“What did you say to her?” Fitz shouted, his anger ratcheting up with the knowledge that Griffin was not going to answer.
“Mr. Pl—” Layla began, cutting herself off as she realized she was not quite sure how to address him—Sergeant? Fitz, even though she didn’t know him?—but it didn’t matter. She definitely had not spoken loudly enough to interrupt this.
“I could’ve called this on Wednesday, that you would wreck this. I could’ve seen it from a hundred miles away, that if something went wrong for my son again—that if he lost someone again—I’d findyouat the end of it.You!”
“Hey,” Layla said, still not loud enough.
“You have been acurseto Michael. A goddamned curse! Why he defends you at every turn, despite everything you took from him, I’ll never goddamn know, but if there’s one good thing that comes out of this, I hope it’s that he finally sees—”
“Hey!” Layla shouted now, and actually—actually, she had notonlyshouted.
She had also set her hand on Fitz’s shoulder.
Andshovedhim. Out of Griffin’s statue-still face.
“Layla,” someone said—she thought Robert, but honestly, it could have been Jamie, too. She was beyond caring. She was beyond anything remotely amicable in this situation.
She was mind under matter. A one-woman mob.
Fitz was staring down at her, shocked.
“That. Is.Enough. You obviously have no idea about who Griffin is, or possibly who yoursonis, so if you’ll—”
“Layla!” This time, the voice was Manon’s, unmistakable in its exclamation. A not-complimentary one. A not-welcoming one.
Ascoldingone.
She was so surprised she finally shifted her gaze away from red-faced Fitz. Manon was looking at her as though she was a stranger.
As though she’d never been family at all.
Robert cleared his throat. “Layla,” he repeated, his tone more soothing, but somehow still with that scolding note folded in. “We realize you’ve…well, it’s clear you’re having some kind of dalliance here—”
Griffin made a noise.
Low and warning. A statue creaking to life.
“Robert, comeon,” she said quickly, her voice cutting through it. She looked between him and Fitz, trying somehow to remind Robert who hereallywas, at least in all the years she’d known him. He’d never been the sort of man to talk to someone like Fitz had just talked to Griffin. He’d always hated that sort of dominance, that particular brand of toxicity.
But she couldn’t find that Robert now. Too upset by or worried for Emily, maybe, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that, in this moment, he seemed to thinkshewas the toxic one.
Shockingly, it didn’t even hurt.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, and turned her attention back to Fitz. One more thing, and then they could go. “You need to talk toMichael,” she said. “Not Griffin. You don’t have anything to say to—”
She was interrupted by that gurgling squeak again, and then, a sound and movement she’d heard and seen once before on this trip. A chair being shoved back, a sudden standing.
And Sam, streaking past everyone, hand over her mouth.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Manon shouted, even more scolding-sounding than she had been to Layla, clearly at the end of some kind of wedding-cancellation rope. “How many times is she going to do this?”
Unkind, Layla was thinking as she heard a door slam, but also, was she going to have to go in there and check on Sam again? Because—
“Mom,” Jamie snapped angrily, which was good, already a better showing than the boat deck, but actually he should probably save this for later and get over his weak-stomached fear long enough to follow Sam, who…
Oh, she thought, with dawning realization, at the same time Jamie yelled, exasperated-sounding, “She’spregnant.”
Another round of noisy reaction. Rosie said, “I fuckingknewit,” and Céline said, “Oh, Jamie,” like she was very disappointed in this whole thing. Robert coughed and Manon started crying again, and they did not seem like happy tears. Shockingly—or perhaps not—Paula was no longer holding on to Fitz’s elbow; she was clasping her hands at her chest and saying, “Aww,” as though she herself was about to be this child’s grandmother.
