying.

The 2-year-old boy, whose Mama had died a few weeks ago, sat opposite me on the floor. I was a stranger to him, not even a woman who could at least give him the warmth of a mother. He cried helplessly, having no idea what was going on. My heart melted. I took him onto my lap and wiped the tears from his chubby cheeks.

I had no idea why Gerardo hadn't hired a nanny to care for the kid and kept me only as his bodyguard. It wasn't like Gerardo didn't have the money to hire a nanny and a bodyguard. But I wasn't supposed to ask questions.

"Don't cry, okay? You can play with me. If you want something, ask me. If you are hungry, let me know. Okay?" I said with the softest voice I could muster, looking at him. He cuddled me, and I let him do that.

I wondered why there were so many rules to follow, but no one came to check on us to see whether I followed them or not. We were all alone. It seemed like no one cared whether I followed the rules or not. I couldn't understand why nobody in the family came to see Enzo. It appeared that this kid's family entirely neglected him.

"Papa," he said.

Okay. Now Enzo was calling me Papa. I didn't know how to stop that.

"Yes, baby," I said softly.

"Milk," he said. He wanted milk. He was hungry. I checked his schedule and confirmed he was allowed to eat or drink then.

The document said that there was a servant who made the baby's food.

"I'll go to the kitchen and bring you some milk quickly, okay?" I said and left the room, closing the door. I heard him cry as soon as I closed the door. So, I took him and went to the kitchen with him. He stopped crying as soon as I picked him up. The document said not to pick him up when he cried. Since he wasn't crying, I guessed it was okay. I couldn't leave him in the room alone, and I didn't want to let him walk because it would take him forever to climb down the enormous staircase and cross the house to the kitchen. We went to the kitchen and asked the servant girl to make milk for him.

"Oh, he's so cute. Isn't he?" the girl said, looking at my little boss.

"Yes," I said.

"But his father didn't even look at him after madam died," she whispered.

"Really? Why is that?" I looked around to make sure no one was around and asked. I was shocked to hear what she said and was curious about the weird rules. Maybe I would be able to get some answers from this girl.

"Because he believes madam died because of him," she whispered.

"How so?" I asked again, as her explanation was still unclear to me.

"It seems like he's upset that he's the only one who survived, and his Mama did not." So, Mr. Gerardo thinks it's the baby's fault that his wife died," she whispered again.

"That's weird. The boy is only two years old," I said, confused.

"Mr. Gerardo is weird, and this house has many strict rules. You better not break the rules," the servant girl said.

"I understand that. But no one checks on me to verify whether I follow the rules. I wonder why," I said, just because I wanted to know more details when I got the opportunity.

"Oh, that's because Mr. Gerardo completely neglected the boy after his wife died. He never visits the child, never tries to comfort him, and never shows any affection towards him. It seems like he wanted to get revenge on the boy," she said.

"That's insane," I heard myself say. The girl gave me a smirk that seemed to say, "I know, right?"

The servant girl warned me, "You had better not cuddle or caress him. Mr. Gerardo wanted his sons to grow up as strong men, so he believed not showing them affection was the key."

"But he's just a kid," I said, looking at Enzo struggling to get down from my hands and wreak havoc in the kitchen.

"I know, but this is Gerardo's house and his rules," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

From what I'd heard, I understood Gerardo to be a weird and rude man, and I knew better than to mess with the wealthy household's patriarch.

Again, we walked to Enzo's room using the servants' corridor. We brought some milk in his cup, but he refused to drink it without my help. He insisted that I drink from his cup, and I pretended to do so because he never gave up until I did.

After drinking all his milk, he started to break his toys. If he broke his toys, he'd get new ones as much as he wanted. He liked the cars the most, so he broke them the most. After sitting on the floor for a long time, my backside started to ache. I let him play on the floor and sat on the couch. As I watched him play, I couldn't help but think about how I ended up in this situation. I was a 6-foot-tall guy with army training, 20 years old, with dark brown hair and green eyes, a good-looking guy. Yet here I was, babysitting a wealthy man's son.

After breaking his toys, he rummaged through his bookshelf, frantically searching for something. He sat on the floor and tore pages from the books.

He climbed onto my lap with a book that had many missing pages. I was pretty sure he might rip off the pages of this book. When he climbed onto my lap, as if my lap were now his property, I remembered the rule in the document: "Do not emotionally attach to the child." But how could I push him away?

"You're not supposed to sit on my lap, Boss," I said. He looked at me as if to say, 'What the heck did you just say?'

When I saw how Enzo looked at me, I realized it was the same way his father would look at people.

"Wabbit," he said, pointing to a rabbit picture in the book.

"Do you like rabbits?" I asked.

He shook his head, indicating no.

"Why not?" I inquired.

"Papa, boom, boom," he said, making his hand into the shape of a gun.

I was surprised to hear that. Based on what Enzo said and the fact that there were woods behind the house, I guessed he might be indicating his Papa shot rabbits. Why would he do that in front of this child?

Given the presence of the woods, I thought maybe his Papa went hunting there. I realized that the woods behind the house also belonged to them. Did he take his children with him when he went hunting? Perhaps he did.

Enzo started to rip the rest of the book. "What if you don't rip the book?" I asked. He stopped tearing it and looked into my eyes with his dark gaze. They seemed to be trying to suck my soul out. His eyes looked exactly like his father's. Then he glanced at the book, stopped ripping it, and threw it away, displaying the typical anger and frustration of a toddler who had been asked not to do something.

He tried to stand on my lap, and I helped him do so.

"Papa," he said, poking my face.

"You know I'm not your Papa, right?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't say that in front of his actual father or other family members.

"Papa, Papa, Papa," he said louder, jumping on my lap. What a little brat.

"Shhhh...okay, okay, I'm Papa," I said to stop him from shouting.

Then he started hitting my face with his tiny hands and pulling my hair. When I said "Aw" in pain, he laughed. I hate this job.

Although I was terrified of breaking the rules, no oneever came to check on us. It was only the two of us, completely alone.