Leif
My father swirls his glass of brandy and stares out at the cold February evening beyond the window.
“Will you be able to break ground on the condominiums in Newark next week?”
“Demolition will start on time next week. The lawyers have organized a mediation meeting with the
last couple who are holding out on selling their property. I’m hoping to get that wrapped up this week,
have the sale pushed through, and ke ep the project on schedule. We’re hoping to be out of the ground by
May with the foundations complete and the first story starting.”
My father lets out an appreciative grunt. “You’ve done more than I could have expected, Leif. When
you quit your position in the family business, I thought you were making a mistake. After Isla’s mother
left, it seemed like you were being impulsive. Reckless. You’ve proved me wrong. The growth your
company has gone through is nothing short of staggering.” He turns to meet my gaze. “I’m proud of you,
son.”
I hold my father’s gaze, warmth spreading through my chest. “Thanks, Dad.”
“New Jersey offers a lot of fresh opportunities.”
I nod. “I’ve seen at least six other sites that would be perfect for new developments. Even Layla’s old
building would be a good acquisition. It’s falling apart, but the location has incredible potential. The
current project location is really ideal to start, though.”
“You just need to make sure that elderly couple takes the deal.”
“They will,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “The truth is, I’m feeling nervous about the
mediation. Meeting the couple personally is not something I’ve done before, but both their lawyers and
mine seem to think it’s the best way forward. If I can look the couple in the eyes, we might be able to
reach an agreement.”
“And if they don’t agree to sell?” “We’ll start the demolition works on the surrounding properties
according to schedule. When they’re surrounded by dust and heavy machinery, they’ll be begging us to
buy their place.” My voice is hard. Businesslike. In a way, it feels foreign to speak this way after the last
few weeks I’ve had—like I’m putting on a mask that isn’t the real me.
“The more people understand that business is business, the better,” my father says.
“Agreed. In any case, I’ll start tightening the screws on this old couple. They’ll buckle under the
pressure. I’ve done it before.”
A noise outside the door makes me frown. It sounds like a gasp or a sob, but it’s so faint I wonder if I
imagined it. Walking across the room, I poke my head out the door, but see nothing. Must have been in
my head. Closing the door, I turn back to my father. “I want to talk to you about Layla.”
My father takes a sip of his drink, then places it down on a coaster on his desk. “Nice girl.”
I can almost hear the “but” hanging in the air between us.
“But are you sure she’s ready to be part of your life?” Dad asks quietly, holding my gaze. “You trust
her to be with
Isla? To... stay?”
I won’t run away, Leif. You know I won’t. The words she whispered in my ear a couple of weeks ago
come back to me, and a rush of emotion swells inside me.
“She’s nothing like Abby.” “True,” my father agrees. “She works hard, and from what your mother
tells me, she takes care of her family. Abby never had that work ethic or devotion.” He lets out a long
sigh. “But I think of how you were after Abby left, Leif, and I don’t want to see you like that again.”
“I care about Layla, Dad,” I say. “And I’m only telling you this because I’d appreciate it if you
welcomed her into the family as more than one of mom’s minions who happens to be an event planner.
She’s... special to me.”
My father huffs, then lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Your mother likes her, so what choice do I have?”
The last barrier in my heart falls at my father’s words, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my
face. I would have fought for Layla even if my parents disapproved. I love my parents, just like I love my
daughter, and I realize that I don’t want to ke ep Layla s eparate from any of them. I want Layla to be
entrenched in every part of my life.
It’s time for me to stop compartmentalizing. Layla makes me feel whole.
I love her. The thought flashes through me like a shooting star. I blink at the realization.
I have to stop fighting it. My parents like Layla, my daughter adores her, and I want her to stand by
my side for all the world to see.
“I have to go,” I tell my dad, already heading for the door. “I have to find Layla.”
I hear a chuckle behind me, right before I take off at a jog toward the conservatory. I feel so full I
could burst. I need to see Layla, hold her, kiss her, and tell her how I feel.
I love her. I love her so much it feels like I wasn’t living before she came into my life. I love her to the
point of insanity, and I was a fool to listen to my own stupid reasons for pushing her away.
Layla knowing and loving Isla is a good thing. Her working for me is just how we met—it’s not a
reason we shouldn’t be together.
There’s literally no reason to fight these feelings any longer. I’m not going to dance in this strange
limbo of the past month. I’m going to tell her how I feel, and she’s going to be mine. Officially.
I head to the conservatory and am immediately mobbed by my parents’ friends. I scan the room while
trying to extricate myself from inane conversations, only to be cornered by Great-Aunt Hilda.
“That vein pulsing in your forehead looks like it’s about to explode,” she tells me, using a gnarled
finger to point out the offending vessel.
“Have you seen Layla?” Hilda lets out a laugh and pats my arm. “You finally realized what you had,
did you?”
I stop scanning the room and look at the old woman in front of me. “What?”
“It was obvious to everyone but you that you’d found the right woman. Why do you think your
mother hired her? She wanted to get to know Layla herself. As soon as your mother saw you making
moon eyes at Layla for the entire duration of your daughter’s party, she knew you were lost.”
That stops me dead. I stare at my great-aunt, jaw hanging open. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t look so horrified,” Hilda answers. “Christine likes Layla. I think she was surprised at how
much. And I haven’t seen Layla in over an hour. I’d check the kitchen if I were you.” She hobbles away
before I can answer.
My great-aunt’s words thundering in my ears, I duck out of the conservatory and make my way to the
kitchen. My
lips curl into a smile, my heart bursting with joy.
I love Layla. I love her stubbornness and her pride and how hard she works. I love her genius
creativity and her ideas for party planning. I love the way her hands move so deftly while she braids my
daughter’s hair. I love the way she sighs every time I wrap my arms around her. I love that she fits into
my life like the final puzzle piece that brings everything together.
Right now, I need to wrap my arms around Layla and tell her that I’m done dancing around the
subject. I want her to be mine. Officially. Forever.
But when I burst into the hive of activity and noise that is the kitchen, I don’t see the golden hair of
the woman I adore.
Rachael glances at me. “Something wrong?” “Where’s Layla?” My voice sounds harsh, even to my
ears.
The chef glances at the clock on the wall, then back at me. “She left over an hour ago. Said she wasn’t
feeling well, so I offered to take care of cleanup.”
My blood pounds in my ears. “She left? Without telling me?”