“Well,” Luke says eventually. “This should be interesting.”
EIGHTY
LAYLA
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Luke breathes in my ear, as we stand, shivering, in the cold car park.
I look up at him. The grey sky over his head is stroking highlights into his silvery hair, a light breeze brushing a curl into his eyes. He looks calm, but I can see the tension in his jaw. He doesn’t like being here any more than I do.
I nod firmly. “Yes.”
On my other side, Josh squeezes my clammy fingers. “You’ve got this,” he says. At my back, Zack gives a rumble of agreement. I nod, straightening my spine and turning towards the set of open doors.
We’re standing outside the front entrance of Emery High School. It’s a drizzly, dreary day, and all I really want to do is go home and cuddle up in one of the guys’ beds.
In the past two weeks, I’ve pretty much moved into the guys’ flat. We’ve been inseparable. And it’s been heaven. We could be wrapped up in bedsheets right now, leisurely making out, watching TV, ordering takeout — our usual lazy day routine.
But, of course, I live for the drama, so here we are, freezing to death in the parking lot of my old school. Emery High has barely changed at all in the last ten years. It’s still the same depressing brick building, with prison-style wire-glass windows and graffitied walls. Someone has tried to liven up the entrance with some coloured balloons stapled around the doorway. They’re already saggy and deflated.
I shiver again. My clothes are way too skimpy for the gross weather. Under the jacket of my trouser suit, I’m wearing a lacy bodysuit from my upcoming collection. It’s supposed to be a delicate, pretty piece, but right now, the silvery fabric feels like armour as it gleams against my skin.
In fact…
I shrug off my blazer jacket and hand it to Josh. “Can you hold this, please?”
He stares silently at the bared skin of my chest for a few seconds, his hot eyes travelling over the plunging neckline.
In his defence, it’s very low. “Wow,” he says quietly. “You look incredible.”
“You might get dress-coded,” Luke says. I snort, but he doesn’t laugh. It takes me a second to realise he’s not joking.
“What?” I sputter. “They can’t dress-code me, can they?! I’m not even a student!”
“No,” he says flatly. “They can’t. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried.”
I glance back at the building. “You seriously think they might kick me out for wearing a low-cut top.”
“If the four of us go in there, they won’t be happy,” he says gently. “Emery is far too conservative to accept a relationship like ours. It prides itself in churning out politicians and news anchors. They won’t want to see an ex-teacher dating an ex-student, they won’t want to see a four-way relationship, and they certainly won’t want to see an alumnus who’s become a successful lingerie designer. They might be looking for a reason to make you leave.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks.
Even after all this time, these people could still reject me. I’ve fantasised about this moment so many times, but the second I step through that door, the daydream is over. It’s stupid to be so hung up on a high school reunion, but this feels like a pivotal moment in my life. The most painful, degrading, dehumanising things happened to me inside this squat brick building. And if I go in there and nothing has changed — if I’m ridiculed and mocked and thrown out all over again — how the Hell am I going to cope with that?
And now I can’t breathe, and my vision is going funny, and the hot-but-professional high heels I picked out last night are stuck to the pavement. I can’t move.
“Honey,” Zack says, dipping to kiss the back of my head. “No. Let’s not go in, if it’s scaring you this much.”
“Let’s go home,” Josh offers gently. “Pick out a movie. Order some food.”
“I’m fine.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re shaking, sweetheart.”
“Am not.”
Luke’s hand slides up my bare arm. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” he reminds me. “These people treated you terribly, Layla. You don’t need their approval. We can just turn around and leave.”
I nod slowly, curling my trembling fingers into fists. I know that. But it’s not approval I’m after.