Chapter Three
LAYLA
I don’t have much time to look my best, but I do what I can to revive my hair by re-curling the limp strands and dousing it in hairspray. I refuse to wear the blue Veronica Beard dress Spencer requested because I’m not an accessory, and this isn’t a date. This is a business meeting between friends, even if he doesn’t know that yet.
Instead, I wear the L’Agence black wrap dress. It’s simple, but elegant. Before Nana lost all her money, I went consignment shopping every weekend and found some amazing designer pieces. I adore a gorgeous, well-made piece of clothing and a reason to dress up.
I pair the dress with my lucky red Gianvito Rossi boots. They belonged to my mom, a small splurge to keep her spirits up when she first became sick. They kept her alive for four years past her doctor’s initial prognosis.
I need their luck tonight .
I’m on my way out the door when Meg comes through it. Her green scrubs are sweaty and dirty. By the way she collapses on the armchair, her nursing shift at the hospital must have been arduous.
“You’re back early,” I say.
When I arrived home and neither of my roommates were here, I hoped I could get out before they got home. It would be a lot easier to explain in a text than in person that I’m missing our movie night.
Meg blows out a long, exhausted breath. “It will probably never happen again.” She notices what I’m wearing. “Those aren’t pajamas. Where are you going?”
She and Livy hate Spencer, so I hedge.
“It’s a last-minute thing. I’m meeting up with a friend. I’m sorry to miss our movie night.”
There must be something in my voice or look because her eyes narrow.
“Does this friend happen to be an ex-boyfriend who you keep taking back?”
How does she read me so easily? “Why would you say that?”
“Because I can’t imagine anyone else you would ditch your roommates for at the last minute. Unless it’s an emergency?”
Getting money to take care of Nana is an emergency, but Meg and Livy don’t know about my money woes. Finances have always been personal and something for me to deal with by myself.
“No emergency.”
Meg sags. “So, it is Spencer.”
Caught. “It’s only dinner. We’re friends. ”
“You’re wearing your lucky boots. What kind of luck are you hoping for with your friend ?”
I slide my left foot toward the door. The right follows. “It’s not a big deal.”
She waves her hand. “Just remember how unhappy you were the last time you dated, okay?”
“I remember.”
“Good.”
Dating Spencer wasn’t all bad, nor was I always unhappy, but I did him a disservice by complaining to Livy and Meg every time he canceled a date or completely forgot we made plans because he was busy at work. Now that’s all they remember. They refuse to listen when I tell them how kind and generous he can be when he remembers my existence.
We tried dating three times and broke up each time because his work always comes first. I’d like a boyfriend who makes me a priority. I’m almost thirty, and I haven’t found one yet.
Meg stands and stretches. “Don’t worry about missing movie night. My parents surprised me by coming into town for the week. They’re taking me to dinner. I was going to invite you and Livy to come with us.”
“That’s great they’re here! Sorry I can’t go to dinner with you.”
She doesn’t visit her family in Idaho often, so it’s special that they came down to visit her. No time to chat about it. I’ve got to go if I want to make it to the restaurant on time.
“Tell Livy for me?” I ask.
“Sure, but you owe me. I hate being the bearer of bad news.”
“Thanks. ”
I open the door and find a breathless Livy on the other side struggling with a half-dozen over-full grocery bags in her hands.
Drat. Caught twice.
I go through the entire explanation about Spencer and our platonic dinner again and finally make my escape.
During the drive to downtown Salt Lake City, and while I try to find a parking space, I rehearse how I’ll ask Spencer for help. I have never had to ask for money from a friend before, and the humiliation might kill me if the crazy holiday traffic doesn’t first.
L’oie Bleue is overwhelmingly gorgeous, and that’s from the outside. All sleek, black lines and warm-lit windows. When I walk through the front door, heated air whooshes past me, a blessed relief from the bitter winter night. Once I’m out of the wind, I take in the candle-lit tables, a live string quartet, and the waitstaff in their black shirts and slacks with white aprons and white hand towels over their left arms.
It’s all I can do not to turn around and leave. When Spencer and I dated, he took me to fancy restaurants all the time, but not to L’oie Bleue . It’s a cut above the rest and impostor syndrome hits like a sledgehammer.
