19. Layla
— ? —
Layla
I woke to the smell of coffee and the distant sound of chaos.
The sheets were tangled around my legs, and they smelled like Stefan.
I stretched, my muscles aching in the most delicious way, and reached for him. My hand found only empty sheets, still warm from his body.
Then I heard it.
Voices. Laughter. The clatter of pots and pans somewhere below me. A child’s shriek of delight that I would recognize anywhere.
Cece.
I sat up so fast my head spun. Cece was here. But Cece was supposed to be with Pippa in Savannah.
I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the first thing I could find. Stefan’s shirt from last night, white cotton that fell to mid-thigh, still carrying his scent. I buttoned it with shaking fingers and followed the noise downstairs.
The kitchen was chaotic.
I stopped in the doorway, my hand gripping the frame, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing.
Pippa was there. My sister, who I’d just reunited with days ago, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Cece in her lap. Both of them were covered in flour, white powder streaking their hair and dusting their cheeks, giggling at something I couldn’t see.
My father was at the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, coaxing golden waffles out of the iron with the same focused attention he’d given to everything my entire life. His hair was grayer than I remembered. When had it gotten so gray?
My mother was setting the table. Her hands trembling as she laid out plates and forks, tears streaming down her face in a constant, silent flow. She looked older too. Smaller somehow. Like the years had worn her down in ways I couldn’t see.
And Stefan.
Stefan was crouched beside Pippa and Cece, his face soft with wonder, watching his daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.
He was still wearing last night’s pants but had found a t-shirt somewhere, and there was flour in his hair too, a white streak across his forehead that made him look younger, lighter, happier than I’d ever seen him.
“Mommy!”
Cece spotted me first. She scrambled out of Pippa’s lap and launched herself across the kitchen, her flour-covered hands reaching for me.
“Look!” She grabbed my legs and squeezed, leaving white handprints on Stefan’s shirt. “Grandma and Grandpa came! We’re making waffles!”
Grandma and Grandpa.
My parents were here, in this kitchen, meeting their granddaughter for the first time. The granddaughter I’d hidden from them for three years because I was too scared and too proud and too broken to ask for help.
I couldn’t speak.
My mother set down the fork she was holding and crossed the room. Her steps were quick, almost running, and when she reached me she pulled me into a crushing embrace.
“My baby,” she whispered against my hair. “My baby girl.”
“Mom...” The word came out broken.
Her arms tightened around me until I couldn’t breathe. She smelled like the same perfume she’d worn my entire childhood, and the familiarity of it cracked something open in my chest.
“Layla.” Her voice shook. “Four years without a word. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I didn’t know if you were hurt or sick or alone. I didn’t know anything.”
“I know.” Tears were streaming down my face now too. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands. Her eyes were red, the devastation in them so raw it made my chest crack open.
“Why didn’t you come to us, Layla?” The question came out pleading. “We could have helped. Whatever happened, whatever made you run, we could have helped. Why didn’t you trust us?”
“I thought...” My voice broke. I had to swallow hard before I could continue. “I thought you’d take his side. I thought no one would believe me.”
“Believe you about what?” My mother’s hands tightened on my face. “What happened?”
“His mother.” The words tasted like ash. “She made me believe things that weren’t true. And I ran because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Oh, Layla.” My mother pulled me back into her arms. “Oh, my sweet girl.”
“I didn’t know who to trust.” I was sobbing now. “I didn’t know who was on my side. I just knew I had to protect my baby, and I couldn’t do that if I stayed.”
“Us.” My mother’s voice was fierce. “You could have trusted us. You could have always trusted us. We would have believed you. We would have helped you. We would have burned down the whole goddamn world to keep you safe.”
“I know.” I pulled back and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I know that now. I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry for everything. For leaving. For hiding. For keeping Cece from you.”
“Cece.” My mother’s voice caught on the name. She looked over my shoulder at her granddaughter, who was now back in Pippa’s lap, oblivious to the emotional devastation happening across the room. “She’s beautiful, Layla. She’s so beautiful.”
“She looks just like her father.”
