Chapter Eight
LAYLA
It’s past ten by the time I finish filling out the paperwork for Nana’s upgrade to the memory ward and email it to Brock Pine. With a shaking hand, I submit January’s payment in four partial transactions. Between the last of my bank loan, the money I put aside for my own rent, and my almost maxed out credit cards, I just manage to make the full payment. I can’t let myself imagine what I would do in February if Spencer hadn’t proposed.
I get ready for bed in the attached bathroom. It’s colossal. The shower has so many knobs I can’t imagine what they all do. There’s a separate, jetted tub. A TV is mounted on the wall across from the toilet.
Once my teeth are clean, I turn off the light and climb into bed. The blanket is weighted, and I sink into the mattress. My body is in heaven, but my brain won’t shut off.
I’m haunted by the way Owen looked in that black shirt and hate how I preferred it to the sweater vest and sports jacket Spencer wore. Or maybe I just preferred the man inside.
Ahh! Shut up, brain.
I just have to get through this week. It seems Spencer and Owen dislike each other, so I won’t see Owen at family events. I’ll take care to avoid Brock Pine when he’s usually there, so I won’t run into him. A prospect that should bring me peace but makes me more agitated. I enjoy spying on him.
I toss and turn but can’t find relief from my thoughts.
According to the schedule I found on the dresser, breakfast is at nine every morning. Tomorrow I’d like to go for a run before breakfast, which means I need to sleep now. But the shock and dismay on Owen’s face when he first noticed me won’t vacate my head.
I sit up and flick on the bedside lamp. Is there any cheesecake leftover from dinner? Maybe it has magical properties and a small slice will help me forget about the guy I can never think about again.
There’s only one way to find out.
I grab the teal sweater Nana knit and I planned to sell. Now that I have Spencer, I can keep it for myself. I bring it up to my nose and make out the faint scent of Nana’s lavender soap.
The hallway is empty and dark but for a light over the staircase. No light shines under any of the other bedroom doors. At the bottom of the stairs, I begin my search for the kitchen. Through the dining room seems like a logical place to start. I tiptoe across the room to the door opposite where the servers came through at dinner. On the other side of the door is a small room with counters. No cupboard or anything useful. I wonder if this is some sort of anteroom used as a staging area for service and a buffer from the kitchen noise. Once again, I’m amazed at the way the wealthy live.
There are three doors besides the one I walked through. I feel like I’m on a game show. Which one holds the prize I’m looking for? I pick the one closest to me. I must be lucky, because here is the kitchen.
I flip on the light over the oven, which gives the room a glow and makes me feel extra sneaky. I go to the industrial sized refrigerator and look inside. There are dozens of clear containers filled with food, many of them seem to be prepared for tomorrow’s meals. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally locate the container that holds the cheesecake.
I have to open a dozen cupboards before I find plates. The silverware is easier to locate. Before I cut myself a slice, I hear voices from the anteroom I just came through.
It could be anyone, but that means it could be Owen.
Panic engulfs me. I don’t want to get caught stealing food, especially not by him. How am I supposed to explain to him how it is I gained a boyfriend since yesterday? I stuff everything back in the fridge, plate and spoon included, and run to the glass doors that lead outside onto a deck. When the door shuts behind me, I move out of sight just as the kitchen light turns on.
I’m not prepared for the cold. I’m wearing pajama pants, the cardigan over a tank top, and socks. Winter air attacks every millimeter of skin left uncovered. I cold breeze blows through my pants like they aren’t there. I wrap my arms around myself and bounce in place, hoping to conserve body heat. It’s little help.
A peek through the door shows Marianne and Brady interrupted my midnight scavenging, and not the person I feared. Now that I’m outside, I don’t feel comfortable enough to go back in and admit my idiocy. I’ll wait until they leave.
The sound of waves makes me move closer to the edge of the deck. The moon is almost full and gives me light to see. The ground slopes down, with the ocean maybe a third of a mile away. The tops of the trees are a little taller than the deck, and I can make out the rocky beach. I’m sure it’s beautiful in the sunlight, but it’s too cold to be in the wind, and I move back to the side of the house where it’s mostly blocked.
I peek inside. Marianne and Brady are eating my cheesecake! It’s hard to watch, not only because my stomach grumbles, but because it reminds me of nights I spent with my mom in the kitchen as we shared a midnight snack. I move out of their view and wait for them to finish. The longer I stand with my back against the house, the worse my body shivers.
