Bridget shook her head. “No, she doesn’t need a wig. This is Layla, if she walks around bald, everyone will shave their heads.”
That’s right. I’d be spotted if I left. The cameras. My mind went to that moment coming out of the place where they’d held me in France. There must be those pictures too. No matter. I could only deal with right now. I hated the idea of being caught on display again.
But it was a choice. See Zeke and get answers, or stay inside afraid and get none.
I’d pick number two.
I swallowed. “This is going to be a random thing to say. Well, two things. Number one, Hope, can I borrow your hoodie please? I can’t find my cap. I put it down, and I think it got swept up with the sheets when the maid came.”
“Sure.” She rushed to the chair where she’d draped it and handed it to me. I was in a white hospital uniform but at least I had my sneakers. I’d been in them when I was taken and still had them. “Number two?”
“You guys know Mom killed herself, right?”
They both stared at me, and Hope visibly swallowed. “No, she just overdosed.”
“I know,” Bridget said, and Hope rounded on her like she couldn’t believe it.
“I used to think like you did, Hopey. But I think we all need some truth now. And that is truth. She ended her life. With four kids in the house and a husband who was away. I can’t blame her for her mental illness, but I will blame her for not arranging for someone to care for us. Poor Justin. He took the biggest hit.”
Bridget put her arm around Hope. “It’s okay. We’re all stronger than her. Especially you, Lulu. Always were. Go get your answers. We’re right here and not going anywhere.”
I headed out of the building. It was quiet in the lobby. A receptionist smiled at me but said nothing. A guard opened the door. That was when the quiet vanished. New York was a noisy town. So was Paris, but this was different. The Upper East Side was actually quiet for Manhattan, but I was momentarily overwhelmed by the change. I hadn’t been anywhere but the sanctity of my room for some time.
Still, I made it to the crosswalk, and was going to cross when Zeke spotted me. He darted from the car and shouted at me, “Layla, stop. Wait. I’ll come there.”
In jeans and a black T-shirt, he rushed to the other end of the street, waiting for the sign to cross. That was good. It gave me a second to steel my back and put my nerves away. I could do this. Absolutely I could. I’d finally talk to Zeke on the corner of 76th and Park Avenue outside the offices of an eye doctor with half of New York walking their dogs on a bright sunny day.
Finally, he rushed toward me, and when he would have touched me, I moved back. Not ready for that. No. The movement made my hood fall down. It was a ridiculous garment for this weather. Hope only had it because she got cold in air-conditioning. Still, I’d wanted my head covered. So much for that.
His gaze moved over me, taking me in, and I did the same to him. He looked tired, probably from sleeping in his car, and his whiskers were almost a full-fledged beard. Still, there he was, ever gorgeous, ever outside my reach, Ezekiel Scott.
“Are you okay?” He had to see I wasn’t. I’d had my head shaved. I couldn’t stand the idea of eating. I never slept. I didn’t look in mirrors, but I could guess what the reflection would show.
Since it was obvious, I didn’t hold back for politeness. “No.”
He visibly swallowed. “I…I’m never going to be able to express to you how much I regret what happened between us before you were taken.”
“You said your truth. You don’t have to regret that. You weren’t obligated to return my feelings. I’m going to figure out how to get over myself.”
“No.” His response came so fast, he actually spoke over me. “I returned your feelings. I still do. I love you.” He swallowed again. “I lied.”
I tried to take that in. I should feel joyful. He loved me, and the truth was that I was absolutely hands down in love with him. So why didn’t I feel better? “You lied?”
“I lied. I’m such…” His voice trailed off. “You scared the shit out of me. Of course, I’m in love with you. I’ve never felt for anyone the way I do for you. I didn’t know I could. I thought that was long put away. But your father was right. Even my own mother didn’t love me. Why would I want to put myself through the pain of another woman rejecting me outright? Why would I let that happen? Layla, I can dress myself up in fine clothes, I can buy one of the most expensive homes in France, but I can’t undo the truth, which is I’m a kid no one wanted who spent his childhood with two-bit gangsters. You lived on yachts. I freaked out. I was coming to get you, to apologize and beg forgiveness, when they took you.”
I almost reached for him. My instinct was to comfort. This was Zeke. I was always going to want to make him okay. I’d heard a crash behind me when they put the bag on my head. I’d forgotten that. It was Zeke.
“You’re so young, princess. You can do better than me. But I am in love with you. And I want a future with you—for us.”
I swallowed, trying to suck down the tears, and successfully, for the moment, managing to do so. “Do you think I don’t know you? I know that you aren’t actually all that well versed in all the things that let the rich show off. You think I don’t? I lived in your house.”
He furrowed his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
“Whoever did your downstairs needs to never work in design again.”
His smirk, that stupid smirk I loved so much, appeared on his face. “Really? Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s your house. That would be rude.” I shrugged. “I guess getting kidnapped kind of takes down those barriers. Thank you, by the way, for paying my ransom. I’ll never be able to pay you back.”
This time when he reached for me, I let him clasp my arms. “Don’t you dare try. We can fix up the house however you want. I don’t care. You do it.”
“No.” My voice wavered now. “There are fundamental problems. I can’t live in France, and that is your city. You’ve made yourself a home there. You have people. A life. Hell, the sunset belongs to you there.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t, princess. It belongs to you. All the colors of it. But I’m sorry I don’t understand. Why can’t you live in France?”
“I can’t speak the language, and it’s not the kind of thing that if I just work at it, I can do it. There is a fundamental deficit in my language processing. I am never going to get over it. And I can’t live where I can’t talk, can’t understand. I can’t have my life translated to me. Or hope everyone there can suddenly speak English.”
He nodded. “Then we’ll live somewhere else.”
“Zeke, that is your place.”
“Layla.” He moved his hands from my arms to my cheeks, pausing only to run his hand gently over my head where my hair should have been. “You are more important than any location. Wherever you are, that’s where I am. Period.”
“I’m not done with my truths.” He had to understand.
“Give them to me. All your truth. Because I see you, too. You say you can see me, well I see you just as well. Tell me. All of it. I’m listening to you.”