“She looks just like you.” My mother touched my cheek. “Same stubborn chin. Same fire in her eyes. She’s yours, Layla. Through and through.”
My father appeared at my side. His face was stoic, controlled, but his eyes were wet. Rick Stone never cried. I’d seen him bury both his parents without shedding a tear. But now, standing in this kitchen with his daughter and his granddaughter, tears were tracking down his weathered cheeks.
He wrapped his arms around both of us, pulling my mother and me into a crushing embrace.
“We should have looked harder.” His voice was gruff, thick with emotion. “We should have known something was wrong. A father is supposed to protect his daughter. I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me, Dad.” I pulled back to look at his face. “You couldn’t have known. I made sure no one could find me. I covered my tracks, changed my name, disappeared completely. You couldn’t have found me even if you’d tried.”
“I was looking.” He cupped the back of my head, the way he’d done when I was a child. “You’re my daughter. You could disappear to the ends of the earth and I would still be looking for you.”
He’d been looking for Layla Graham. I’d made sure Layla Graham stopped existing the day I crossed the state line.
“I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate. “I’m so sorry for putting you through that.”
“It’s not okay,” he said quietly. “What you went through, what that woman put you through, none of it is okay.” His hand tightened on my hair. “But we’re going to make it okay. Starting now. Starting today. We’re going to be a family again.”
“Dad...” I couldn’t finish. My throat was too tight.
“I love you, Layla.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I never stopped. Not for a single day.”
“How are you all even here?” I asked over his shoulder, to the room, to all of them.
“Your husband called me at midnight.” Pippa didn’t look up from tickling Cece. “Sent the jet straight back for us. Cece slept the whole flight. Your parents beat us here by an hour.”
A tug on my shirt made me look down.
Cece stood at my feet, her flour-covered face scrunched with concern. She looked up at the three adults crying above her and her lower lip trembled.
“Mommy, why is everyone crying?” Her voice was small. “Is it happy crying or sad crying?”
I crouched down to her level, taking her flour-dusted hands in mine.
“Happy crying, baby.” I managed a watery smile. “Sometimes when grown-ups are really, really happy, we cry. It’s weird, I know.”
“Oh good.” Her face relaxed. “I like happy crying better. Sad crying makes my tummy hurt.”
“Mine too, baby.”
“Can we have waffles now?” She bounced on her toes. “Grandpa made a whole bunch. He said I have chocolate chips in mine. And whippy cream. And strawberries.”
“That sounds like a lot of toppings.”
“Grandpa said I have whatever I want.” She grinned, showing all her tiny teeth. “Because I’m the best granddaughter ever.”
“Did he now?” I looked up at my father, who had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
“She’s very persuasive,” he said. “Gets it from you.”
“She gets it from her father, actually.” I stood and scooped Cece into my arms, settling her on my hip. “Speaking of which, where did he go?”
I looked around the kitchen. Stefan was no longer crouched by Pippa. He wasn’t at the counter. He wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“He went to get something from the car,” Pippa said, picking herself up off the floor and brushing flour from her jeans. “He said he’d be right back.”
“Get what from the car?”
“Wouldn’t say.” Pippa crossed to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, carefully avoiding Cece’s kicking feet. “He just got this look on his face and disappeared.”
“What look?”
“The Stefan look.” She grinned. “The one that means he’s planning something big.”
Before I could respond, the front door opened and closed. Footsteps approached. Stefan appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.
“Daddy!” Cece squirmed in my arms, reaching for him. “Where did you go?”
“I had to get something, princess.” He crossed the room and kissed her forehead, then kissed mine. “Something important.”
“What is it?” Cece tried to peer around him. “Is it a present? I love presents.”
“It’s not exactly a present.” He looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch. “It’s more of a question.”
“A question?” I shifted Cece to my other hip. “What kind of question?”
Stefan took a deep breath. His hands came out from behind his back.
He was holding a ring box.
“Stefan...” My voice came out strangled.
“I know we’re technically still married.” He opened the box, revealing a ring I recognized. My ring. The engagement ring I’d left on the bathroom counter four years ago. “I know we never got divorced, not really, despite what my mother wanted everyone to believe. But I want to do this right.”