Finally, the lights turn off. I immediately grab for the knob.
It’s locked.
I rattle the door, but it doesn’t magically open. My teeth chatter. My toes are in danger of frostbite. All the dignity I possessed fifteen minutes ago has fled. I knock, hoping Marianne might be close enough to hear me. I’d rather be humiliated than dead. They don’t come back.
I waste precious seconds banging my fist against the door, then pull myself together. I need to find another way inside.
The deck disappears around the corner of the house. Maybe there’s an unlocked window or another set of doors. I’d call Spencer, but I left my phone in my room.
Once around the corner, light spills out from a door cracked open further along the deck. I head toward the hope the light offers.
OWEN
I can’t sleep. The images of Layla with Spencer at dinner won’t leave me alone. The two of them don’t make sense together. Maybe it’s because I’m jealous, but them as a couple is a burr in my brain. I can’t let it go. I need to know how this happened and maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.
I knock on Spencer’s bedroom door. The fact that he’s not sharing a room with Layla is another reason I question their relationship.
Spencer’s always been a light sleeper, so if he were in his room, he would answer. He doesn’t, which means he must be working. I head downstairs to Grandfather’s old study on the main floor. It’s at the back of the house, next to Grandfather’s room. Grandmother’s bedroom is further down the hall.
I push open the door. Spencer sits at Grandfather’s desk, and for a moment it feels as if I’ve traveled back in time. He looks a lot like Grandfather, but without the wrinkles and gray hair .
The room hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. Bookshelves filled with legal books line the walls. An enormous desk sits in the center on the right of the room, opposite a couch and loveseat. Double doors open onto the deck that runs along the back of the house and overlooks the ocean. This room has always felt stuffy, but the view is amazing.
Spencer has the deck doors opened a few inches, and the room is chilly from the night air, even with the gas fireplace blazing. As I step inside, I can understand why he’s left the doors open. A musty smell mixed with Grandfather’s cigars lingers.
Spencer doesn’t glance away from his computer as I shut the door behind me.
“I need nothing else tonight, Miles.”
“I’ll let him know,” I say.
His head jerks up, then his eyes narrow as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you were allergic to work and those who are productive members of society.”
I want to laugh at what he perceives as a slight. “You don’t think being a landscaper is work?”
“Not the kind of work Grandfather would esteem.”
“Maybe that’s why I do it.”
He huffs out a breath and goes back to his computer. “Did you come for a reason other than to distract me from my work?”
I sit on the arm of the loveseat and prepare myself for the mocking that is about to come my way when he figures out I care about his girlfriend. “I don’t get why Layla is here with you. ”
With a snort, he glances over for a few seconds before going back to his “work.”
“She’s my girlfriend. Why wouldn’t I bring her home for Christmas?”
“You can’t expect me to believe you’ve been dating her for the past year. That lie might work on Grandmother, but I know Layla, and she never mentioned a boyfriend.”
I wonder if she’s shared with Spencer how little I know her, but he doesn’t call me out for stretching the truth, so she hasn’t said much.
“We’ve dated off-and-on, but now we’re on for good.” His fingers fly across the keyboard, and I’m impressed at his ability to type and talk at the same time. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring a girlfriend. If anyone needs double the inheritance, it’s you.”
I bark a laugh. “If you thought Grandmother’s ploy to get me married would work, you don’t know me at all.”
He shrugs indifferently. “It has been eight years. You’re practically a stranger. There was a time when you dreamed of being rich and wanted to distance yourself from your parents’ humble lifestyle.”
Shame burns inside my chest. He’s right, however much I wish he wasn’t.
“I’m not that person anymore. You, however, haven’t changed at all. You brought Layla here for the inheritance money, and for no other reason. Does she know?”
It’s a stab in the dark in my quest to understand why they’re together, and he doesn’t deny it.
“Of course she knows. Unlike you, she understands the value of money and wants Grandmother’s inheritance just as much as I do. ”
My stomach sinks. I don’t want to believe she’s the type of person who wants a millionaire husband. Maybe the reason she avoided me for six months was because she believed I was a humble therapy dog trainer? Except, if she wanted money, why is she a music teacher?
“I don’t believe you.” I sound like a petulant child, and immediately wish I could take the words back.