I should have worn the blue dress like Spencer suggested.
“Do you have a reservation?” The concierge’s raised eyebrows tell me he expects a no.
If he knew I had fifty-three dollars and ten cents in my checking account, he would kick me out in an instant. That wouldn’t even cover an appetizer.
I hope he doesn’t catch my nervousness as I speak. “Yes, it’s under Spencer Eccleston?”
The concierge covers his tablet with a hand as he scans the screen for Spencer’s name, then gives me a pointed look like he thinks I’m lying about knowing Spencer to get out of the cold. “Mr. Eccleston has yet to arrive. Shall we show you to your seat?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’d like to wait here.”
Because if Spencer cancels due to a work obligation, I’d rather not feel compelled to order anything. This is the type of restaurant that doesn’t print the prices of their entrees on the menu.
I turn away so it’s not so awkward and stare at the ornate door.
Please show up. Please show up. Please show up.
I catch myself chewing on my thumbnail and hide my hands behind my back, clasping my fingers tight to keep them away from my mouth. Nervousness makes me want to keep my hands busy, but sadly, this isn’t the place to pull the sock I’m knitting out of my purse.
As nervous as I am about what I plan to ask Spencer, my thoughts keep turning to Owen. This restaurant is gorgeous, and I’m sure the food is divine, but I’d rather be in his car with sappy Christmas tunes playing on the radio and eating subpar fries than here. I like him. A lot. I surmise the feeling is mutual. He did ask for my number so we could have a real date.
Thoughts about Owen lead back to my staggering debt that will only get worse as the years go on. Is there a point in going out with him on an actual date when anything serious between us would lead to pulling him into my depressing financial future? No, which is why I didn’t give him my phone number.
My hopeless romantic situation makes me sad.
I glance at my watch. Spencer’s twenty minutes late. He hasn’t contacted me with an explanation or cancellation. How long do I wait? When do I accept that he got tied up with work and isn’t coming?
After twenty-six minutes, the concierge clears his throat, and I know he’s about to escort me off the premises, but then the door opens and there’s Spencer. He came. I’m so relieved, I feel limp.
A gust of winter wind sweeps in after him, and his long coat rustles around his knees. He’s just as striking as ever, with light brown hair slicked back in a pompadour. Hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and thick eyebrows make him look classically handsome. Like always, I’m surprised he’s here with me.
He’s six inches taller than my five seven height, and he leans down to kiss my cheek. Then he takes my hand between his gloved ones and gives it a tight squeeze. It does not make my heart race.
“Thank you for meeting me at the last minute, Layla.” He’s earnest in his greeting, and it dispels my anxiety over his tardiness. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Spencer.”
It really is. We don’t work as a romantic couple, but we’re friends, and he’s so busy I rarely see him.
“They should have taken you to our table,” he scolds. “It’s cold in the entry, and you shouldn’t be made to wait here. ”
The concierge and I wear twin blushes.
“No,” I say. “I wanted to wait for you before being seated.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why I wanted to wait by the door when I could enjoy my wine while sitting at a table.
“Mr. Eccleston,” the concierge says in greeting. “May I take your coats?”
Once relieved of our winter wear, we’re led to a table along the windows that look out on the city lights of Salt Lake City. Spencer pulls out my chair. I’ve always appreciated him for being a gentleman.
What I don’t appreciate is how work is his first, second, and third priorities, as illustrated when his phone rings and he takes the call as he sits down. I look out of the window as the waiter fills our wine glasses and brings appetizers.
I should wait for Spencer to finish his call before digging into the crusty bread with olive tapenade and cheese spread, but after five minutes, I give up. The fries I shared with Owen are long gone, and I’m hungry. It’s Spencer’s fault if he misses out on the delectable appetizers.
Spencer’s call ends, but he doesn’t look up as he types on his phone. “I called ahead and ordered our meal. What do you think of the tapenade?”
“Delicious.” I’m not sure he hears my answer. His brow furrows as he reads something on his phone.
So, this is not a rare night where I’ll have his undivided attention. I hope whatever he has to tell me isn’t about us getting back together, because right now is a perfect example of why we’re better at being friends. While we dated, his distraction with his phone drove me mad.
