In the end, they’d all moved to Greece. Her mother, father and sisters. But Layna had stayed. And what she’d weathered should have made her immune to things like Xander’s comments.
She was thirty-three. She wasn’t a child. She knew now that life wasn’t defined by dresses, balls and beauty. She did know it. So curse Xander for making her feel insecure. For making her feel like she should make an effort to look pretty when she met him for dinner.
Those things, they didn’t matter. She had changed, and at the end of the day, she liked herself better now. At least now she didn’t think the only way to live was by shopping the day away before going to a ball and pretending to be bored by all of it.
In some ways, she had more freedom now. If something made her feel joy, she had no problem showing it. Her face made it impossible for her to blend in, impossible for people to do anything but judge her. So why worry about trying to seem cool and unaffected? There was no reason at all.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
Layna paused at the entrance to the grand dining room. Another unholy mash-up between her life then and now. The expansive banquet table held no one but Xander. In the past, there would have been fifty dignitaries in attendance. And Layna would have worn her best dress. Xander would have worn a tie. They would have sat beside each other.
He was wearing a black suit jacket and a crisp white shirt open at the collar, revealing a wedge of golden skin and a dark dusting of hair.
She tried to remember if he’d had chest hair during their engagement. He certainly hadn’t been as broad or muscular. He’d been lean. Soft-faced and handsome.
His face was more angular now, his jaw more pronounced thanks to the black stubble there. And his eyes, those eyes were so much sharper.
He was a man now.
“I’m not late,” she said, walking slowly into the room. She wasn’t sure if she should walk up to where he was, at the head of the table, and sit near him or not.
“No, but I was still wondering if you would bother to join me.”
“I said I would. So I did.”
“You aren’t a soft girl, are you, Layna?”
“Have I ever been, Xander?”
A half smile curved his lips and it sent a strange, tightening sensation through her stomach. “No. Now that you mention it, you never were. Though you used to look like you might be.”
“All that blond hair dye and the pink gowns. I suspect it was deceiving.”
“Maybe to some. I remember, though, standing out on the balcony with you while you looked at the other guests.”
So did she. Making snide observations about how Lady So-and-so had worn that gown to a previous event, and how Madame Blah-blah-blah’s hair looked like a bird had chosen to nest in it.
Yes, she’d had opinions on everyone’s looks. Specifically their shortcomings. The irony of that still burned.
“Yes, well, I was young. I had a lot of growing up to do. And I’ve had a lot of years to do it.”
“And have you?” He leaned back in his chair, an arm rested on the table, an insolent expression on his face.
“Of course.”