Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,70

she’s trying to figure out which version of this world she wants to believe in. Last night we watched What Dreams May Come. It made her cry.

She didn’t ask a single question when it was over. She just rolled onto her side and looked at me sadly. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “I don’t want to go back.”

“Back where?” I said.

“To nothing. I like being inside of Layla. I like spending time with you. It gets harder every time I have to leave her body.”

I didn’t know what to say because I felt the same way, so I just grabbed her hand and held it until we both fell asleep.

It’s becoming difficult at night, watching her have to leave Layla, knowing she’s just going back to a bare minimum of an existence in a huge and lonely house. And the closer we get to the day Layla and I are supposed to leave, the more sullen Willow and I have become when we spend time together.

I’m playing a low key on the piano—tapping it over and over with my finger—when one of the higher notes plays by itself. I immediately look around, but Layla is still upstairs.

Willow must be trying to get my attention.

I go to the kitchen to open my laptop, and she immediately begins typing.

I have bad news.

“What?”

Layla just found the ring.

My eyes immediately dart up toward the upstairs bedroom. “Is she digging through my things?”

Yes.

“What did she do when she found it?”

She gasped. Then she put it back and immediately texted Aspen and told her about it.

“Shit,” I say with a heavy breath.

I wasn’t ready for this. Not after I’ve spent the last two and a half weeks using Layla the way I’ve been using her. A proposal at this point would feel dishonest.

I sit down at the table and drop my head into my hands. Willow begins typing something into the document again.

She doesn’t know which day you’ll be proposing, so there’s still an element of surprise there. You shouldn’t let this upset you.

“It’s not that,” I say. “I just don’t think I’m ready, but now it’s all she’s going to be thinking about.”

If you aren’t ready, why did you bring the ring with you?

“I brought it with me because this trip . . .” I lean back in my chair. “This trip was supposed to bring us closer together. But I feel even more distant than I did the day we arrived.”

Is that my fault?

“No. I don’t think what we’re doing has helped, but it’s not your fault.”

I didn’t know that’s why you came here. Now I feel guilty for inserting myself into the narrative. I can stop. If you want to spend these last two days with Layla . . . I can disappear, and you won’t even know I’m here.

My chest tightens at that thought. I don’t want to spend these last two days here without Willow. “That’s what I’ve been afraid you’ll do, Willow. It isn’t at all what I want.” I close the laptop because I don’t want to continue this conversation. Not over a laptop, anyway. I need to go talk to Layla. Gauge her mood. Maybe the ring freaked her out. Maybe she isn’t ready either. Maybe this will prompt a long-overdue conversation between us.

I go upstairs and can hear the shower running. I walk into the bathroom, and Layla is brushing her teeth. She always does this. Turns on the shower to warm up the water and then stands at the sink for ten minutes to do her nighttime routine of brushing her teeth and washing her face and plucking her eyebrows. Then she barely has enough hot water left to actually make it through a full shower.

She grins as soon as I walk into the bathroom. She spits toothpaste into the sink and then rinses. Then she walks over to me and wraps her arms around me, pressing her mouth to mine. There’s such a difference in her right now compared to the tired version of herself she’s been dragging around during the daytime. She’s definitely excited for the proposal. It’s like it breathed new life into her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice a disturbing level of cheerful.

“Working.”

She slides her palms down my chest. “You should take a break. Shower with me.”

I look over my shoulder like I have somewhere to be. “I took a shower this morning.”

When I look back at her, she rolls her eyes and lowers her hands