Spencer chuckles. “Then you don’t know her as well as you think you do. I’ll marry her no matter what, but with Grandmother’s ridiculous will, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Twenty million as an inheritance? Doubled when we’re married? Pathetic. Grandfather’s estate is worth a few billion. Grandmother has to know that my father and Aunt Ellory plan to fight her on this.”
The greed in this family is stifling. This is one reason I wanted out of the family firm, and why I won’t accept any of Grandmother’s money. I don’t want to be involved in this lifestyle.
“Don’t you care that Grandmother might be sick?” I ask.
I’m not sure if I agree with Ellory and Dorian’s supposition that she’s dying, but she’s eighty-one years old. It is a possibility. One they don’t seem too concerned about.
“Of course, I care.” He pauses his typing and runs both hands through his hair before dropping them onto his lap.
His words are hard for me to accept; I’ve thought of him as a heartless product of the family for so long. I hope Grandmother’s mortality matters to him. Our grandparents practically raised him.
“We just lost Grandfather.” He swallows thickly. For the first time in years, he appears human to me. “I’m not ready to lose Grandmother. However, as sad as this situation is, I can’t do anything about it if it’s true.”
Maybe work tonight isn’t just work, but a distraction from the possibility of her death?
“Why do you want to marry for more money?” I ask, honestly curious. “You and your father are partners in the firm. You have plenty of money. When will it be enough?”
“There is no such thing as too much wealth.” His shoulders straighten as his focus returns to his computer. He’s transformed back into the man I know and dislike. “Unlike Grandmother, I’ll give my children an inheritance they can take pride in.”
I swallow bile at the idea of Spencer having children with Layla.
“I’d rather take pride in my accomplishments than my bank account.”
“Spoken like a true povo,” he mutters.
That makes me lean back. “Povo as in poor?”
He stops typing and looks at me. “Owen, I’m busy. It’s obvious you have a crush on Layla, and I get it. She’s gorgeous. Intelligent. Talented. Independent. But I have something that you can’t give her because you’re too prideful to accept your inheritance: the freedom and safety wealth offers. She’ll make the perfect wife for a lawyer. She’s not meant to be the wife of a day laborer.”
“What about love?” I ask.
He shrugs. “What about it? We’ll build a life together that anyone would aspire to. Even you.”
“Layla deserves so much better than a loveless marriage.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re delusional. Love causes people to do stupid things. ”
“Lack of love causes people to be miserable.”
He speaks clearly, as if I won’t understand otherwise. “Let me prove my theory that people do stupid things for love by using an example from your own life. You threw away your law career to go home to be with your dad when he was in a coma. He didn’t even know you were there. If you’d been smart, you would’ve waited until the end of the merger. You leaving early destroyed your future, but made no difference to him.”
“It made a difference to me,” I say quietly. “And to my mom and Brady.”
In a way Spencer is right. After his stroke, Dad was in a coma for eighteen days. Not finishing the merger got me home a week earlier, but he never knew I was there. He never woke up.
I’m ashamed to admit that the person I was eight years ago might have stayed through the negotiations if Grandfather had shown a modicum of compassion. Instead, he ridiculed my family and gloated over my dad’s hospitalization. As if Dad deserved the stroke for stealing his daughter from him when he’s the one who disinherited her and pushed her from the family for being disobedient to his demands.
Spencer sounds just like him.
Does Layla know what kind of man she’s marrying?
The callousness of this family still infuriates me, and for a minute I can’t speak. I’ve seen what love looks like with my own parents. I want the love that grows stronger in health and in sickness, in poorer and in richer. What Layla has with Spencer is not that .
He has no idea what he’s missing out on in his pursuit to accumulate more money.
Grandmother is right—get rid of the money because wealth like the Ecclestons hoard distorts reality and brings unhappiness in the long run.
LAYLA
“You’re wrong,” Owen says.
“About what in particular?” Spencer sounds annoyed and tired of this conversation.
Through the crack in the door, I see Spencer sitting at a large desk. He’s focused on whatever is on his computer screen and doesn’t seem to pay his cousin much attention by this point. I can’t see Owen, but his voice keeps me outside in the frigid cold. I blow on my fingertips. They sting painfully.
“You’re wrong about everything,” Owen says. “Going to my dad was the right decision. Leaving the law firm was the right decision for me and my mom and brother. Life is about more than accumulating money.”
