never have been able to do this.”
I pictured Kit’s shaking hands. “No, he wouldn’t have. Long night, I guess. Or I’d have had to call someone in the hotel to help me.”
“Or sleep, live, eat, and die in this dress for the rest of your life.”
This was like the flying car conversation. I liked when he did that. The idea that his mind sometimes fled from the present to the absurd like my own did was fun. And not something I ever imagined when I was touching myself and thinking of his hands on me. My cheeks heated up at the memory.
“Right,” I managed to get out. “Or I’d have to stay in this horrendous dress for the rest of my life.”
He finished and stepped back. I held on to the dress to keep it over my body and turned to look at him. “I thought you were a fashion person. Why do you hate your own dress?”
“I’m not a fashion person. Not really. Not a designer or a stylist. I wrote, or sort of wrote, a book that helped people to feel better in their own styles, in their own clothes. This wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even pick it out.”
Zeke must have been done with this conversation because he turned and left, stopping only when he was by the door. “I think you have everything you need here. But if you’re missing something, let me know. I’ve never had anyone stay here before, so it’s possible something was forgotten. I’m down the hall. Burgundy doors. Knock if you need me.”
I limped into the bathroom. We had to have some serious conversations about what exactly he expected for this night, or nights, I got to spend in his house. First, however, I was going to soak my fucking feet. The bathroom was huge with a cast iron tub that called my name. I dropped my dress onto the ground in between the bed and the bathroom and made a limping beeline to the tub, where I ran the hot water. I should put my whole body into it, but for now, it just had to be my feet.
Very rarely did I think about my feet, but when they hurt, they were all I could think about. I tucked myself into the side of the tub to sit on the edge and put my feet beneath the water. I wished it felt wonderful, but they stung, and I was pretty sure I was going to have to clean them off with antiseptic and antibacterial and everything anti before I bandaged them in a few minutes.
I closed my eyes. I just had to breathe. But then my phone rang.
I stared down at it as Hope’s name appeared on the screen. I answered it. “Hope?”
The sound of the airplane hit me before she answered. “Layla?”
I smiled. It was ridiculously nice to hear her voice. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you, hold on.” She paused for a second. “He’s being ridiculously mean right now.” Of course, she meant Dad. “And I’m hiding in the bathroom. Bridget is distracting him with numbers.”
I could practically picture it like I was there. I’d have been sitting with my legs up, staring out the window or trying to read because I hated airplanes so acutely, I could never rest, and Dad would have no need to talk to me.
“How are you?” she asked again after a long pause.
I swallowed. “My feet hurt.”
That wasn’t what she was asking me, and I knew it. But it was about all I could get out right then. Everything else was too much. Much as I adored my sister, I wasn’t sure she’d understand that. Or Bridget, if she’d been on the phone. I was the only one in the family outside of Justin who might be too lost to count at this point. Maybe I was, too.
Was I?
“Where are you?” Her voice wavered. She was upset. I mentally kicked myself for doing that to her. I’m sure it had been a terribly long day for her, too. And she had to put up with Dad.
I looked around. “In Zeke’s guest room bathroom. Soaking my feet. Seriously, Hope, they hurt like hell.”
She ignored my comments about my feet. “You’re in Zeke’s house? When I called him, I thought he would help you, put you on a plane back to us, not take you in. I’ve never heard of anyone being in that house. Is it huge?”
I made a hmm sound in my throat that