Were those tissues on the bed? A whole fucking lot of tissues?
He looked up at Layla again, narrowed his eyes.
“Is she okay?” Michael said, his voice weighted with concern. Griffin figured he’d spotted the tissues, too.
Right, it was probably Emily who was crying.
That made…a lot more sense.
“She’s doing okay,” Layla said, her voice gentle now, like it had been while she’d talked to the girl on the plane. “She was really glad you were coming.”
Her eyes flicked to Griffin’s, her lips flattening.I don’t mean you, she seemed to be adding.
There was an awkward silence where both Michael and Layla seemed to register the oddity of their respective positions: her keeping the room closed off, but now unsure about doing so; him eager to see Emily, but unwilling to show any impatience.
“You could—” she said, gesturing at the room behind her, at the same time Michael said, “I can wait out—”
To tell the truth, Griffin did not know why his being here was particularly helpful. It wasn’t like he had a talent for making situations like this less uncomfortable.
He did, apparently, have a talent for noticing that Layla’s cheeks had turned the faintest shade of pink.
“Oh,” interrupted a new voice, and Griffin had the sense of his and Michael’s and Layla’s synchronized head-turn toward the source of it.
There, a few steps down the hallway, stood a woman who was probably Emily’s age, wearing a color of shirt so unnatural that it made Griff want to close his eyes. She had two gold hoops in one nostril, enough earrings to cover the entire curve of one ear, and also what looked like a small diamond chip in her cheek, right where a dimple would be.
“Rosie,” Michael said, and Griff connected the dots, the piercings, whatever. This was Emily’s maid of honor.Kind of an alternative type, is how Michael had described her on the drive in from the airport yesterday, which was a very Michael thing to say.
“What’s happening now!” Rosie half shrieked, and Griffin winced. Everyone would hear that. Layla needed to stop being so sensitive about the goddamned tissues and invite them into the room.
“Everything’s okay,” Layla said, in her airplane voice.
Rosie’s gaze bounced between Layla and Michael, clearly unsure. She lifted a white paper bag in one hand and a cardboard tray of small to-go cups and said, “I got hot chocolate, too. To go with the croissants.”
Craw-sawnts. Griffin wondered if he was the only guest at thiswedding who’d actually practiced the language before coming here.
“That’s great,” said Layla. “I’m sure Em will want some while she and Michael talk.”
Griff felt Michael tense beside him at that ominous word—talk—but Rosie’s expression lightened, as if she knew this boded well.
“They were pretty pricey!” she said, which seemed like the wrong tone for the moment, but what did he know.
Then she shifted her gaze to him. He’d give her credit for not being shy about it, but she was a starer. Not the kind who let disgust betray on her face while she looked, but still. A starer.
He stared back.
“All this cost thirty-two euros,” she said. Pointedly.
Okay?he thought, bewildered, and then he heard it—a little noise from where Layla stood. A huff of air, but with a touch more noise behind it.
Was it…a laugh?
He turned his face toward her, but already, her face was expressionless. Still pink, but blank again.
He found it unaccountably frustrating.
“I’ll Venmo you,” she said to Rosie.
Rosie snorted and stepped past Griff and Michael, toward the door. “Well, fine. You’re a doctor, I guess.”
