But worrying was all I did.
Rent. Bills. The cavity I’d been ignoring. Checking my bank account before buying shampoo.
I should have said no.
Instead, I asked again, “Why me, really?”
His eyes held mine. “Because I trust you more than I trust most people who share my blood.”
I told Violet that night.
She was rinsing strawberries, and for one foolish second, I thought she might laugh.
She didn’t.
“He asked me to marry him,” I said.
The water kept running.
“What?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Do you?”
She shut off the tap. “Please tell me you said no.”
I didn’t answer quickly enough.
Her expression changed.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of person, Layla. Seriously,” she said quietly.
Some words hurt more because they sound like they were dragged out of someone against their will.
“I don’t know what kind of person you think I am,” I said.
Violet folded her arms. “I thought you had more pride than this. But you’re just like everyone else, aren’t you? After his money. After his estate. You disgust me, Layla.”
I froze.
“Pride is expensive, Violet. You should know. You’ve had the luxury of keeping yours.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her.
“Get out, Layla.”
So I did.
I don’t remember the drive home.
I only remember sitting in my car outside my apartment, hearing her voice over and over.
That kind of person.
“I need the security,” I whispered.For illustrative purposes only
Three weeks later, I married Violet’s grandfather.
The wedding was small, private, and expensive enough to make my skin crawl. The flowers alone probably cost more than my rent.
I stood beside Rick, shoulders straight.
There was a fifty-year age gap between us.
And it wasn’t for love.
From the second row, Violet stared down at the program in her lap. She never once looked at me.
No one came for me.
There was no one left to ask.
At the reception, I reached for a glass of champagne when a woman in pale blue stepped into my path.
Angela—one of Rick’s daughters.
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