“Pride is expensive, Violet,” I said. “You should know. You’ve had the luxury of keeping yours.”
Violet’s face changed.
She flinched like I’d slapped her.
“Get out, Layla.”
So I did.
I don’t remember the drive home. I remember sitting in my car outside my apartment, hearing her voice over and over.
That kind of person.
“I need the security,” I muttered.
That kind of person.
Three weeks later, I married her grandfather.
The wedding was small, private, and expensive enough to make my skin itch. The flowers probably cost more than my rent.
I stood beside Rick and kept my shoulders straight. There was a fifty-year age gap between us, and it wasn’t for love.
From the second row, Violet stared at the program in her lap. She never looked at me.
No one came for me. There was no one left to ask.
Three weeks later, I married her grandfather.
At the reception, I was reaching for a glass of champagne when a woman in pale blue stepped into my path. It was Angela, Rick’s other daughter.
She touched my elbow with two fingers and smiled without warmth.
“You’ve moved very quickly,” she said. “My father has always enjoyed rescuing strays.”
I took a sip of champagne. “Then I hope this family is finally house-trained.”
She looked shocked. “Excuse me?”
Rick appeared beside me before I could answer.
“Angela,” he said. “If you can’t manage decency for one evening, please be silent.”
“Excuse me?”