I understand he worked hard to become the youngest lawyer to make senior partner in the history of his grandfather’s corporate law firm, but how that translates into real life is that the law firm is his life. While we dated, I shared most of our time together with his clients.
The appetizer plates disappear, and small bowls of French onion soup, with a slice of crusty bread and melted cheese on top, take their place. Only then does Spencer put his phone face down on the table.
“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic grin. “I know you hate when I bring work to dinner.”
I shrug. “We aren’t dating anymore.”
He chuckles like he thinks it’s funny I’d say we’re not dating. I pause with the spoon halfway to my mouth. That doesn’t bode well for me. I don’t want to tell him no, but I’ll have to if he asks for another go at a relationship.
Through each course that follows, salad, beef stew, and cheese, he asks me about my job, my roommates, and Nana. I don’t ask about his job because we’ve already spent too much time with it tonight. Instead, I ask about his plans for Christmas.
“I’ll be in Maine with my aunts, uncles, and cousins on my dad’s side.”
So much family. A tinge of jealousy pings my heart, just as it did earlier when Owen spoke about his mom and brother. Nana is all the family I have left.
“When do you leave?”
He studies my face as he says, “Tomorrow morning.”
Speaking of family, now is the time to discuss my situation. If I put it off much longer, I might not get a chance before he has to rush off .
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” I push away the cheese plate and sit up straighter.
He nods and takes a sip of his wine. “I need to talk to you about something, too. Ladies first.”
The waiter takes away our dishes, giving me a few moments to collect my thoughts. Dessert arrives. A little pot of crème br?lée for Spencer and chocolate cake for me. Spencer is observant and thoughtful to order me cake, my preferred dessert, and not crème br?lée, which reminds me of slime. He has a remarkable memory.
The cake smells amazing, but I don’t let myself get distracted. I force myself to look at Spencer even though I’d rather study the tablecloth, and do something I promised myself I would never do: beg.
“Nana needs more care than she’s getting. Her dementia is growing worse, and it’s time to move her into the memory care unit.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “She needs somewhere that is more secure and where the staff understands dementia better.”
Spencer leans across the small table and lays his hand on my arm. It’s a warm weight that makes me feel less alone. Kind of like when Owen put his hand on my shoulder earlier tonight.
“I’m sorry, Layla. I understand how hard this must be for you.”
I nod, acknowledging his sympathy. When he listens, he knows how to listen.
I take a breath to calm my racing heart. It doesn’t seem to help. This next part is humiliating. I ignore the way my face heats and push forward.
“We’ve already gone through our savings. I don’t have the money I need to pay for Nana’s care. Will you give me a loan?” I rush on, not giving him a chance to respond before I finish. “I promise to pay you back with interest, but it will take time. If you write up a contract, I’ll sign it.”
I can’t even begin to pay him back until after Nana passes. The thought makes my throat tight.
He crosses his arms, his friendliness melting into business. “I can have a contract drawn up after Christmas. No interest. I’d like to help Ellen. I know how much you love her.” He pauses. “Or I have a better offer.” He studies me for a few drawn-out seconds where I think my heart will beat up my throat and choke me. “We help each other, and you never have to pay me back.”
My stomach rolls. I’d never have to pay him back? It feels like a dream, but what does he expect me to do in exchange for a check with as many zeroes as I’ll need? I lean back in my seat, leery. “What can I possibly give you in return?”
“Do you remember my grandfather died in April?”
“Yes.”
“He left everything to Grandmother.” He huffs out an angry breath. “She’s never in her life managed money until now, and I don’t know what financial advisor she’s hired, but he’s a crook. That’s the only way I can explain her ridiculous behavior.”
I’m unfamiliar with this side of Spencer. He’s usually calm, almost to a fault. Now he runs his hand through his hair with a furious sweep.
“Spencer, I’m sorry for whatever she’s done, but I don’t understand how I can help you.”
He closes his eyes and collects himself. “I found out a few days ago that Grandmother has decided to give the bulk of her fortune to charities. She’s not waiting until she’s dead. She’s liquidating many of her assets now.”
I still don’t know how this relates to me, but I don’t interrupt.
“Though she refuses to explain most of her updated will until after Christmas, she has mentioned how much each grandchild will receive as an inheritance. It’s a joke how little she’s leaving us. Grandfather inherited his fortune from his own father. It’s generational wealth, which means it should pass from generation to generation.”
