14. Layla
— ? —
Layla
Cece fought sleep the way she always did, asking for one more story, one more glass of water, one more minute with the light on. I read the dragon book twice, tucked Mr. Buttons under her arm, and pressed my lips to her forehead until her breathing slowed.
“Love you, Mommy.” Already half gone, the words slurring together.
“Love you too, baby.”
I pulled her door almost closed and stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the quiet settle over the apartment. The floorboards creaked under my feet as I walked to the living room. I turned on the lamp by the couch, then turned it off again. The darkness felt right.
I sank onto the cushions and pulled my knees to my chest.
Stefan used to do this thing where he’d rest his hand on my belly, even before we were trying. We’d be lying in bed watching TV, or sitting on the couch reading, and his palm would find its way there.
“Can’t wait for a mini you running around,” he’d say. “A little girl with your eyes and your stubborn streak.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Then a little boy with your eyes and your stubborn streak.” He’d kiss my shoulder. “Either way, I’m going to spoil them rotten.”
“You’re going to be a pushover.”
“Absolutely.” His hand would press a little firmer against my belly. “I’m going to give them everything, Lay. Everything I never had growing up. Attention. Time. A dad who actually shows up.”
I’d believed him. God, I’d believed every word.
The memory sat heavy in my chest. I could still feel the ghost of his hand there, could still hear the conviction in his voice. He’d wanted this. He’d wanted a family with me.
But then I’d heard the recording. His voice, cold and cutting, saying I wasn’t good enough. Saying he wanted Pippa. Saying I’d make a terrible mother.
I pressed my palms against my eyes until colors bloomed in the darkness.
None of it made sense. The man who’d pressed his hand to my belly and talked about our future children couldn’t be the same man on that recording. The man who’d looked at me like I was his whole world couldn’t have said those things about me.
But I’d heard it. His voice. His words.
Hadn’t I?
I jerked upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. The sound was soft but insistent, a few quick raps that vibrated through the quiet apartment.
I knew who it was before I moved.
Through the peephole, Stefan looked wrecked. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled. His hair stood up in wild directions. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, evidence of tears he hadn’t tried to hide.
I opened the door.
“How did you find me?” The words came out hoarse.
“Nessa.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Had to bribe her with another contract.”
A sound escaped me, caught somewhere between laughing and crying. “Of course you did.”
“Can I come in?” His voice cracked on the question.
I stepped aside.
He walked past me into the apartment, his shoulder brushing mine. That familiar cologne wrapped around me, triggering a cascade of memories I couldn’t stop.
He stopped in the middle of the living room and turned slowly, taking in the space. The secondhand couch. The kitchen where Cece’s drawings covered the refrigerator. The narrow hallway leading to our bedrooms.
“It’s nice.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Cozy.”
“It’s small.” I moved to put the couch between us. “But it’s ours.”
“Lay.” He took a step toward me and I held up my hand.
“Don’t.” My voice shook despite my best efforts. “I can’t think when you’re too close.”
He stopped. Nodded once. Stayed exactly where he was.
The silence stretched between us, thick with everything we weren’t saying. I could hear the tick of the kitchen clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of a car passing on the street below.
“Pippa was helping me plan your anniversary surprise.” The words burst out of him, urgent and desperate. “That’s why she was in my office that day. That’s why her hand was on my shoulder. We were looking at jewelry. She was helping me pick out a bracelet for you.”
My legs went weak.
“I was going to take you back to Leon’s.
” His voice caught on the restaurant’s name.
“Where we had our first real date. I’d reserved that private room for us again.
I had the whole thing planned. Dinner. Champagne.
I was going to give you the bracelet and tell you that the past two years had been the best of my life. ”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Pippa thought you’d like the princess cut.” He laughed, but it sounded like breaking. “I wanted champagne diamonds because they reminded me of the gold flecks in your eyes. We were arguing about it when you must have seen us.”
“I didn’t know.” Tears slid down my cheeks. “I saw her touching you, and I’d just heard that recording, and I thought...”
“The recording was a lie.” He crossed toward me, stopping just short of the couch between us. “I never said those things. I never thought those things. You were everything to me, Layla.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You still are.”
We’d wasted four years because his mother couldn’t stand that her son loved someone without a pedigree.
“Stefan.” His name tore out of me, raw and broken.
“I know.” He came around the couch and pulled me into his arms. “I know.”
I buried my face in his chest and let myself fall apart. His arms wrapped around me, one hand cradling the back of my head. His own tears fell into my hair, warm drops soaking through to my scalp.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice vibrated against my temple. “I’m so sorry you went through this alone.”
“I should have confronted you.” Pulling back to look at his face. “I should have screamed at you instead of running.”
“You believed what you heard.” His thumbs traced my cheekbones, wiping away tears. “My mother made sure of that.”
His jaw tightened. “Pippa suspected her that first night. She told me Stella had finally succeeded in driving you away. I didn’t listen. I couldn’t believe it of my own mother.” His voice dropped. “I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”
“Daddy!”
