6. LAYLA
6
LAYLA
Layla
I wake up the next morning with an unbearable weight pressing on my chest.
Not a physical one, no, this is the kind that lingers in your thoughts, a heavy knot of anxiety that refuses to untangle itself.
My business is on the verge of collapse.
I’ve just agreed to fake-date Valentino Marchetti.
And worst of all, I’ve kept secrets from him. Life-changing secrets.
I roll onto my side, staring blankly at the ceiling.
When I left Valentino three years ago, I had no idea what the future would bring me.
By the time I found out I was pregnant, all I could think about was that night and what I had heard. What made me leave. Which was the same thing that kept me from going to him.
That and the fact that I could never fit into his world.
So, from that day forward, that baby growing inside me was mine alone, and it was us two against the world.
I stopped thinking about love, stopped thinking about myself, and started living for him.
Every choice I’ve made since I found out I was having Vincent has been for his happiness and security.
But now… Valentino is back. And whether I like it or not, I have to face him.
A small noise crackles through the baby monitor.
I glance at the screen, instantly softening when I see Vincent still asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. He has been cranky lately. Tired. Not really feverish, but like something is not quite right with him.
Maybe he is coming down with the flu.
God, I would do anything to protect him.
Even if it means keeping him a secret from his own father.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I snatch it up, heart pounding when I see William’s name flashing on the screen.
I answer it and grip the phone tightly. “Any news?”
William exhales heavily. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. I tried with multiple banks, but every single one rejected the request. I even reached out to a few private lenders, but it’s just not looking good.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“There’s no other way? No exceptions?”
“I’m sorry. Your debt-to-income ratio is too high. Without collateral, there’s no lender willing to take the risk.”
I shut my eyes, frustration bubbling inside me. “Well… thanks for trying.”
“I’ll keep looking. But for now, I’d suggest preparing for the worst.”
I hang up before he can say anything else, tossing my phone onto the bed.
The worst.
My entire life is already crumbling, how much worse could it possibly get?
I exhale, rubbing my temples, when my phone buzzes again. A text.
Valentino here.
I stare at the screen, heart thudding. I type back.
Got my number from a ‘mutual friend’ again? ??
Haha. Smart girl. Made up your mind yet? Time is money, Layla.
I hesitate.
Then, I glance at the baby monitor again.
Vincent is my responsibility. If my business fails, what will happen to him? I’ve already failed him in so many ways. I can’t let everything I built come crashing down now.
I type back.
Fine. You win. I’ll do it.
The response is instant.
Good girl. ?? Pick you up at 8 tonight. We’re going to dinner.
I exhale shakily, my hands trembling as I lock my phone.
I have no idea what I just agreed to.
***
La Bella Vita is the kind of restaurant that makes you stand a little taller the moment you walk through the doors. The scent of fresh basil, simmering garlic, and slow-cooked tomatoes wraps around me like a warm embrace.
And then, there’s him.
Valentino.
Sitting across from me, one elbow resting lazily on the table, fingers gliding along the stem of his wine glass, watching me. His navy suit fits like it was made for him, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath just barely teasing at the defined lines of his chest. A dark stubble dusts his jawline, just enough to make me think about how it would feel against my skin. But it’s his eyes that have me pinned in place.
I pick up my menu, half for something to do, half to hide the way my cheeks burn from his eyes on me.
I grip my wine glass, resisting the urge to scowl.
This is a business transaction. Nothing more.
“So.”
He flashes a smug grin. “So, you finally came around.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. This is strictly business.”
He chuckles, swirling his wine. “Still as stubborn as you are beautiful.”
I ignore the way my cheeks heat up. “Let’s get down to it. Ground rules. How long are we doing this?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Until my father announces his retirement, and I’m officially named CEO. I estimate six months. Maybe a year, max.”
I inhale sharply.
A year?
“And what do you expect from me?” I keep my voice even.
His expression turns serious. “We have to be convincing. That means public appearances, family dinners, corporate events, social gatherings. And it means…” He pauses slightly, tilting his head. “We’ll have to be affectionate in public. Holding hands. Kissing.”
I stiffen.
A flash of memory, his lips on mine, the heat of his hands against my skin.
I shake it off, clearing my throat. “I’m not sure about that.”
“That’s non-negotiable. We have to sell it.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you never had a problem kissing me before.”
I narrow my eyes. “If we’re doing this, I have conditions too.”
His brows lift. “Go on.”
I take a steadying breath. “No other women while this is happening.”
His lips twitch. “Possessive, are we?”
I scowl. “Not for me. For optics. If we’re supposed to be a serious couple, I don’t want to be humiliated by some random girl calling me a homewrecker.”
His smirk fades slightly. “Fair enough. I’ll be completely faithful to you… in our fake relationship.”
I lift an eyebrow. “With your reputation, I find that hard to believe.”
He chuckles. “Come on, Layla. Do you really think I go around with a new woman every night?”
I give him a pointed look.
“Okay, maybe I used to—”
Our waiter approaches us.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he whispers.
I expect the waiter to offer us a moment to decide, but Valentino doesn’t need one.
He closes the menu without even looking at it. “We’ll start with the burrata, fresh figs, and prosciutto.” His voice smooth, low, laced with quiet authority. “Then the truffle risotto and the osso buco, slow-braised.”
