I stared at it, tears coming to my eyes. She’d been about my age there. Happy. No worries. Hitting it big in a career few ever would. What had happened? Well, other than the obvious that her children had happened. Had she somehow foreseen the future? Known what fucked up individuals we would prove to be?
Sure, I idolized my sisters, but they were deeply troubled. Hope with her need to please, and Bridget with the fear that if she didn’t win, it meant loss. Fuck. Where had this clarity come from? The running?
We’d been playing phone tag. I needed to hear their voices.
It was disloyal to think those things. What was wrong with me?
“She’s not as pretty as you.” Zeke stood next to me. When had he turned around? How long had I been standing here?
“Prettier.” I had to disagree with him. It simply wasn’t true. “Because she knew herself. Or at least, she did there.”
“You know yourself. Stop pretending you don’t.”
I ignored him and crossed the street to be closer. It wasn’t like my mother was really there, but I had a visceral need to touch her image. I didn’t care to question why.
A man strode past us, stopping abruptly when he saw me, and I saw Heathrow appear seemingly out of nowhere. I was impressed. It was hard to be invisible until needed.
He didn’t approach yet. Wait and see seemed to be the game.
“You are the redhead.”
I smiled. “Oh, I’m hardly the redhead. There are lots of redheads—”
“Yes,” Zeke interrupted me. “The only redhead. She is it. You’re right. Any other redhead is pale next to her. You’ve spotted her. Now move on.”
My mouth fell open as the man scampered away. I didn’t know if I should be in with love what he just did or horrified.
“You can’t talk to people like that about me. There will be bad press.”
“And? Would that be the worst thing in the world? You don’t have to be the kindest person everyone ever met every second of the day. You’re busy right now. He spotted you. He has a story. Dude can tell everyone he saw you on the street. Let’s finish our run.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. One more mile, then we’ll turn. You need to do better this time. Small increments. It’s good for the soul.”
I sighed. He was right, and I knew it. “Fine. But if I can’t walk tomorrow, you’re carrying me around.”
His smile was slow and ridiculously full of promise. “Maybe I won’t let you get out of bed.”
I caught my breath. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Only if you make the mile.”
When had he decided to be my trainer? I hadn’t agreed to this, but it was happening. I might as well make the best of it. Was he right? Did I not have to be the nicest person in every room, every day?
That was something to think about as I huffed and puffed down another Paris street.
I could walk, which was a good thing because I was just about to call my sister back for the third round of phone tag, when Zeke came into my room. “Put on something slightly fancy. Not club fancy. Restaurant quality nice. We have something to do tonight.”
“Sure.” I nodded. I’d been spending all my time in my newly acquired jeans and T-shirts, except when I was running, for which I pulled out the yoga clothes.
I had a closet full of things he’d bought me, none of which I’d glanced at in a week. A week? Had it been that long?
“When do you want me ready?”
He stared at me from the doorframe, where he hadn’t moved. “What? Dinner is at eight, but we have something to do first. So be ready for six. What are you working on?”
I glanced down at my paper. “You know me and my little sketches.”
“Hmm.”
I wasn’t sure what that sound meant, but it was all he gave me before he exited. It was three. I had a little time to finish what I was working on, which actually was for him, before I had to be ready. Also, I really needed to call back Hope. She’d be the easier of the two to talk to. Bridget was going to want details I didn’t know because I didn’t have enough knowledge to know what questions to ask. I supposed I could direct her to Zeke.
That didn’t sit well, and I wanted to shout at myself. Was I really so off that I didn’t want Zeke to talk to other women? Even my sister? What was I worried about? That he’d prefer someone else, even my sister?
“Okay, Layla, get your shit together. Stop being this woman. You hate this woman.”
I picked up the phone and called Hope. She answered on one ring. “Finally.”
“Sorry. Time change issues.”
She laughed. “Well, that and the fact that you’re tearing around on the motorcycle with Zeke Scott.”
I winced. There must be photos online. I might not like it, but this was my life. When I went out in public, there was a chance that someone would be there with a phone to capture the moment. “Right. That, too. How are you?”
She sighed. “Not great. I miss you. It was the second Thursday of the month. You know what happens on the second Thursday of the month.”
I smiled. “We have tapas.”
Well, Hope ate it and I picked at it. Maybe in the future, I would eat more of it, too. I’d certainly found my appetite. Yes, I should have been back from my honeymoon by now, and we would have had dinner while I told her about my days sitting in the sun. Well, under an umbrella shaded like I wasn’t in the sun.
I was a redhead.
“We’ll do it again.”
She laughed. “Will the good-looking Mr. Scott be joining us?”
“I’m not sure that I can answer that, yet. But I have to talk to you about something else.”
“Okay.” She sounded more serious. “What’s up?”
I looked around the room. My stuff was everywhere. I wasn’t neat and organized. A shirt lay over the chair in the corner. My art supplies were on the desk. The bed, that got made up every day by staff I never saw, was crumpled. I’d certainly made myself at home. And even thought of it that way now.
Hope deserved me to remember that wasn’t true. At least not yet. “Hope, you need to quit your job.”
She was silent for a long moment. “I’m not going to say that I haven’t thought that myself on occasion. I mean, I hate it, and I don’t think they really care about doing the charitable side of things. Like they’re patting me on the head. But…why particularly now?”
“Have you heard that Zeke and Dad are dissolving their partnership?”
“What?” she shouted into my ear, and I winced. “No. Does Bridget know? I mean…fuck. What will Dad do? Why is Zeke doing this?”
I swallowed. “Dad is involved with some bad shit, Hope. And I think you and Bridget should quit your jobs and be as far from the fallout that has to be coming as you possibly can.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice was lower. “I mean…Zeke is on one side, Dad is on another. Maybe he’s misinterpreting things.”
I supposed it was a good question, but it still made me wish we were close so I could throw a pillow at her. “Zeke doesn’t misinterpret things, and he has no reason to make this up. Frankly, I don’t know that it matters to him one way or another if you are in the path of this blast, except that it matters to me.”