Layla felt something bubble up inside her, and at first, she thought it must be a bad sensation. It could only be a bad sensation, surely, upon figuring out that her ex-husband was about to have the baby that he’d broken his vows to her for.
But no. It was not, in fact, a bad sensation. It was a sparkling-water sensation, a fizzy desire to explode in hysterical, exhausted laughter.
Pregnant, of course!
She was well over halfway to doing it, to letting out that laugh,a not-very-amicable reaction to the news, but then, a lot happened all at once.
Fitz shoved again, out of the way.
A fast crossing of the room.
One punch, a chorus of shrieks and gasps.
Jamie on the floor, clutching his nose, howling dramatically.
A statue standing over him.
“What did Itellyou?” boomed Fitz, seemingly directing that comment to everyone before turning back to the statue—to Griffin. “You can’thelpbut burn everything to the ground, can you?Canyou?”
Layla wanted to intervene again. She wanted that impulse to shove, to shout back at Fitz, but it had momentarily abandoned her. She could only look at Griffin, standing over Jamie, shock on his face, as though he could not remember how he’d gotten there, as though he could not remember throwing the punch.
But she could tell he’d heard.
You can’t help but burn everything to the ground.
“Griff,” she said, but she knew he wasn’t listening. He was probably hearing Fitz on a loop. Fresh salt in a wound that he had opened again—for her—only last night.
He kept his head down. He said, “I’m sorry,” to Jamie, even though Jamie was still making a lot of noise down there and probably didn’t hear. She couldn’t even see any blood. She thought he was probably fine. Actually, she thought he might be milking it, staving off any obligation to check on Sam.
“I’m sorry,” Griffin repeated, this time raising his head, both of his hands. “I’ll go.”
“No,” Layla said, at the same time Robert said, “That seems likethe best idea,” and also at the same time Michael’s cousin said, “Wait, didn’t he pay for this wedding?”
Rosie heard that. She said, “Oh my god, hedid?”
“Someof it,” Manon clarified, and Robert said, “Well,” in a corrective way.
A way that suggested it was more thansome.
By now, it didn’t surprise Layla. It made sense: not because she knew about his money, but because she knew abouthim, and how much he loved Michael. He would do anything for Michael.
Pay for the wedding.
But also, break up the wedding.
“It doesn’t matter,” she thought he said, but there was no knife-edge in his voice now. It was hard to hear him over another burst of chaos: the Nantes cousins arriving at some point in the last few seconds, adding to the flurry of shocked conversation with their fast, confused French, Robert kneeling to help Jamie up, Sam emerging from somewhere, gray-faced, Rosie rushing over to her with a glass of water. Layla felt distant from it all, watching Griffin take in the scene as though he was looking at something else entirely, as though he was seeing some long-ago night come roaring back, hot and destructive and never-ending.
No, she thought.No, no, no.
He took a step back, and she followed.
Then, Manon practically shrieked her name, shocking her enough to turn away—a second of distraction that some part of her knew Griffin would use to his advantage.
“Can you check him?” Manon said, still shrieky, having joined Robert in flanking Jamie, who was still holding a hand over his nose, staring miserably at Layla. “What if his nose is broken?”
“It’s not,” Layla said flatly, which she supposed she could not really know for sure. She’d make her apologies to Hippocrates later.
Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she was fine breaking her vow to that guy, just this once.