He nods slightly toward me. “And she’ll have the handmade pappardelle with the wild boar ragu.”
The waiter nods, scribbling it all down, his posture straightening just a little under Valentino’s gaze.
There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s clear. Valentino’s been here before. He knows what’s best. And more than that, he knows what I’ll like.
I arch a brow, tilting my head. My fingers skimming the rim of my wine glass. “Ordering for me now?”
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me, don’t you?”
The way he says it, it isn’t really a question. It’s a statement, heavy with meaning, with expectation.
The waiter disappears, and Valentino shifts forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze locked onto me like I’m the only thing in this restaurant that matters.
“You overthink menus.” The ghost of amusement plays in his voice. “Too many choices. I saved you the trouble.”
I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “And what if I wanted to choose for myself?”
His gaze dips to my lips, his smirk deepening. “Then you would have.” He reaches for his glass, taking a slow sip of the deep red Barolo before setting it back down with deliberate ease. “But you didn’t stop me.”
A warmth curls in my stomach, spreading through my chest, a mix of challenge and something much, much deeper.
I pick up my wine, matching his slow, measured movements, holding his stare as I take a sip.
The taste is rich, full-bodied, intoxicating. Just like him.
La Bella Vita is more than just a restaurant. It’s a stage. And Valentino?
He’s the one setting the pace for this dance.
And God help me, but I’m letting him.
After dinner, without hesitation, he pulls out his checkbook, scribbles quickly, then slides it across the table.
I glance down.
One. Hundred. Twenty-Five. Thousand. Dollars.
“I had my guys assess the shop damages and they have given me a more accurate estimate. We found the source of the leak and accounted for structural damage as well.”
A lifeline.
My hands tremble as I pick it up. “What if things get… complicated?”
“They won’t. This is business, Layla. We’re both adults.”
I’m not sure I believe him. But I nod. “Alright.”
He leans back, satisfied. “One more thing.”
I tense. “What now?”
“We might need to get engaged.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “Only if necessary.”
“Necessary for who? Are you insane?”
He gives me a steady look. “If it comes down to it, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this plan work.”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “You make it sound like I don’t have a choice.”
He softens. “You do.” His voice drops slightly. “But if it does happen, it’s just for show. Nothing real.”
I exhale sharply, my head spinning. “I need another drink.”
He grins. “Smart woman.”
“Okay. Do we sign a contract?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He grins, brandishing a piece of paper from his bag. “This is a non-disclosure agreement. If we do this properly, then you must make sure that no one knows about the real nature of our partnership.”
“Partnership,” I snort. How romantic.
Then, I swiftly grab the pen to sign the document.
When did my love life turn into a business transaction?
But before I agree to everything, I look up at him one more time. “I have another condition.”
“Go on, then.”
“We are not in a real relationship, and I am under no obligation to you to share details about my own life. No digging into my past, no trying to uncover things I haven’t shared. Can you agree to that?”
He hesitates for a second but then nods. “Agreed. Your past is your own, and I won’t pry.”
With the terms laid out, we both sit back, the tension easing slightly.
There’s still a lot to figure out, but for now, we have a plan.
We clink our glasses together.
“Salute.”
To our partnership.
***
When dinner ends, he insists that we go back to his apartment to go over some more of the terms. “Plus, it’ll help us get comfortable around each other.”
Thanks to the liquid courage in the form of wine, I end up agreeing. But the entire car ride there, my thoughts remain fixated on Vincent.
Should I tell him I have a child? If we are going to be spending more time together, it is bound to come up. But then again, it’s risky. What if he finds out the truth?
No, you can always tell him he’s from another relationship. The dad is not in the picture anymore. Vincent cannot get involved only to be hurt.
I don’t even notice when the car stops.
“We’re here.” He hurries to open my door for me.
“What a gentleman.” The five glasses of wine I had are finally beginning to do their job. I feel more relaxed, and he guides me into his home.
He pours me another glass of wine as we step onto his balcony.
His apartment is on the penthouse of a large building, and the view from here is breath-taking.
I compare it with the small two-bedroom apartment I live in, and once again realize just how different both our worlds are.
Valentino joins me, standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I come out here when I need to think. It’s peaceful.”
I take the glass of wine from him, “You know, if you told me forty-eight hours ago that this is what I’d be doing, I’d have never believed you.”
“Well, life has a way of surprising us.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
He turns to face me, and our eyes meet.
For a moment, the world seems to fade away. There’s a magnetic pull between us, something undeniable and powerful. Without thinking, I step closer, and he does the same.
Then, before I can stop it, his lips are on mine.
And God help me, I kiss him back.
This is a bad idea, my mind is screaming at me to stop. But my body has plans of its own.
His lips press against mine, warm and firm, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. The kiss is intense, his mouth moving with a practiced ease that leaves me breathless. Heat radiating from him through me, spreading from the point of contact and spiraling outward, igniting every nerve.
I need this right now, a way to release the pent-up frustration I’ve felt for the last couple of days. I need him.
So, when his hands trail over to the front of my dress, pressing against my breasts, I let him.
This fake relationship is already blurring the lines of reality, but I’ve gotten in too deep, and there is no going back.