“He asked me to marry him.”
Violet’s face changed.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of person, Layla. Seriously,” she said quietly.
Some lines hurt more because they sound dragged out of someone against their own will.
“I don’t know what kind of person you think I am,” I said.
Violet folded her arms. “I thought you had more pride than this. But you’re just like everyone else, aren’t you? After his money. After his estate. You disgust me, Layla.”
I went still.
“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?”
Her face tightened. “I was only welcoming her.”
“No,” he said. “You were auditioning for my disappointment. As usual.”
She let out a breath through her nose and walked off.
We drove to his estate after dark. I barely spoke. Rick didn’t push.
In the bedroom, I stood before a mirror and stared at myself in that dress. I didn’t look beautiful. I looked arranged, expensive… and temporary.
The door opened behind me.
“I was only welcoming her.”
Rick stepped in, closed it softly, and the room went quiet.
Then he said, “Layla, now that you’re my wife… I can finally tell you the truth. It’s too late to walk away.”
My hands went cold.
“Rick, what does that mean?”
He looked at me. “It means you were wrong about why I asked you.”
I turned to face him fully. “Then tell me.”
He didn’t move closer.
“I am dying, Layla.”
“What?”
“My heart,” he said. “Maybe months. A year, if the Lord is feeling theatrical.”
“It’s too late to walk away.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because,” he said quietly, “my family has spent years circling my death like shoppers outside a store. Last spring, my own son tried to have me declared mentally diminished.”
I stared at him. “Your own son?”
“Yes. David.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.” Rick nodded toward the folder on the bedside table. “Open it.”
I did.
“Your own son?”
Inside were transfers, legal drafts, and notes in his handwriting.
There were donations promised and never sent. Employees pushed out quietly. And Violet’s mother’s hospital bills covered by Rick while Angela and David took the credit.