I’ve always known Spencer is wealthy by the cut of his suits, the restaurants and entertainment he takes me to on our dates, and the Porsche he drives. I thought it was from his career as a lawyer with a thriving corporate law firm. I had no idea he was the product of generations of accumulated riches.
I cross my arms and sit with this information, surprised at how it intimidates me.
“There is one bright spot in all of this,” Spencer continues in a calmer voice, oblivious to my own inner turmoil. “Grandmother has it in her head that her grandchildren are at the age where they should be married. She will double the inheritance for wives and children.”
He looks directly into my eyes. He doesn’t say it outright, but I make the connection. This is a marriage proposal. I laugh, ill at ease.
“You can’t be serious.” There’s a slight tremor in my voice. “We have fun together, but that doesn’t mean we’d make a good married couple.”
“I disagree. I think we’ll get along well.” He clears his throat. “There is another reason I want to get married sooner rather than later. I have a client who doesn’t take me seriously because I’m thirty-four but not in a serious relationship. I can understand how you might find this sudden, but I have no hesitation in saying you’re the wife I want.”
My head feels dizzy. This makes little sense.
“We have never once spoken about marriage,” I say.
He studies me. “We are now.”
From his inside coat pocket, he takes a small ring box and lays it on the table before opening the top and sliding it toward me. Inside is the largest diamond ring I have ever seen. Emerald cut with smaller diamonds along the platinum band. I don’t want to guess how many thousands of dollars it cost him.
That is a serious ring. This proposal is serious.
I glance around, grateful no one notices our conversation. Attention would make this scene even more ridiculous.
“Put that thing away,” I whisper. “It’s going to blind someone.”
He flips the lid closed but doesn’t take it back. He studies me like I’m a problem he needs to figure out how to fix. “If we get married, my money is your money, and you don’t need to repay anything. You’ll have whatever you need to take care of Ellen.”
Even if I am desperate for money, I’m not that desperate. I won’t entertain the thought … except I do. No debt. No more stress about Nana’s bills. No penny pinching for the rest of my life. No more stress knitting. I can knit because I love it and not because of desperation. For that one moment, the relief I feel makes my head spin .
Then reality catches up.
If I marry, I want it to be for love. I want my husband to love me more than his job. What Spencer and I have is not that kind of relationship.
“We can’t even make a dating relationship last longer than three months at a time,” I say. “A marriage between the two of us wouldn’t survive.”
“You broke up with me last time,” he says with conviction. “Remember how I begged you not to?”
I wouldn’t call him saying, “Please, Layla, give me another chance,” after he missed our second date in a row as begging.
“I want a relationship with you to last longer than a few months at a time,” he says. “If giving you a comfortable life and everything you need to take care of those you love is the motivation you need to commit, I’m going to leverage those things to my advantage. Layla, give me a chance to prove to you what kind of husband I can be.”
I sigh. “Not a good one for me if work remains your only priority.”
He doesn’t argue the point. “I can’t say my commitment to the firm will change going forward, but I can be better at listening to you. For example, I will stay off my phone during dinner.”
My eyes widen at the audacity of such a statement from him. If that were a possibility, why hasn’t he implemented it sooner?
He laughs at my expression. “I’m a work in progress, but if you’re with me, it will be worth it.” He points to my cake with his spoon. “Eat. Think. ”
He cracks the top of his crème br?lée as if he hasn’t a care in the world. A stark contrast to five minutes ago.
The first bite of cake melts in my mouth. Spencer loves good food and only when I’m with him do I get to indulge. If we married, dinners like this would become a regular part of my life. I could eat here every week if I wanted—though more often than not I’d be eating alone. I don’t mind being alone, or even eating at restaurants alone. What I would struggle with is knowing Spencer doesn’t care if I’m alone because he would have more important places to be.
I swallow thickly. “Spencer, I plan to marry for love.”
“I refuse to marry for love,” he says with conviction as he places his spoon on the table. “Love doesn’t last. My dad has married three times because he fell in love, and within five years, all three marriages ended. In contrast, my grandparents were practically strangers when they married, pushed together by their parents, and they lasted over sixty years through mutual respect. That’s the marriage I want.” He takes my hand from where it lies on the table. “I respect you. We get along. We’re honest with each other. That’s what makes a successful relationship. Not love.”
