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He rushes around the car, taking my hand as he leads me to the door where he lets go. Alaric watches me as if he wishes he could follow me inside, and a small part of me wants that too. He doesn’t speak, just observes me.
“Goodnight, Layla. I will see you tomorrow, and I want my answer then.”
“Goodnight, Alaric,” I murmur before I turn and rush into the building, only stopping when I’m safely in our apartment. My heart hammers in my chest as I press my back to the door as if he might chase me, bust it down, and demand I come away with him.
Is he my savior or my damner?
I guess only time will tell.
“Layla?” Zoey calls.
“Hey—” I clear my scratchy throat, pushing all thoughts of Alaric and his offer out of my mind for now. “Hey, it’s me. I’m home. Why are you up? Are you hungry, kid?”
“Yes, old cranky pants next door went home after putting me to bed. Complained about us not having any food in the house,” she replies as I hear her little feet rushing from her bedroom. “Do we have any cereal?”
“We do,” I murmur, moving to the cupboard. “Let me make you some. How are you feeling?”
I listen as she tells me about the dream she had before she woke up with her stomach growling. I nod and hum in the right places, but when she begins to eat, I stare at her, thinking back to his words. I will wish for nothing, which means Zoey won’t either. She could go to a nice school, have the surgery, and live a good life.
But didn’t my mother sell her soul to the devil with a silver tongue who promised to take care of her only to be led to her death?
Can I really put Zoey through the same kind of situation again, or will I learn from my mother’s mistakes?
The night passes quickly, and I tuck Zoey into bed and stumble to my makeshift one on the couch. The memory of Alaric’s rough, strong hands on my skin and his bright eyes begging me to say yes replay in my mind. I can’t help myself as my hand drifts inside my shorts to my aching pussy. I’ve only felt this desire since he came into my life. Yet I refrained from touching myself, from begging for what I can’t have. I was never into sex before since my teenage experiences were never something to write home about, but with him? Alaric? Even his name oozes sexuality. I lick my lips, just about to touch my sensitive wet flesh when a heaving noise comes from the bathroom, stopping me. Jerking my hand back like a teenager up to no good, I rush to the bathroom and find Zoey throwing up over the toilet with tears in her eyes.
I quickly wet a rag with some water and hold her hair back, rubbing her for support as she throws up again and again. All the food she just ate, and then some, is purged from her stomach, and then she drops to the left, her body quaking.
“Zoey?” I yell, reaching for her as she flips and shakes, her limbs spasming as her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh God, baby, look at me. What’s happening? What can I do?” I scream in panic.
I watch helplessly, but the trembling doesn’t stop. I want to get help, but I can’t leave her alone on the cold floor. I cry, I scream, begging for God to save her, and after what feels like a lifetime, it stops. I press my head to her chest and listen to her thundering heart. She’s alive, and the realization makes me sag even as I move her into the recovery position, beseeching God for Zoey to wake up.
As I do, I know I’m begging the wrong person. God won’t save us. He didn’t help Gage or my mom when they needed him either. No, only I can save us, and I know how.
I have to do it. I have to marry him.
I can’t watch my sister suffer and die from something I could have prevented just by accepting his proposal. His money could save her. If all he wants is me in return, then he can have every inch of me if it saves my baby sister. He’ll be the one who is disappointed in the end, not me.
Yet somehow, that thought hurts.
I’m going to get married . . .
I’m going to be this stranger’s wife.
* * *
“She’s getting worse, Dr. Ramos,” I say with tears in my eyes, watching the nurse insert IV fluids into her little veins with a concoction of meds that will ease the pain in her head and ensure she sleeps for a few hours.
“I told you as much, Layla. I’m growing concerned that she’s deteriorating faster than expected. Unfortunately, the only thing I can do right now is keep her comfortable.”
His words hold an edge to them, as if he wishes he could operate on my sister, consequences be damned, but I know he won’t jeopardize his career for her.
I’m her last hope.
“If I had the money, how soon could you operate?” I question, wiping the useless tears off my cheeks.
“I can set it up for next week. Two if you need extra time to get your affairs in order,” he replies hopefully.
I lower my gaze from the optimism I see in his eyes and look into the room where my sister is now comfortably sleeping.
