Chapter 9
9
LAYLA
I’m still angry at Victor, but I want to give him a chance. He’s called a few times since I took possession of my condo. I haven’t returned his calls or thanked him for the flowers. It’s time. It’s been a few days since I spoke with my mom, and I need to get this over with. I have other things I need to deal with, and I can’t seem to do anything with this dark cloud looming over my head.
I pick up my phone and pull up Victor Bancroft from my contact list. The number Victor has left with Devon each time he has called. I haven’t given him my personal cell number, so if he wants to reach me, he has to go through Devon or ambush me on the street like he did the first time.
Instead of dialing, I decide to send a text. I’m not ready to hear his voice just yet. What should I say? We hardly know each other. We aren’t friends, and we aren’t really family either.
“Oh, for God’s sake, this is ridiculous,” I blurt out as I start typing.
Me: Hello Victor, this is Layla. I’d like to talk to you.
I backtrack, delete most of the line and start over. I need to be less aggressive. I can be nice.
Me: Hello Victor, this is Layla. Thank you for the flowers. I’d like to talk.
I read those three lines over and over, analyzing them until my eyes start to cross. In the end I hit send. The message conveys everything I want it to.
A flutter of nerves cascades through my empty stomach a few minutes later when the phone that is still in my hand dings with a reply. It’s from him. I know it is. He’s been waiting for this opportunity for well over a year. He won’t keep me waiting.
I flip the phone over and click on the text.
Victor: Hello Layla. Thank you for this chance. I’d love to talk. Tell me where and when and I’ll be there.
The message is short and simple, just like mine was, but says so much more.
Can I really do this? Can I let my guard down and make room for Victor—my father—in my life? I can’t answer either of those questions until I talk to him. I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t want to do this in public, and I sure as hell am not going to him. No, I need to do this on my turf, someplace I feel safe. He can come to me. That way, I can kick his ass out if I don’t like what he has to say. I feel my hackles rise, and I quickly remind myself that I need to hear him out before I decide if I need to kick his ass out. Be nice , I tell myself. No judgment until you have all the facts.
Me: My apartment. This evening. Seven p.m.
I hit send before I overthink it. I don’t have anything else to add. I know he has the address. He sent the flowers, after all.
I nibble on my thumbnail as I wait for his response. Maybe he’ll be busy , I think hopefully. No, even if he is, he’ll change his plans. There’s no getting out of this now.
I jump when the phone dings seconds later.
Victor: See you then, Layla.
I set my phone down and stare at it in disbelief.
Holy crap. I just agreed to spend the evening with my father. What. The. Fuck.
Seven o’clock that evening.
I’ve changed three times since I got home. This is stupid. Why do I care how I look? I’m currently standing in my walk-in closet in only my panties and bra. My pulse skitters into overdrive. Victor will be here any minute.
“Get a fucking grip, Layla,” I curse at the reflection staring back at me in the full-length mirror in front of me.
I grab a pair of dark jeans and shimmy my butt into them and then reach for a t-shirt. This is uncomfortable enough, I might as well wear something that makes me feel good. I forgo socks and shoes because…well…I want to. I don’t need to make an extra effort considering this is the first time in thirty-one years my father is making any effort. Screw him! My hair is sleek and straight and I still have on the makeup I put on for work this morning. That’s all he is getting from me.
Decision finally made, I stomp down the hall. I hate feeling like this. Vulnerable. I need a drink before he gets here. I’m reaching for the fridge when the doorbell chimes. I had already let the concierge know to send Victor up when he arrived. A decision I’m now regretting. I really could have used that glass of wine to steady my nerves.
I let my arm drop with a sigh and switch course. I scrunch my eyes closed and exhale deeply as I stand in front of the door. Nerves dance deep in my stomach as I mentally prepare myself. Okay, here goes nothing.
I open the door. Victor stands on the other side, a bottle of wine in his hand, his blue eyes glinting with something that looks a lot like hope. His body is dangerously still, like he is embracing the calm and preparing for the storm that is to come.
Just as he was every other time I’ve seen him, he is impeccably dressed in an expensive suit. The only difference this time is that it’s navy. His white shirt is crisp and perfect, open at the neck. He’s forgone the tie this evening, hoping to keep things casual, I suppose. The salt and pepper hair is the same as I remember, as are his piercing blue eyes. He looks like God’s gift to women. I can see why my mother fell for him—my father.
This was a mistake.
