“What?”
“This building. There’s a fashion school in there. Art exhibits. Some restaurants.” Matthieu came to stand at the open door, reaching down beneath the seat Michael had been in. “In case you were wondering,” Griffin added.
Was he…maybe trying toactuallybe normal? Conversational?
The seat in front of Griffin’s knees folded forward, Matthieu pushing it into the floor with a satisfying littlethunk, and Griffin stood in a crouch, murmuring a hastyMercito the driver as he stepped down from the car.
And then he turned back toward it, extending his hand.
To Layla.
She stared, stunned.
It couldn’t be called a mimicry of what Michael had done for Emily, since Michael looked at Emily with softness and concern and adoration, whereas Griffin was only managing a look of obligation. Of barely mustered tolerance.
But it was better than pity. It wassomething.
Something that spoke to their shared purpose tonight, the secret they were both keeping for the sake of Emily and Michael.
So, she took it.
Her fingers sliding against his palm, then his fingers closingaround hers, warm and dry and enveloping, and for a second, as she leaned forward and stepped toward the open door, she was relieved. She was thinking,He’s not a lightning bolt; he’s a man, a regular man, and I’ve—
But then, as she stepped down, the rough pad of his thumb moved across her knuckles—an accident, she wassure, a small stroke of momentum and not intention—and she felt it, the electricity of him moving through her again, like it had when he’d first looked at her on the plane. Her spine practically jolted from it, every joint in her body humming and vibrating from its force.
When her foot hit the pavement beneath her, she wobbled.
He tightened his hold on her hand. Their eyes met: hers, probably wide with the renewed shock of this; his, pitch-dark and steady andseeing.
Pitying, she thought.He pities you.
“I’m fine,” she said sharply, sounding like him, yanking her hand from his and immediately smoothing it down the front of her boring brown dress—no, herblending into the backgrounddress—and turning her attention to the boat, to the wooden ramp Michael was helping Emily across, to the metal stairs Rosie was already halfway up, to the top deck where, she could now see, Robert and Manon MacKenzie stood waiting.
“You’re sure?” Griffin said, not at all pitying now—just doubtful, judgmental, suspicious. HisYou need to fix thisattitude back in full force.
It was such a relief that she almost turned to thank him, except that she didn’t trust herself to take him in again—his set, handsome face, scars and all, and his lean, steady body.
Instead, she raised her arm to wave at two people who had once been her family, and smiled widely, hoping that from here it lookedcompletely authentic. She remembered every Band-Aid she’d ripped off today. Remembered Emily was her priority.
She shot a glance toward Griffin and said, in the same tone of challenge he had already so frequently leveled at her, “Watch me.”
* * *
Doing it like a dare was—to start, at least—shockingly easy.
Layla kept her own words in mind as she did the thing she’d been dreading and dreading and building up in her head for months: greeting her in-laws after a too-long stretch of avoiding them.
Watch me hug Manon tightly, watch me as I let her kiss both of my cheeks and then cup them after; watch me stand smiling as she wells up with tears and says she missed me.
Watch me lean into Robert’s side as he puts his arm around me; watch how I don’t overreact to him gruffly saying, “Hi, there, Laylapalooza,” an old inside joke that became a loving, fatherly nickname.
Watch me say hello to Manon’s sister Céline and immediately shower her with compliments on the chunky, over-the-top jewelry she’s wearing; watch how she takes the bait and tells me all about it instead of asking how I am. Watch me greet Robert’s oldest friend and longtime business partner, and his wife, too; watch as I take a glass of wine from a tray and say how busy I’ve been, how glad I am to take some time off for this, how much I enjoyed my leisurely walk through the city today.
She was, to put it mildly, crushing it so far.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Griffin hanging back, sticking close to the staircase, near one of the sleek high-top tables that dotted the deck, along with artfully arranged potted plants and white club chairs that were probably a total nightmare to keep clean. If he was watching her, he didn’t make it obvious,but she pretended he was. She pretended the skin over her knuckles wasn’t still faintly buzzy and warm from his touch.
“Has anyone heard from Jamie?” Manon’s musical voice called out, and Layla did not even stiffen where she stood with Céline and Rosie. She simply sipped her wine and held out a hand for the sweaty glass of something pink that Rosie was obviously trying to get rid of.
