If Layla were any other woman, I’d assume that we’d just keep sleeping together. Everyone’s enjoying themselves; there’s no reason we can’t carry on a casual relationship. But Layla won’t want to waste away the next few months screwing around. As soon as we’ve done that live show, I’m sure she’ll be back on her dating grind, flicking through dating apps and eating dinner with two men a week until she finds the perfect guy for her.
I don’t know how I’m going to handle watching her fall for someone else. But I have to.
“The live show,” Layla says. “Yeah, that’s perfect.” She bounces a bit on my lap. “I hope I’ll be back in time for my class reunion. I wanna show off.”
I clear my throat. “Do… you want me to go with you to your reunion? As your plus-one?”
“Nope. My classmates already think I’m a slag, I can’t bring my boss with me.” She squints at Zack and Luke. “I can’t take you guys, either. They’ll think I’m a WAG if I go with Zack, and God knows what will happen if I show up on a teacher’s arm. I can do it myself. Oh my God, I already have so many design ideas for Anna.” She leans forward, trying to slide out of my arms.
Luke wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her back down. “Not now,” he orders. “Sleep.”
“But—”
“No.” He rolls her closer to me, so she’s lying between us, and kisses her cheek. “We’ll work it out tomorrow.”
For a second, I think she’s going to argue. Then she relaxes, laying her head on my pillow and cuddling into my neck. I feel her breath flutter against my skin. “You guys are my favourite people,” she says in the dark.
I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. Zack and Luke murmur back to her. And I just lie there in the darkness.
I have to tell her how I feel. As soon as possible.
I’ll tell her tomorrow. I have a wedding to deal with first.
FIFTY-THREE
LAYLA
“Are you sure this dress is okay?” I ask the next morning, twisting to check myself out in the dressing-table mirror. Zack rolls over on the bed and looks up at me through half-closed eyes. He looks great today, in a broad-shouldered black suit, his Viking-blonde hair loose around his face. “Very nice,” he rumbles, stretching out to grab my hip. “Take it off.”
I bat him away, trying to adjust the hem of the dress.
It’s about quarter-to-twelve, and the wedding is due to start at half past. Josh left this morning to help the wedding party set up, while me and the other boys stayed in the room. After last night, all I really wanted to do was stay in bed all day — I’m exhausted and feeling a lot cuddlier than usual — but instead, I got up at 8 o’clock to start getting ready. I’ve been shaving and plucking and curling ever since.
I’m nervous as I study my reflection in the mirror. When I picked out this dress, I thought it was perfect for a wedding. It’s a silky, mint-green piece that melts against my skin and makes my eyes glow. Considering most of my wardrobe is black or red, it’s the lightest, prettiest bit of formalwear I have. But now that I’ve put it on, I feel like a hooker. The flimsy fabric falls down to my mid-thigh and clings to my curves. “I didn’t realise how short it was. Or how low.” I fuss with the neckline, trying to tug it up. Have my boobs gotten bigger since I bought it? “Do you think it’s too… revealing?”
Zack snorts. “Since when do you care about that?”
He’s right. I usually don’t. But today’s different. If I’m honest, I’m dreading seeing Amy again after all these years. She’ll probably have invited a bunch of other teachers from Emery High, too. If I show up looking like this, God knows what they’ll think.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Amy already thinks I’m a slag. I may as well lean into it.”
Luke looks up. He’s sitting on the other side of the bed, fixing a pair of silver cufflinks into the sleeves of his shirt. “Amy doesn’t think that, love,” he says woodenly.
I glance at him in the mirror. His face is grey.
I’m worried about him. He’s doing a good job of acting like he’s okay, but he’s been quieter than usual ever since we woke up. Earlier this morning, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth while he was shaving. At least, I thought he would be shaving. Really, he was just gripping the sink, staring blankly at the wall as the tap gushed hot water down the plughole. He looked like he was about to throw up.