My apartment was tiny.
That was how I met Rick, Violet’s grandfather.
The first Sunday she brought me to his estate, I stood in his dining room pretending I understood the art. I complimented the silver, forks and knives beside my plate like I was about to perform surgery.
Violet leaned in. “Start from the outside and go in.”
“I don’t like you right now.”
“You’d be lost without me.”
Rick looked up from his soup. “Is there a reason you two are plotting over the cutlery?”
That was how I met Rick.
Violet smiled sweetly. “Layla thinks your silver is judging her.”
Rick looked straight at me. “They’re judging everyone, doll. Don’t take it personally.”
I laughed.
And that was the beginning.
After that, Rick talked to me. He asked questions, remembered the answers, and noticed I always saw the price of things before their beauty.
“Because price decides what gets to stay beautiful,” I said once.
Rick looked straight at me.
Rick leaned back. “That’s either wise or sad, Layla.”
“Probably both.”
He smiled a little. “You say hard things like you’re apologizing for them.”
I looked down at my plate. “Habit.”
No one had ever said my name like it mattered.
Violet noticed my bond with Rick quickly.
“Grandpa likes you more than the rest of us,” she said one night.
“That’s because I say thank you when he passes the potatoes.”
“That’s either wise or sad, Layla.”
“No. It’s because you argue with him.”
“Only when he’s wrong.”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
Then one night, while Violet was upstairs helping her mother, Rick said, “Have you ever considered marrying for practical reasons?”