“Hello, Layla,” he says softly as his eyes land on mine.
“Hello.” I’m not sure what to call him so I don’t say anything else.
Victor stands in the hallway and stares at me. Our eyes are locked, and the uncertainty in the air swirls between us. “Can I come in?” he finally asks. Then he smiles and holds up a bottle of wine. “Maybe we can start with a drink.”
I could do with a drink or ten right now, so I take the bottle before I step back and allow him to enter.
“Make yourself comfortable while I deal with this.”
He follows behind me. “I do hope you are going to share. For the record, I need one just as badly as I suspect you do. This isn’t easy for me either.”
I allow the grin that naturally forms on my face at his witty comment, but only because I’m in front of him and he can’t see it.
“So why bother then? We could have saved ourselves a lot of discomfort and avoided this altogether.” My voice is calm but there is some bite behind it. I can’t help myself. I’m still pissed at him, and if he thought this was going to be a walk in the park, he was sorely mistaken.
He stops on the other side of the island while I continue into the kitchen. “I took the easy way out once, a long time ago. I’ve regretted it every day since. I was hoping I could do things differently if I ever got another chance. I’ll do whatever it takes, Layla.”
I stop in my tracks. “What if it’s not enough, Victor?” I ask.
Then I’m moving again, reaching for glasses, opening the bottle, pouring the wine. When I turn around, he is still standing behind the island with his hands in his pockets, staring back at me. He frowns.
“Just give me a chance, Layla. Let me tell my side, for what it’s worth. After that, you can kick me out”—he smiles—“or we can pour another glass and get to know each other a little better. What do you think?”
“You think it’s only going to take one glass?” I raise an eyebrow as I hand him the glass and raise mine to my mouth, trying to hide my smile.
His smile grows. “It’s a long story. I should have brought two bottles…or maybe a case. I apologize.”
I hate to admit it, but I like his sense of humor, it’s a lot like mine.
“If we get there…the second bottle is on me. At the very least, I can honestly say I’m intrigued. Why don’t we take a seat.” I gesture towards my living room and follow behind him. I wait until he chooses a seat and then put enough space between us for me to feel comfortable.
“I’m not going to apologize, and I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness either,” he begins. Here we go. I feel my cheeks pink and my walls go up at his opening words. This was a mistake. He immediately notices my reaction and holds up his hands.
“I’m not going to do either of those things because it doesn’t change a damn thing. I can’t undo the past, Layla. All I can do is give you some information about the hows and whys of what went down thirty-one years ago, and hope like hell, when I’m done, you will want to start something new and fresh with me, in whatever role that means. As your father, or as Victor, someone you might consider calling your friend. Please, Layla, just hear me out.”
I swallow down the contents of my glass and reach for the bottle on the table between us so I can refill it. Jeez, at this rate we might need three bottles. Victor watches me but doesn’t comment, even though I know he wants to.
“What? I’m an adult. You kind of skipped the kid years, so don’t judge me,” I snark.”
“No judgment here.” He kicks his glass back. “I was just hoping you’d save a little for me.” He holds out his glass. My lips curl into a lopsided smirk as I push the bottle his way with my toe. He can pour his own this time.
When his glass is full once again, he sits back. His blue eyes settle on me. Every nerve ending sparkles with awareness, sending goosebumps down my spine and oxygen out of my lungs as our eyes meet.
I lift my chin, my heart wavering beneath an onslaught of nerves. “I just want to know the whole story, once and for all. I don’t care what it is. I just want the truth.”
A muscle flexes in Victor’s jaw. “It won’t change anything?”
“It doesn’t matter. You owe me this. Why don’t we start there and see where it goes.” I need to know. At least then, I’ll know where we stand, and I’ll be able to adjust my expectations accordingly. Have a clear mind when I decide how I want things to play out with the man sitting across from me.
“As you wish. It’s not a pretty story with a happy ending, but I’ll tell you everything.” He already looks like a condemned man as he begins.
“You might be surprised to find out I didn’t come from money,” he begins. “I was young and foolish and good-looking enough to attract the kind of attention I wanted. Pretty girls from rich families. I won’t sugarcoat it. I fucked a lot of them to try and get ahead. One of them latched on and refused to let go. I didn’t love her. I didn’t even really like her, if I’m being honest. But, for some reason, she wanted me. Her father did too. He knew I was a player, but he overlooked it because I was smart and a smooth talker. Not so different from him. He ran a multimillion-dollar company, but he was ready to retire, and his daughter wasn’t interested in the job. He offered me a deal. Marry his daughter and take over the business.” His blue eyes flash with regret but he continues, and I have to admit, I’m not only curious, but also interested to hear what else he has to say, because this isn’t what I expected.
