I looked up from my tea. “As in health insurance?”
“More like security.”
I waited for the joke. It didn’t come.
“You’re serious.”
“I am.”
I set my cup down. “Rick, are you… proposing to me?”
“Have you ever considered marrying for practical reasons?”
“Yes, Layla.”
That should’ve been when I left.
Instead, I asked, “Why me?”
“Because you’re intelligent,” he said. “Because you’re observant. Because you’re less impressed by money than you pretend to be.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That last part isn’t true.”
Then he said the sentence that cracked something open in me.
“You wouldn’t need to worry again, Layla. About anything.”
I let out a dry laugh.
But that was all I did, worry. About rent, bills, the cavity I’d been ignoring, and checking my bank account before buying shampoo.
I should have just said no.
Instead, I asked, “Why me, really?”
His eyes held mine. “Because I trust you more than I trust most people who share my blood.”
I told Violet later that night.
“Why me, really?”
We were in her kitchen; she was rinsing strawberries, and for one stupid second, I thought she might laugh.
She didn’t.
“He asked me to marry him,” I said.
The water kept running.
“What?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Do you?”
She shut off the tap. “Please tell me you said no.”
I didn’t answer fast enough.
“He asked me to marry him.”
Violet’s face changed.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of person, Layla. Seriously,” she said quietly.
Some lines hurt more because they sound dragged out of someone against their own will.
“I don’t know what kind of person you think I am,” I said.
Violet folded her arms. “I thought you had more pride than this. But you’re just like everyone else, aren’t you? After his money. After his estate. You disgust me, Layla.”
I went still.
“Pride is expensive, Violet,” I said. “You should know. You’ve had the luxury of keeping yours.”
Violet’s face changed.
