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They'll never take my daughter from me.
Chapter five
Layla
The smell of old houses relaxes me, which isn’t surprising since I used to own an antique store. It’s the smell of memories and forgotten stories. This house has secrets, and I intend to find them. Ruby tugs at the helm of my gown.
“Can we make a cake?”
I look down at her, her bright eyes and even brighter smile utterly focused on me. She has Deanna’s face but Tristan’s smile—that devastatingly pleasant smile that makes one feel like the sun is on one’s face. However, unlike Tristan, Ruby smiles easily and often.
“Are you done with your art?”
She reveals a sheet of paper with a badly drawn picture of an apple atop a plate. She looks so proud of herself that I don’t have the heart to criticize the art. I give her a high five, and she squeals in pleasure. I check my phone, and it’s almost 4 P.M. I’d spent most of the day teaching her when she wasn’t napping. A cake doesn’t sound bad.
“You don’t want to order one?”
“No, no.” She stamps her foot. “Let’s make it together.”
“Of course, we can make a cake.”
I carry her in my arms and head to the kitchen. It’s an ample space filled with the most modern version of everything a person could need in a kitchen. It looks recently remodeled as the contemporary décor clashes with the old décor of the rest of the house. The windows are open, letting in the evening light and cool air.
There’s a white apron hanging on the wall with the inscription No whisk, no reward. It doesn’t look like it’s ever been used. The pun makes me chuckle as I put it on. I set Ruby down on the marbled counter as I fetch my ingredients and get to work. I give her the eggs to break for our cake, and she cackles with glee with every broken egg.
“When will my daddy be back?” A piece of eggshell has lodged itself in her hair.
I try to find an answer that will reassure her as I remove the shell. “He should be home soon, Ruby.”
“Why does he go out so much?”
Because he’s a billionaire who cares about nothing other than making money off people’s suffering.
“Because he has to work, baby.”
I wonder where Tristan is. He told me before he left that he’d be home around 3 P.M. There isn’t much to do for fun in New Brooks, so I assume he’s still at the construction site. Big man Tristan is wearing his new boots to the construction site, where he won’t lift a finger to work. Boo-hoo.
My mind conjures up the image of him in his blue jeans, white t-shirt, and boots from earlier. I couldn’t help noticing how sweet he was when he spoke to his daughter. He might be a callous son of a bitch, but he loved his daughter—at least when I was present.
I remember him smelling like a cologne with oaky notes. The shadow on his jawline was still present, making him reasonably attractive. His hair was tousled back, and the bulging muscles in his shirt hinted that he had worked out that morning.
Ugh. Focus, Layla. He’s the enemy.
I’m only here because I have to, I remind myself. This is all part of the plan. I consider going to his room and searching his belongings for anything that might hasten things, but I decide against it. He can be home anytime, and I can’t risk getting fired. Not when I’m already in. It may take a while, but I must stick to the plan.
“You are putting in too much flour!” Ruby suddenly interrupts, pointing at my mixing bowl.
“What are you, a baker?”
She pouts and shakes her head. “Too much flour.”
I look down at what I’m whisking. Shit, she’s right. That’s too much flour. I add more batter to the mix to offset the flour, and Ruby nods approvingly. She gives me a thumbs up, and her smile with a few missing teeth makes me chuckle.
I wonder what she remembers about her mother. Does she have a face in mind? Does Deanna’s voice still echo in her ears?
“What do you remember about your mom?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“My mommy?”
