“Oh.” Layla’s mouth drooped for him. “That’s kind of sad.”
Damien frowned at her.
“Well, it is. You need to work on that.”
Damien ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, looking just a little frazzled. Which was kind of a good look on him, to be honest. He should try it more often over the lean, elegant assassin look. “Look,” he snapped. “If you sell this land out from under Matt, you’re going to break his heart.”
“Isn’t that what you’re asking me to do?” she asked, confused.
“I’m his cousin. It’s not the same thing at all.”
Layla peered at him. “Because he trusts you with it?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Damien said sardonically. “I’m not sure Matt trusts anyone with his heart. That’s what he gets for having such a damn mushy one.”
“Oh, yeah, right, I was forgetting yours was so adamantine,” Layla said mildly.
Damien raised an eyebrow at her, lethal and saturnine.
“You know, the next time they need a new James Bond, have you thought about trying out?”
His eyes narrowed in exasperation, but the corners of his lips twitched before he could catch them, and a little leap of laughter gleamed green in his eyes.
“Look, don’t worry,” Layla said quietly. “I’m happy here, but…I know I need to give it back to him, okay? I promise it’s safe with me. I know you guys have his back, but I’ll try to take care of his…front.” She rested her hand over her own front, right over her heart, before she realized it.
“Will you?” Damien asked, and for once he let it be an actual question. His eyes searched her face.
Layla nodded solemnly. “I promise,” she said. “I really will.”
“What if the two of you have a fight?” Damien asked. “What if he yells at you, and breaks up with you, and you want to hurt him back?”
Layla hesitated. “You say that as if you’re expecting it to happen.”
Damien grimaced. “You probably should have told him who you were.”
Her arms folded back over her chest, her heart sinking. “I gather you took care of that little oversight for me?”
“Oversight?”
She hunched into her arms, not answering. Break up with her? Like he’d broken up so easily with his top model when things went wrong?
“He’s pretty pissed off,” Damien said. “He’s not going to handle this well, Layla.”
“All right,” Layla said, but her heart sank more and more. “I don’t expect him to be perfect.” But she’d felt…safe with him. Emotionally. Not like he would dump her, even if he got pissed off.
Damien held out his hand to her, handshake style. “You promise you won’t sell it out from under him in a temper?”
Right. Whatever happened, even if it hurt, she did understand at least right this moment that she couldn’t do that. Good idea to commit to it, while her feelings were still unhurt and less likely to lead her off the ethical path. Layla put her hand in his. “I promise.”
Damien shook it once, firmly. “This is important, Layla. Belle.”
“Yes.” Layla looked wistfully at her little house with its roses climbing over the door. Too important for her to play with, no matter how much she liked it here and no matter how much it filled her with song. It sounded as if Matt would never be able to relax, deep down, and trust her, as long as she could steal away his heart like this—sell it to someone else. “I’ve got it.”
When Damien left, she picked up her guitar and walked down the long rows of roses to Matt’s house to wait for him on his doorstep.
The later the evening grew, the more anxious Layla grew. How mad was Matt, exactly? Was Damien right, that he might break up with her? Was everything really shattered by her own efforts to be someone other than a fulfillment of expectations?
I think I’m falling really hard for you. The last words she’d spoken to him, in some kind of blithe, arrogant dream that he must feel the same for her. That this evening was going to be like last evening, and tomorrow was going to be more of the same.
She should have told him the truth.
It hadn’t really felt like telling him a lie, though. It had just felt like…being herself. Taking time away from everything people wanted her to be and…being her.
Her stomach knotted more and more, the longer she had to wait, and she got out her guitar and sat on the stone step in front of his house, playing the guitar the same way a child might hold a silkie for reassurance.
Wish for me
On a falling star
No matter where you are