We both froze.
Cece stood in the hallway in her unicorn pajamas, Mr. Buttons dangling from one hand, her face split wide with joy.
“Are we having a sleepover?” She ran toward us before I could answer.
Stefan released me and dropped to his knees just in time. She crashed into him full force, her little arms wrapping around his neck, squeezing with everything she had.
My chest cracked open watching them.
“I woke up and heard your voice.” She pulled back to examine his face, her small hands patting his cheeks. “Why are your eyes red, Daddy?”
“Happy tears, princess.” He managed to get the words out. “Sometimes grownups cry when they’re really happy.”
“That’s silly.” She giggled and the sound filled the room. “Crying is for sad.”
“Not always.” He stood with her on his hip, and she fit there perfectly, her head resting against his shoulder, her fingers playing with his collar. “Sometimes it’s for happy too.”
I couldn’t look away.
“What do you think, Mommy?” Cece turned to me, bouncing with excitement. “Can Daddy stay for a sleepover?”
Stefan’s eyes found mine over her head. Asking permission. Asking for more than just tonight.
“We’ll see, baby.” I reached out to smooth her hair. “But first you need to go back to bed.”
“But Daddy’s here.” Her lower lip pushed out.
“Daddy will still be here in the morning.” Stefan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I promise. But you need your sleep, princess.”
“Will you tuck me in?” Her arms tightened around his neck. “Please, Daddy? Please please please?”
He looked at me again, waiting.
“Go ahead.” My voice came out thick. “End of the hall.”
I watched him carry her down the hallway, her head on his shoulder, Mr. Buttons clutched in her fist. He walked carefully, like he was holding something precious. Something irreplaceable.
I moved to the kitchen and gripped the counter, needing something solid to hold me up.
Through the thin wall, his voice drifted back to me. Low and patient. “Which story, princess?”
“The dragon one. With the purple dragon who saves the princess.”
Pages rustling. His voice taking on different characters, high and squeaky for the princess, deep and rumbling for the dragon. Cece’s giggle when he made the dragon sneeze.
“Read that page again, Daddy.”
“This one?”
He read it again. No impatience in his voice. No hurry to be done. And when she asked for it a third time, he read it exactly the same way, with the same wonder, the same attention.
This was who he was. This was who he’d always been. Patient. Present. The father who actually shows up, just like he’d promised me he would be.
I’d stolen this from both of them. Three years of bedtime stories. Three years of silly voices and read that page again and dragons who sneeze. Three years of her falling asleep with his voice in her ears.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, princess?”
“Does the moon get lonely up there all by itself?”
He didn’t answer right away. I could picture him in there, looking down at her face, trying to find words for a question that had no easy answer.
“I think the moon has the stars to keep it company.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “And all the people on Earth who look up and wish on it.”
“I wished on the moon once.” Her voice was fading, drifting toward sleep. “I wished for a daddy.”
My legs buckled. I slid down the cabinet until I was sitting on the kitchen floor, my hand pressed over my mouth.
“And now you have one.” I could barely hear him through the wall. “And I’m never going anywhere, princess. I promise.”
Silence settled over the apartment. Then his footsteps, soft and careful. The click of her lamp turning off. The door easing almost closed.
He walked into the kitchen and found me on the floor. Without a word, he slid down beside me, his back against the cabinet, his shoulder touching mine.
“She’s perfect.” Barely a whisper. “She’s so perfect, Lay.”
“I know.” I turned my head to look at him.
“I missed so much.” His voice broke on the words. “Her whole life. I missed her whole life.”
“You’re here now.” I reached over and took his hand. “That’s what matters.”
He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my palm. Then he turned to me, cradled my face in his hands, and kissed my mouth.
This kiss was different. Full of grief and hope and everything we’d lost and everything we might still have. His hands slid into my hair. Mine gripped his shirt.
“I will fix this.” He pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed to mine. “I promise you, Layla. I will not let her get away with what she did.”
“I don’t care about her right now.” Pulling him back down. “I just care about us.”
He kissed me again, harder this time. His hands dropped to my hips and he pulled me onto his lap, right there on the kitchen floor. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let myself get lost in him.
“I need to know you believe me.” He pulled back, breathing hard. “That I never said those things. That I never wanted anyone but you.”
“I believe you.” My hands on his face. “I believe you, Stefan.”
He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth.
“I’m going to make this right.” His eyes locked on mine. “All of it. I swear to you.”
One more kiss, slow and sweet. Then he shifted me off his lap and stood, pulling me up with him.
“I should go.” Running a hand through his hair. “It’s late.”
He started toward the door.
“Stay.”
He stopped.
“What?” Turning back to face me.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Walking toward him. “Stay.”
“Lay.” His voice rough. “If I stay...”
“I know.” Stopping in front of him. “I know what I’m asking.”
He searched my face. Looking for doubt. Looking for hesitation.
He wouldn’t find any.
“Are you sure?” His hands finding my waist.
“I’m sure.” Rising on my toes to brush my lips against his. “Stay.”