“And the money your grandma is offering.” It’s my turn to study him.
He smiles, but doesn’t disagree. “Money makes everything in life easier.”
I can’t argue. I’m exhausted from being broke. Worn thin from stressing about money and worrying about how I’ll give Nana everything she needs.
Would financial security be worth the loneliness I know I’ll feel married to Spencer? Can I let go of the idea of marriage for love and be content with one of camaraderie? I grew up watching Nana and Opa together. I’ve dreamed of a marriage like theirs. A marriage between me and Spencer would be an imitation of love; a counterfeit of the real thing.
In a month, will I regret turning him down? In a year, will I regret saying yes?
My thoughts turn to Owen. Tonight was the first time we’d ever spoken, and yet, being with him I felt comfortable and accepted. If I say yes to Spencer, I have no chance with Owen. Not that I did before because I refuse to bring him into my financial troubles. Still, the loss feels deep, which is ridiculous because we officially met only hours ago.
Spencer’s phone buzzes with a call and our glances clash across the table. It’s a moment of truth. Will he resist the siren call of work? A war wages inside of him, and it’s visible across his face. He pushes the button on the side, sending the call to voicemail.
I’m surprised. I didn’t think he had it in him.
“Why do you want to marry me ?” I ask. “There must be innumerable women who would jump at the chance to marry you.” Somewhat hesitantly I add, “Someone who is in your social class.”
He shakes his head before I’ve finished. “I don’t want someone who wants me for my name or my money.”
I laugh at that. “That’s exactly what you’re offering me.”
He smiles sheepishly. “It’s different between us. Wealth doesn’t go to your head like it does other women I’ve dated. I love how sensible and frugal you are. Layla, believe me when I say I’ve given this a lot of thought. When Grandmother mentioned wanting to see her grandkids married, you were the first person who came to mind. Everyone else I’ve dated can’t compete. ”
I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered. “What about the model you dated in August?”
“She wouldn’t eat with me watching.” He leans close and talks as if he’s telling me a dirty secret. “Unless we went to a restaurant with a private dining room, and I moved my chair so I wasn’t facing her, we never went out to eat.”
I try not to laugh. It’s a surprise they lasted a full month considering how much Spencer appreciates good food.
His expression sobers. “Layla, I love you. Not the way you expect me to with this proposal, but I do. We’re good friends. That’s a solid foundation for a marriage.”
I’m reminded of something Nana said to me once, about how there are layers of love. Romantic love. Family love. Friendly love. I love Spencer, too. I value his friendship and the time we spend together. But marriage?
“What are your expectations for this marriage?” I ask.
He grins like he’s already convinced me. Maybe he has.
“We build a life together. Buy a home. Make a family. Grow old together.”
A family. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Without this enormous debt I’ve accrued, I could actually have one.
“You’ll love my family,” he says, chipping away at my resolve to tell him no. “Fly with me to Maine tomorrow. Let me introduce everyone to my fiancée.”
I laugh at the audacity. He expects me to drop everything and fly to Maine with only a few hours’ notice. Classic Spencer.
“I can’t leave with you tomorrow. It’s four days before Christmas. I have plans.”
“Spend eight days, starting tomorrow, in Maine with me, and at the end, I’ll give you fifty-thousand dollars outright. It’ll be enough to cover Ellen’s expenses until we marry.”
My heart literally stops. Fifty-thousand dollars. Does he realize how tantalizing the money is to me? He must. It’s a carrot to get me moving in the direction he wants. Annoying, but effective.
What is my other option? I already know: Nana being evicted from Brock Pine Home. She’d be taken into state care, and they’d get to choose where she lives and how she’s cared for. I’ve looked into the care homes the state will pay for, and I can’t let Nana live in any of them. I want her to get better care, not less care.
In the end, it’s not such a difficult decision.
I open the ring box and study the ring. It sparkles in the candlelight. I look up at Spencer. Engaged to a friend isn’t the worst way to end the evening. He’s offering me help and support; both of which I desperately need. I feel hope for the first time this year.
“Yes,” I say.