“The only stipulation was that there was no room for divorce…ever. I could do what I wanted as long as I was discreet, but he made it very clear that if I ever filed for divorce, I would walk away with nothing. I took the deal. It was all going fine until I met your mother.” He pauses as he looks me over and smiles.
“You look just like her.”
My heart lurches. I can see the pain behind his eyes as he looks at me.
“I stopped for coffee one morning on my way to a meeting. Gabby was rushing out as I was going in. She slammed into me, spilling coffee all over my suit. My heart stopped, and it wasn’t because of the hot coffee running down my chest. I’d never seen anyone as beautiful as Gabriella Silva. She took my breath away. She apologized profusely. I brushed it off, telling her that I would let it go if she would agree to have dinner with me. I never wore a wedding ring, so she had no idea I was married, and I certainly had no plans to enlighten her.”
I chuckle as I picture the encounter and my young, exuberant mother. “I didn’t know how the two of you met. Mom never mentioned it.” She never mentioned a lot of things, as it turns out.
“Yeah, I can’t blame her. I wasn’t a good man back then, even though I tried my best to do what I could for her. Anyway, let’s get on with it. You wanted to know the whole story.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea how it plays out. You don’t need to continue.” I shrug and sip my wine as I curl my feet underneath me, feeling a little more comfortable.
“No,” he insists. “Let’s do this. I actually want you to hear it all. I have no idea what your mother has or hasn’t told you. This is my version, and you deserve to hear it.”
“Okay.”
“Well, as you already know, she agreed. I told her my first name and she told me hers. She had to hurry off to class, so we agreed to meet at a restaurant near campus later that evening.” His eyes drop to his glass momentarily before they lift to meet mine again. I can see the pain and regret behind them.
“I won’t bore you with the nitty-gritty, but I will tell you that her love for me wasn’t wasted. I loved her back just as much, but not enough, as it turns out. When she told me she was pregnant, I didn’t know what to do. I felt trapped. I knew I couldn’t leave Cynthia, so I tried to do what I could. Gabby knew I loved her. I told her every day. I offered her the world. Promised to take care of her and you financially so she could finish school and hire a nanny while she was interning. I wanted to be a part of both of your lives. Of course, she was furious, and so bloody stubborn. She didn’t want the money, and what she did want, I couldn’t, or I guess, wouldn’t give her—me. She shut me out completely. Refused to let me see you or be involved in your life. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had, so I had no choice but to agree. As much as it killed me, I stayed away.”
He gets up and walks over to the ceiling-to-floor windows. Leaning a hand against the cool glass, he looks at the view below for a long time before he speaks again. “I never stopped loving her…or you. I didn’t even know you, but I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Much the same way I did your mother. I watched you grow up from afar. I cheered every milestone you had from a distance. I waited until I knew, or at least hoped, you were old enough to understand. Mature enough to hear me out.”
He turns and shoves his hands in the pockets of his expensive pants and walks towards me. When he reaches the wooden coffee table between us, he steps around it and takes a seat right in front of me. His hand reaches for mine, but he drops it before it makes contact. “I know this won’t matter to you, Layla, but I finally found my balls and left Cynthia five years ago. It was a mutual decision. The split was amicable. Her father was no longer alive by then, so we didn’t have to adhere to his stringent rules any longer. I walked away from the company, but not empty-handed. We both agreed that we deserved to find happiness after so much unhappiness.” His hands dangle between his open legs. His head bows. Then he looks up at me. “That’s pretty much it. I should probably get going.”
He starts to rise, and I don’t know why I do it, but I reach out and grab his hand. He freezes as I squeeze his fingers. Then he squeezes back and blinks back the unshed tears that are pooling behind his eyes.
“Thank you for listening,” he says before he lets go. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just listen as his expensive leather-soled shoes clack against the hardwood floor until I hear the door click shut in the foyer.
I don’t know how long I sit there, replaying his words over and over again in my head. I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but a story of love and heartbreak was definitely not it.
I need time to process it all
I pick up my phone that is lying on the coffee table next to the now empty wine bottle and type out a text to Victor.
Me: Thank you for your honesty. I believe you. I’ll be in touch.