I need Owen to stop talking and go away. The more I hear of this conversation, the more I sympathize with him and not Spencer. My secret fiancé is wrong in so many ways, especially about Owen’s dad. He was in a coma and Spencer believes Owen should have stayed to finish a business deal? No. Owen’s priorities are sound; Spencer’s are honestly embarrassing.
It’s a harsh reminder that any children Spencer and I have will come in second place to the law. Not an appealing insight, but what am I supposed to do? Not even an hour ago I paid Brock Pine Home every penny I could access. The only thing that’s keeping me moving forward is knowing in a week I’ll have fifty-thousand dollars in hand. It’s so much, but to Spencer, it’s so little.
The words twenty million as an inheritance? Doubled when we’re married? Pathetic, cycle through my mind. I’m worth twenty million dollars to Spencer. How can he believe that amount is paltry?
“The most important aspect of life is our relationships with others,” Owen says.
Spencer laughs. “Owen, you’re na?ve. We’ll never agree. You’ve made your choice. Just know that if you don’t accept Grandmother’s inheritance, you’ll have nothing that Layla wants. As for me, I’m locking in my inheritance now because with Grandmother’s spending spree, there might be nothing left by the time my father takes what’s left of the estate.”
Too many thoughts bounce around my head. My teeth chatter. I can’t feel my ears and nose. Not only do I not want to hear any more of this conversation, but I need to get inside. I’d rather not enter while they’re talking about me and my love of money. Humiliating myself in front of Spencer isn’t so bad, but I can’t give Owen anymore ammunition to think I’m a garbage human. I’d like to keep some dignity intact at the end of this day.
“If Layla’s only love is money, then she isn’t the person I thought she was.”
There’s so much disgust in Owen’s voice, his words hit my heart. Tears prick my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away before they can freeze my eyelids closed .
“Life isn’t worth living if you don’t have any money at all,” Spencer says. “I’d think you’d learned that by now.”
What a stupid thing to say, and that comes from someone who has no money. Owen must feel the same because his laugh is edged with disbelief.
“Good luck on your case,” Owen says. “I’m glad it’s you and not me.”
A door opens and then closes. I push inside and shut the door behind me. Spencer startles.
“What were you doing outside? It’s cold.”
“Y-yeah it i-is,” I stutter. I immediately go to the gas fire and hold out my hands.
“What happened?”
“I go-got locked ou-outside. Long st-story.”
He comes over immediately and rubs my arms. The friction is delightful, but I’m reminded that I’m not wearing a bra and wrap the cardigan over my chest before crossing my arms
My face and hands tingle as I defrost. My teeth stop chattering.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asks.
I don’t answer his question. Now that I’m inside, there are more important topics to discuss. “Twenty million dollars is the tiny inheritance you’re outraged about?”
He pulls back and looks down at me. “You heard my conversation with Owen?”
“Yes. Did you have to make me sound like a gold digger?”
Maybe it’s an accurate definition, and it rubs me wrong because it’s so right.
Spencer rubs my back. “My goal was to get him to leave you alone. He has a puppy-dog crush on you that will prove annoying this week if we don’t stop it now.”
It’s best if Spencer doesn’t find out I reciprocate Owen’s puppy-dog crush. Though after the last ten minutes, I doubt Owen still feels the same. He’ll avoid me from now on, and I hate how much that hurts my heart.
I’m secretly engaged to Spencer! I remind myself. Who cares about Owen?
Spencer gives comforting hugs, even if I can feel him check his watch behind my back. I hold on tighter so he won’t let go.
“I want to go running tomorrow morning,” I say into his collar. “Will you come with me?”
“No, I’ll use the treadmill in the gym to save time.”
I’m assuming that’s an in-home gym. His response is unsurprising, but it was worth a try.
“Do you know a good place to run?” I ask. “All I saw coming in tonight was the main road and I’d rather not get hit by a car.”
“There’s a neighborhood where Owen and I used to jog. I’ll text you the directions.”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
The door from the hallway opens, and we pull apart to look.
Owen.
He takes a step back and glances between us in confusion. “Layla, were you outside?”
I step away from Spencer and pull my cardigan tighter around me. I’m chilled through, still shivering. But more significant in this moment is that Owen’s seeing me in my pajamas with my hair falling out of my ponytail. Then I hate myself for caring. Owen is a distraction I can’t afford. Literally.
Spencer looks between us before shaking his head and sitting back down at his desk. “What did you want now, Owen?”