“Stefan, what are you doing?”
“I’m asking you to marry me.” He dropped to one knee right there in the kitchen, surrounded by flour and family and the chaos of a life rebuilt from ruins. “Again. Properly this time. With our daughter watching and your parents here and your sister making inappropriate comments.”
“Hey,” Pippa protested. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“Give it time,” Stefan said without looking at her. His eyes never left my face. “Layla, I lost you once because I didn’t protect you. Because I trusted people I shouldn’t have trusted and didn’t fight hard enough when you disappeared. I’m not making that mistake again.”
“Stefan...” Tears were streaming down my face again.
“I want to marry you in front of everyone we love.” He reached up and took my free hand, the one not holding Cece.
“I want to stand up in front of the world and promise to love you and protect you and never let anyone come between us again. I want our daughter to see her parents commit to each other.”
“Daddy, why are you on the floor?” Cece leaned down to peer at him curiously. “Did you fall down?”
“No, princess.” He smiled up at her. “I’m asking your mommy a very important question.”
“What question?”
“I’m asking her to marry me.”
Cece’s face scrunched in confusion. “But you’re already married. You’re Mommy’s husband. She said so.”
“That’s true.” Stefan’s smile widened. “But I want to marry her again. Because I love her so much that one wedding isn’t enough.”
“Can you do that?” Cece looked at me for confirmation. “Can you marry someone twice?”
“You can marry someone as many times as you want,” I said, my voice thick with tears. “If you love them enough.”
“Do you love Daddy enough?”
I looked down at Stefan, kneeling on the flour-dusted kitchen floor, holding my ring in his hand, his eyes full of hope and love and a vulnerability that made my chest ache.
“Yes, baby,” I said. “I love Daddy enough.”
“Then say yes!” Cece bounced in my arms. “Say yes, Mommy! Say yes!”
“Yes.” The word came out half-laughing, half-crying. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.”
Stefan stood and slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, the same way it had the first time, the same way it always would. Then he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, soft and sweet and full of promise.
“Ewwww,” Cece said, squirming between us. “Kissing is gross.”
“You’ll change your mind someday,” Pippa called from across the kitchen.
“No I won’t.” Cece shook her head firmly. “Kissing is slimy.”
Stefan pulled back from the kiss, laughing, his forehead pressed against mine.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you too.”
“One more thing.” He pulled a flat velvet box from his back pocket.
Inside, champagne diamonds caught the morning light.
“I bought it four years ago. It’s been sitting in my desk drawer next to your photograph ever since.
This week I had Jaden empty that drawer and bring me everything that mattered. ”
I let him clasp it around my wrist, and I didn’t even try to stop crying.
“Okay, okay, enough with the romantic moment.” Pippa clapped her hands. “Waffles are getting cold and I didn’t fly across the country to watch my sister make out with her husband.”
I set Cece down and she immediately ran to my father, tugging on his pants.
“Grandpa, can I have the one with extra strawberries?”
“Of course you can, sweetheart.” He lifted her onto his hip like he’d been doing it her whole life instead of just meeting her today. “Grandpa made it special for you.”
I watched them together. Two people who should have known each other from the beginning, finally together.
Then I looked at my mother, who was hugging Stefan now, saying something I couldn’t hear, her hand patting his cheek with maternal affection.
And Pippa, who was already stealing bacon off someone’s plate, catching my eye and winking.
And Stefan, who turned from my mother’s embrace and looked at me with so much love in his eyes it took my breath away.
This. This is what I wanted. This is what I almost lost. This is what I fought for and cried for and ran from for four years without ever realizing it was what I needed.
My family. Whole. Together. Made new from the ashes of what Stella had tried to destroy.
I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around Stefan, pressing my face into his chest. His arms came around me immediately, holding me close.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For not giving up.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “For keeping the house. For finding me. For loving me even when I gave you every reason not to.”
“I could never stop loving you.” He pressed another kiss to my forehead. “Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime.”
“Mommy! Daddy! Come eat!” Cece’s voice rang out across the kitchen. “Grandpa made the best waffles ever!”
Stefan laced his fingers through mine and led me to the table.