She wondered if he had anxiety, if he had been on the verge of a panic attack, if he maybe had—
But when their eyes connected again, it was like she could feel him beaming his other words directly into her brain, his curt, dismissiveI saidif.
He didn’t want her help or her concern. He didn’t want her to know anything about him.
And that was fine by Layla. She had enough on her plate, dealing with the guests she already knew this week. She didn’t need to spend any of her time learning some other man’s minefields.
She didn’t need someone looking at her like she had something to be ashamed of.
She would have to get used to ignoring him.
But when Michael and Emily both laughed, Layla realized she’d lost herself again in Griffin’s piercing, disdainful gaze, and she knew ignoring him wouldn’t be easy.
And when Em asked her again if she’d come along to dinner, if she’dplease please pleasecome, she thought of thatbed-and-baguette plan again and could only hear the worddisgustingin Griffin’s sharp voice.
She couldn’t have him wrecking her bed or a lovely baguette. She couldn’t have him taking another part of Paris from her.
Not tonight.
So she smiled and looked at her former sister-in-law, and calmly said, “What time?”
Chapter Three
In the mirror, Layla looked precisely the way she wanted to.
She lookedpolished.
It had been stressful, choosing an outfit for this unplanned outing—she would need to figure out what to swap in for one of the other wedding events—but for now, she was happy with the navy, a satin midi skirt and matching fitted cotton boatneck top. It was the sort of outfit she’d admired when she’d been in Paris all those years ago, watching elegant women sit at cafés—granted, very unconcerned about the deleterious effects of cigarette smoke on every major organ of the body, but Layla could overlook that in her honeymoon haze—or strut down uneven streets in heels that spoke of their coordination, their command over themselves.
Layla would need to be careful in her own heels, but at the moment, she was determined.
She’d been determined pretty much since that moment with Griffin Testa in the lobby.
She grabbed her phone from where it rested on the room’s bed—a full size, because while the hotel itself was big, this was still Paris, and the rooms ran small—and opened her camera app. Shewas not a particularly skilled selfie-taker, but she saw an opportunity here. A few awkward, unsuccessful attempts later, when she finally managed a shot in the mirror that did not make her question whether she’d ever managed to stand attractively still in her life, she sent it off to Cara with an accompanying text.
Dinner tonight with the bride! Paris is great so far.
That was a white lie. If Paris was great, she wouldn’t really know yet, because she hadn’t left the hotel, not even for the baguette. Instead she’d taken a long, hot shower and a not-recommended-for-staving-off-jet-lag nap, then did a very self-indulgent skin care routine. She’d carefully filled out an elegant little card left on her bed about preferences for her stay, selecting mature and sensible things like having an English-language newspaper delivered outside her door every morning.
But that was not the kind of information that would suggest to Cara that she wasthriving, so she left it out, adding a red heart emoji and a French flag before pressing send. On reflection, that probably would seem suspicious to Cara. Layla was not prone to emoji use.
It was still early back in Boston, still well in the realm of Cara’s workday, so Layla was surprised when the little dots bounced on her screen immediately.
STUNNING!!!!!!was the first reply, and Layla smiled. Cara loved an exclamation point. Or several.
More bouncing dots, then,Gotta go deal with a GSW. Text me later!
If Layla was the emoji type, she would’ve sent that face with the crooked grimace and flushed cheeks. It was very awkward to havetexted someone who was going in to treat a gunshot wound with a mirror selfie. Especially when said mirror selfie was probably more about proving something to Cara than it was about sharing something genuine.
But before she could think of anything to write back, there were the dots again.
Take care of yourself, ok?
No exclamation.
Layla’s smile slipped. She could read a world of concern in that text. She didn’t want to textStop worryingagain, so she slid her phone into her clutch and decided she was ready to go.
In the hall, she waited in front of the elevator doors, surprised by the pulse of optimism that gathered in her middle. The nap had done her good; the night out would do her good. In fact, going out was the far better plan for avoiding jet lag, so she could be at her freshest tomorrow, and spending some time with Emily without the rest of the MacKenzies would be its own way of easing into the week.