“I, uh, can’t find my phone.”
He comes closer to where I stand and looks at the loveseat. His phone lays on a cushion.
“Must’ve fallen out of my pocket.” He meets my eyes, and my stomach swoops.
Time to get out of here.
“Good night,” I say to both men as I walk past them and out into the hallway. I hurry toward the staircase, but not fast enough.
“Layla, wait,” Owen calls out quietly from behind me.
Against my best judgment, I stop and turn. I expect him to question my motives and why I’m here, like he did with Spencer. This is his first opportunity since we arrived, and I feel I owe him something after last night.
“Look, Owen, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have gone with you to the drive-in. I’m sorry I ran off so suddenly, but I…” My words dry up, unsure how to explain the last thirty hours. He guessed Spencer was marrying me for his inheritance and Spencer told him I’m marrying for money. That’s the truth. What more is there to say?
Owen looks away, a small, sad smile on his lips. “It’s better that you ran. I might have kissed you, and I’m not the cheating type.”
My mouth flaps open and closed. I would’ve enjoyed a kiss, and it’s mean of him to tell me what I missed out on. It can never happen now .
“You have beautiful blue eyes,” he says quietly. “They look almost teal next to your sweater.”
I close my eyes to hide. Why am I torn between two men? These two men in particular? I have chosen Spencer, but I still want Owen.
I’m a horrible person.
OWEN
Layla is absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is a halo around her face. Her disheveled appearance reminds me of the first time I saw her as she rushed into the Brock Pine recreation room six months ago. She’s even more beautiful now. Her arms wrap around her stomach like she can’t get warm, and her shoulders shake as she continues to shiver.
The things I learned about her from Spencer tonight don’t jibe with the woman who so selflessly gives of her time to play songs for senior citizens. She visits her grandma almost every day. She’s kind to everyone, residents and staff alike. They’ve told me how they’re invisible to most people, but not Layla. I’ve dated women who are more interested in my money than in me, and that isn’t her.
Sadly, I will never discover the truth. From what Spencer said, they plan on marrying. To me, she can only ever be the wife of my obnoxious cousin.
I’ve saved up a lot of questions to ask her, but now that I have a chance, it’s better if I don’t start. She’s made her choice, and I will respect it by not digging into what’s really going on between her and Spencer. If it’s money she wants, it’s better she gets it from him. That isn’t the kind of relationship I’m looking for.
I shouldn’t have mentioned my desire to kiss her or complimented her eyes. In the future, I need to keep similar thoughts to myself.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I say. “I wanted to wish you a good night. Are you okay? You look cold.”
“I’m fine.”
Nothing I can do here. I move around her to go up the stairs.
“Wait,” she says. “Can you tell me where you run? I’d like to go tomorrow morning, but I don’t know where to go.”
“Spencer knows this place better than me. You can ask him.”
She glances over her shoulder in the direction of the office door. “I did, but I don’t think he’ll remember to text directions.”
I scratch at my bearded cheek, not sure if I should say what I’m about to say. I’m supposed to avoid her, not be alone with her. Oh, what the heck. I’m a trustworthy guy. I won’t make a move.
“I was planning on running tomorrow morning at seven,” I say. “Do you want to go with me? There’s a two-mile loop through a nearby neighborhood.”
“There’s a neighborhood?” she says with a lopsided smile, though it seems more for show since I get the impression she’s uncomfortable talking to me. “All I saw coming in was a barren forest.”
I laugh softly to dispel her discomfort. “I can give you a tour of the area at the same time. ”
She chews on her bottom lip, but then nods. “At least I won’t get lost. I’ll see you at the front door at seven.”
This time when she leaves, I let her go ahead and follow at a much slower pace.
When I get to my room, I text Miles. I’m not sure he’ll answer this late, but Layla was shivering. Even if she doesn’t want my help, I have to do something.
OWEN : Is there a heating pad somewhere? Layla could use it.
MILES : Sure. I’ll grab it and bring it to her room.
OWEN : I don’t mind giving it to her if you tell me where to find it .
MILES : I got it. Get some sleep.
It’ll be better if it comes from Miles instead of me, anyway. Then she’ll assume Spencer sent it up. You know, the man she’s dating.
OWEN : Thanks.
A minute later, I send another text.
OWEN : Maybe bring her a cup of cocoa while you’re at it. With a candy cane if you have any.