The Alpha’s Nanny (Lori and Gabriel) novel Chapter 8

**The Ocean Remembers Everything**
**By Julia Allan**
**Chapter 8**

The gentle wail of the baby pierced through Lori’s dreams, pulling her from the depths of sleep.

After a long evening of pumping milk, she had nestled into her bed, wrapping herself in the comforting embrace of the covers, the baby monitor resting beside her like a watchful guardian.

Yet, despite her exhaustion, sleep had eluded her, and just as she thought she might finally drift off, the unmistakable sound of Emilia’s cries shattered the stillness around her.

Within moments, she was out of her room, propelled by instinct and the urgency of a mother’s love.

In her haste, she completely forgot that she was clad only in a loose nightshirt and her panties, the cool air nipping at her skin as she dashed down the hallway.

Reaching Emilia’s room in record time, she scooped up the little one, feeling the warmth of the baby against her chest.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” she murmured, rocking Emilia gently back and forth, hoping to soothe her. For a fleeting moment, it seemed to work—Emilia quieted, her cries fading to soft whimpers. But just as Lori began to relax, the baby erupted into another round of wailing.

“Oh God,” Lori thought, her heart racing as she felt a wave of panic wash over her. She could already envision the consequences of this relentless crying; soon, the whole household would be awake, groggy and irritable.

In a flurry of motion, she laid Emilia down on the changing table, her mind racing to assess the situation.

“Please, let it just be a diaper change,” she prayed silently.

But no, the diaper was clean.

Instead, she was faced with a very fussy baby who seemed to be expressing her hunger with increasing urgency.

A sinking feeling settled in Lori’s stomach as she realized that there was no milk in the nursery. In her earlier fatigue, she had moved all the supplies to the kitchen downstairs—a decision that now felt like a monumental mistake.

The thought of making the trek down the stairs filled her with dread; she could easily wake everyone up, or worse, aggravate Emilia further.

Both scenarios promised a symphony of cries, and it was clear that Emilia was not one for patience.

Desperate to find a solution, Lori quickly popped a pacifier into Emilia’s mouth. The baby sucked on it hungrily for a brief moment, but then, with a determined flick of her tiny wrist, she spat it out.

“Oh no,” Lori whispered, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

As she paced the nursery, cradling the baby in her arms, an unexpected thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.

Wait.

What was stopping her from feeding Emilia directly?

It was a natural, nurturing act—one that she had been hesitant to embrace fully.

With newfound determination, she settled onto the couch, lifting her shirt with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

She carefully positioned Emilia’s head, guiding her toward the soft, exposed pink of her nipple.

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