But mostly, she was focused on her own.
Her own, and Griffin’s.
She’d brought her hand up to her mouth as she read, lingering over the words that seemed to matter most—some that she wanted to see as optimistic, some that insinuated a more permanent severing.
Today.
We.
A decision.
Respective.
But Griffin had not moved at all. Not beyond looking—quickly, there was no way he could have read the whole thing—and sliding his phone into his back pocket.
Now, he was a statue. Like he would stay here forever, waiting.
After a few more seconds—when everyone seemed to finish reading—the room exploded with conversation, with movement. Snippets of reaction while reading now became full-on sentences of disbelief, coming from all corners.Which one is Rosie, again?transformed into a lot of questions aimed directly at the woman in question, who had clearly prepared herself to repeatedly say, “My job is to do what Em wanted.” Manon was crying in full punctuation now, Robert and Céline flanking her. Poor Samantha had slumped into one of the chairs, shaking her head, Jamie setting a hand on her shoulder.
What do youmean, breakfast will be served?
Did they leave thecountry?
Rosie, are they somewhere together, at least?
My goodness, all this money spent!
It was like being inside a dishwasher cycle. And all Layla wanted was togo.
Almost as soon as she thought it, she realized—she could, in fact, go.
She did not have to stay for this. She loved Manon and Robert. She could even admit that she still loved Jamie, if not in the same way she thought she had when she’d arrived here in Paris. But the person that meant the most to her in this whole mess was Emily, and Emily was not here anymore. Emily wouldbe in contact. Emily wastaking some time.
She would be there for Emily, when the time came.
But for now, she and Griffin could go.
She and Griffin could—
Suddenly, a voice burst forth above the others. Hard and unexpectedly close.
“What did you do?”
Fitz.
He was standing almost directly in front of her, but with his body turned toward someone else.
“What did you do, Griffin?” he repeated, brandishing his phone, screen lit, Em’s message there like an accusation. “What did you do to her?”
“Fitz,” said Paula softly, coming up from behind, taking her husband’s elbow. “Let’s not—”
Fitz stepped back, looked down at his wife. “Let’s not what, Paula? Makeassumptions? Everyone saw him come in here last night—”
“Let’s—” she tried again, but Fitz was beyond hearing her, his face red now. Layla thought of Em in the spa yesterday, saying,that got Fitz going.
A mention of Griffin. That’s what got Fitz going.
And she could see it now. Itgoing. She could see that this is what Griffin was waiting for, what he had turned into a statue for. Preparing himself, hardening himself.
