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Chapter seven
Layla
Where are you? You ran off last night, and I’m checking in to see if you’re okay.
I reread the message as my short-sleeved, black dress blows in the wind. I can hear his voice in my head questioning me as I read the text. I click my phone off, avoiding dealing with Tristan now, and put it in my purse.
The smell of fertilizer hangs in the air and clings to my nose as I stand outside the gate with the sculpted roaring lion, waiting to open it. I’ve always hated this smell. My black Prius is a silent companion behind me. I know they can see me; the not-so-hidden security camera at the gate follows my movements as I approach.
A loud buzz fills the cool morning air, and the gate finally creaks open, allowing me entrance to the home. The farmhands nod greetings at me, and I respond with small waves. The trek from the gate to the large house is unnecessarily long, and my thoughts finally revert to what I’ve actively been trying not to think about since yesterday.
I slept with Tristan Jackson.
That first day, when I greeted him at his house, I thought how he looked at me was strange. Tristan looked at me like he knew me; his eyes glinted with recognition, and I was so scared I’d blown it. I’m sure he doesn’t know who I am because if he does, there’s no way he’d have hired me as his nanny. It just couldn’t happen.
God! Everything we did that night. The way he made me dance. The way he held me afterward, his hands on my body, his lips on mine, my wetness wrapped around his—
“Oh, my fucking God!” I whisper to myself.
I’d slept with the man who destroyed my life, and the worst part is I can’t stop thinking about how much I enjoyed it. Not only do I feel disgusted with myself, I feel like I betrayed Deanna. I decide not to mention a word of it to Ellen and Jacob. They don’t need to know, not with everything we have going on.
I reach the spacious porch with the potted flowers. I take a deep breath and push the large wooden door open. The living room smells like bleach, and I wonder what they’ve been cleaning. The familiar stuffed heads of different animals hang from the white walls like something out of a grotesque nightmare, and antique guns hang alongside them.
I’ve always hated these.
Jacob and Ellen are seated on a couch. They look like they’ve been waiting for me to show up. I walk in and take a seat opposite them. I almost feel like I’m in an interview. I cross my legs and put my hands on my knees.
“Hey, Dad,” I finally say. “Mom.” I stare at them with longing as they greeted me with a cold smile.
“You were supposed to be here yesterday.” Ellen’s white hair looks greyer than the last time I saw her, and the frown on her face makes her look older than she is. She hates it when I call her mom.
“I’m sorry. Ruby had an asthma attack and—”
“Ruby had an attack?” Ellen sits forward in her chair, and every trace of anger disappears from her leathery face. “Is she okay now?”
I was suddenly jealous of Ruby. Deanna had been the treasured child when we were younger, and even now, Mom was still showing Ruby more concern than she’d ever shown me.
My family is the wealthiest in town, mainly due to mom and the ranch her father left her. Dad married her, and she took his name, but everyone knew she wore the pants in the relationship. Ellen’s a formidable woman no one wants to mess with, but at the mention of Ruby, she turns into a tender-hearted grandma.
“She’s fine. Tristan wasn’t home, but I was able to find her inhaler and get the situation under control. She was perfectly okay and fast asleep before I left.”
“Just like Deanna.” Mom’s toothy smile tells me she’s thinking about my sister again.
Dad removes the lit cigar from his lips and coughs deeply. “Tristan wasn’t home?” His voice was scratchy like sandpaper on a chalkboard.
“Yeah, he was at the construction site.”
“When did this happen?”
“Late in the evening. I can’t remember the time, but it was dark out already.”
“Are you sure he was at the construction site?”
“That was where he told me he was going when he left that morning.”
“What kind of construction crew works at night?” he asks, taking a long puff of his cigar. “He was probably at a bar, drinking.”
“That son of a bitch.” Mom’s frown is back. Her petite frame leaves the couch, and she begins pacing. “Can you see why we have to get Ruby away from him? He’s not fit to be a father. He’s not fit to care for anyone. We tried to stop your sister countless times when she decided to marry someone as arrogant and selfish as he is.”
