“No, no,” Manon countered. “We hoped you’d arrive in time! I booked several tables, actually. I was hoping everyone could come!”
This, she pitched louder—to the whole gathered group, and Griffin’s gaze went immediately, again, to Layla. Watched as her full, soft lips rolled inward, her lashes lowering, as though she needed a second to gather her strength. Half of him had a mind to congratulate her: to tell her that this invitation was an obvious indicator of her success today. The disastrous boat cruise not even a full twenty-four hours ago, and already Manon was unbothered about trying again, even if there was something obvious lingering between the best man and the groom’s parents.
But the other half of him thought nothing more than a steady refrain ofFuck, fuck, fuck, because now, the picture he conjured was of being shoved into one of those small restaurantswithFitz and Paula, Fitz not having the option for a thousand-yard stare and instead focusing on Griffin, an even worse sort ofLook at methan he wanted to imagine. It would absolutely ruin the fucking dinner; it would put Michael on edge; it would make Emily feel worse; it would probably undo every ounce of progress they’d made to the altar today.
Distantly, he heard a mixture of agreements and excuses—Rosie, in, probably because she’d have a new audience for her Marie Antoinette content; Damaris and Abram, out, too tired after Versailles; the ex, out, with another reservation for him and the girlfriend already made. Up close, though, he could see Michaelwith that straight-up, stressed-out posture. He and Emily were in; theyhadto be in. He wouldn’t tell Griffinnotto go, but also, he would’ve felt the chill, too. Two days ago, that chill might’ve been another awkward thing he expected to deal with during his wedding week, but now, with Emily’s doubts in the mix, and at an impromptu cozy dinner…
I’ll pass, he thought to say, but he could not get the words out, could not imagine saying them in a way that didn’t sound like a blast of ice-cold wind, directed right at Fitz and Paula. He just stood, a cold column, freezing over slowly, completely unable to help his friend.
“Actually,” came Layla Bailey’s voice, not distant at all. Right next to him, in fact, though not touching. “I’m taking Griffin to dinner tonight.”
Chapter Fifteen
She thought for sure he’d fight her.
Not in the moment—not while everyone was standing there watching, not while she went on to do a bang-up job of making the whole thing sound like a prearranged plan.
“I insisted,” she’d said, directing her words to Manon, who’d invited this whole extra charade by deviating from the itinerary (tonight, Layla still remembered from her spreadsheet, was supposed to beFree Time!for them all). “A thank-you, you know. For the clothes he bought me last night.”
That last part, she tried to saymeaningfully, the way Manon said things like,Darling, of course she doesn’t have to switch hotels. She tried to say,For the clothes he bought me, like she was saying,For the way he saved me from Samantha’s vomit, and Jamie’s cowardice, and for the way he saved today in ways you don’t even know about.
All the while, she stood next to him, oddly relieved to be by his side again, no matter that he was doing his whole smokestack thing, all-black brooding silence with his hat brim lower now. The minutes before—when he’d been ushered over by Rosie, when there had been that awful exchange between him and Griffin’s father—had been stomach-droppingly difficult for her, worse than when Jamie and Samantha had shown up on the boat yesterday.
And then, the hug from Michael’s mother.
If it could be called that.
Sheknew. Knew from the way he held his body and face—she’d been looking at him all day, after all—that he needed a rescue.
But when the moment passed—when Manon said, “Oh, that’s so nice!” as though she was relieved, and when Paula not so subtly took this opportunity to offer an actual agreement to the invitation—Layla thought for sure he’d fight her. That he’d grab her hand again and pull her away, taking advantage of the group’s distraction with their meetup plans.
That he’d say,We’re not actually going to dinner.
He didn’t, though.
He turned to her and said, “I’ll meet you down here at seven,” as though he was a completely normal person and not a smokestack fae prince with a sometimes-job who was also a surprisingly good dancer.
Embarrassingly, until he walked away, she hadn’t once meaningfully thought of Emily, only a glancing awareness that she, too, had tensed at the interaction between Griffin and Michael’s parents. Only as Layla watched the elevator doors close behind him did it occur to her that making a different dinner plan might feel to Emily like being hung out to dry.
But Emily was on board—more enthusiastic than Griffin’sI’ll meet you down here at seven. In fact, as soon as Griffin was gone, Emily had come over and clasped Layla’s hands. “Thankyou,” she’d said. “That wasperfect. Thankgodyou’re here.”
“Oh,” Layla said, still catching up to what she’d done on impulse, strangely bristled by the way Emily reacted as though this was all part of Layla’s plan. Layla’sjob.
“It was no—” she started to add.
“It’s like, things are weird there,” Emily interrupted. “And with Griffin out of the picture, Michael and I will have an easier time tonight.”
Layla said, “That’s good, then,” but what she was thinking was decidedly less supportive.
She was thinking,Michael’s parents seem pretty lousy, actually.
And also,Butwhyare things weird there?
And maybe, a little bit,You better get used to weird things, when you marry into someone’s family.
Now, once again standing in front of the mirror in her room, forty-five minutes before she was meant to meet Griffin for this plan that had not at all been offered up for Emily’s good, part of her still expected he’d cancel. A brief text from the phone he’d shown her all those interesting things on.
Part of her felt that she’d deserve it, what with what she wascurrentlydoing on her phone.