The grin that spreads across his face is almost a gloat, like he won a competition, and I’m the prize. Maybe I should’ve made him work harder for my acceptance. I’m positive his favorite aspect of being a lawyer is winning. I’ve never met anyone so competitive.
He removes the ring from the box. I hold out my left hand, and he slips it onto my finger. It’s a little snug, but that’s good. The diamond is enormous; if the band were loose, it might slip off.
It’s only now that I consider how my roommates will respond to the news of my engagement to Spencer. Meg was worried I’d date him again. Marriage? She will freak .
I burst out in nervous laughter.
“What?” Spencer asks, looking up from my hand.
“Can you imagine what Meg and Livy will say when they find out?”
He shakes his head. “They’ll try to talk you out of it, I’d guess. They hate me.”
He speaks the truth. They have longer memories than I do.
Leaving tomorrow for a week will mean I don’t have to deal with their suspicions about our sudden engagement, though I feel terrible about bailing on our plans. Then I remember Meg’s family is visiting, so our plans would change anyway. They’ll be fine without me.
One thing that will be challenging is not being here for Nana. I haven’t gone more than two days without visiting her since she moved into assisted living. Either she’ll be oblivious to my absence or worry when I don’t visit, both terrible options. I tell myself this week away will be worth it because it will provide a way for me to take care of her going forward.
“Tell me about Maine,” I say, consciously making myself not think about Nana being alone.
Spencer swallows his last bite of his crème br?lée. “My grandfather owns a cabin on the coast. Or, I guess it’s Grandmother’s now.” He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge the oddness of the situation. “It’s right by the ocean with a remarkable view of the sunrise over the water. My cousins and I grew up spending summers there every year. When I worked with my grandfather at the New York law office before moving to the Salt Lake City office, we spent weekends at the cabin. For such a small town, they have decent food.”
It sounds idyllic. “Can you get me a plane ticket by tomorrow?”
“Already done.”
I can’t help but feel a bit manipulated. “You were that sure I would say yes?”
“No, but in case you did, I wanted to be prepared. I’ll send a car to your apartment to pick you up at eight. Pack warm. Maine winters are cold. Colder than Salt Lake, even.”
Another concern rises. “Are you going to leave me alone with your family while you work?”
He shakes his head. “My client’s court case is scheduled for mid-January and it’s solid. We’ll be able to enjoy the holiday together.”
I’ve always had to compete with Spencer’s clients. It will be a new experience to have uninterrupted time with him.
He leans close. “I can’t wait for you to meet my family. You will love them.”
It’s the perfect thing to say to me. “I’m excited to have a family Christmas.”
He points to my dessert plate. “Are you finished with your gateau ? Shall we go?”
“Yes.”
As we walk the few blocks to where I parked, he holds my gloved hand. It’s just the two of us, and it’s lovely. Freezing, but lovely.
When we reach my car, Spencer leans in for a kiss, his gloved hand on my cold cheek. His lips are firm and sure. I feel no zing or tingles at his touch, but the kiss is familiar, just like him .
Only as I’m crossing in front of my car to the driver's side do I see the ticket attached to the windshield. The parking meter must have expired. My heart sinks at another expense I can’t afford, but before I can open it, Spencer whisks it from my hand.
“I’ll have my assistant take care of it,” he says.
Just like that, the stress over my debt disappears. Until this moment, it didn’t hit me how much I’d appreciate having Spencer as a fiancé.
He waits as I climb into my car then waves as I pull away from the curb.
The emotional fallout hits within seconds. My shoulders shake with sobs and my vision turns blurry. I pull into a parking lot because I’m afraid I might crash into something. For so long, I’ve been alone with my worry over Nana, and now I’m no longer alone. The mental weight of my financial situation lifts. I’m not going to the modern equivalent of debtors’ prison.
My future holds hope for the first time in ages. As long as I don’t let myself think of what I’m giving up in exchange for Spencer’s support. I focus on my gratitude for what he’s doing for me and Nana. Everything will be okay and that is a miracle.
When my sobs wind down to hiccupy tears, the clock on my dash reads 11:11. I think of my mom, who believed in the magic of a wish.
“I wish to be happy in my marriage.” I whisper it again and again.
I’m marrying Spencer Eccleston. There is no turning back. All I can do is wish for the best.