Page 3 of The Redheads

He handed me a box that Laura took from me immediately. A gift from Kit. It was a diamond tennis bracelet, huge and expensive. Not my style. Laura attached it to my right wrist, fussing over it.

“Layla?” Bridget caught my attention. “Is there anything that you need?”

I shook my head. “Not a thing.”

I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. This was my role in my life. I had no other purpose except to fulfill this moment. Flowers were placed in my hands, and I held on to them like they were a lifeline. Walking out into the hall, I took my father’s arm. He was steady but not strong. Fortytwo years old, but he looked older. Every year, it was like he aged ten.

He didn’t tell me I looked beautiful. Didn’t remark on me at all. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who was going through the motions. Our guests waited around the corner in an outdoor seating area especially made for today. We walked in that direction, no one saying a word.

That was when I sawhim.

While I should have been looking at Kit, who waited on the other end of the aisle for me to become his wife, I couldn’t take my eyes off someone else in the crowd. The whole crowd of people were standing and waiting for me, but he was the tallest person there right now. I might not have seen him right away, but my security team, ever present, had moved and caught my attention in that direction. My father’s business partner for the last twenty years, Ezekiel Scott, looked downright bored where he stood.

Amusement flooded me. He was fucking done with this situation, and I didn’t have to see anything except the fact thathis arms were crossed over his chest like he was waiting in line to get a flu shot rather than attend my wedding.

I’d always been preoccupied with Zeke, the few times in life I’d been allowed to be around him. In their partnership, my father was the trader and Zeke the salesman. He made the deals that let my father do any trading that made them all money. Or at least, that was how it used to work when they’d been amassing their millions. These days, it changed. Something about the fund of funds they were doing now. I didn’t really understand much of it, but it seemed there was less for my father to do and a lot more for Zeke to pay attention to.

Dad was always yelling at Zeke, and if the noises I could hear from the phone at the dinners I was forced to attend were any indication, Zeke was always yelling back. They didn’t see each other in person and did business mostly remotely with the occasional bitter argument spoken through their cell phones. It was volatile between them. And something about what I was doing today was going to help my father in that situation with Zeke. High finance was like a foreign language to me, and I hadn’t asked any questions because it wasn’t like I could understand it if I did. I wasn’t Hope or Bridget. No one talked to me about real things that mattered.

My heart rate picked up. Zeke was gorgeous in a way that other men just were not. He was four years younger than my dad. Thirty-eight. Dad aged, but Zeke didn’t ever seem to. He was somehow more virile than he’d ever been before in that moment as I walked down the aisle. I couldn’t even believe he was here. He never came to anything he didn’t have to when it came to us. Not birthdays or graduations. He sent checks and someone deposited them for us.

But Kit and I were getting married in Paris, and he lived here. I guessed he didn’t have any choice but to attend. How could heget out of being here at my terribly boring wedding when he’d rather be anywhere else?

Movement caught my attention toward the front. Kit was there. He didn’t look bored. No, he was sweating, and his hands were shaking. That wasn’t nerves. He was coming down from something he’d taken. We were getting married while he was withdrawing. Was I just…fine with that?

When had I become okay with everything being so mediocre?

“No.”

The music was loud, too loud. I hated it. Who had picked this song? I didn’t want to get married to some traditional bridal march like I was just another marching bridal doll scooting down the happy married walk so we could get on with things.

My father stared at me. We were almost to Kit. Everyone was smiling. Some woman on his side dabbed at her eyes. Why were they crying? Because it was so beautiful, or because they felt so sorry for the two of us since there wasn’t an ounce of bravery in either of our bodies?

I hated Kit, but I’d spare him this. I’d do this for the both of us.

I yanked my arm from my father’s hold. “No. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Daddy, I just can’t.”

I must have shouted because despite the timbre of the music blaring like it wanted to bring down the Eiffel Tower, I made myself heard. There were gasps and people started yelling.

“Layla.” My father spoke through clenched teeth. “You can’t do this to me.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh thank God.” Hope’s voice reached me, but I had no time to consider what she said. I was too busy turning and running down the aisle in the opposite direction. I couldn’t think or consider what I’d just done. This was right. It had to be. Kit andI could live in abject misery the rest of our lives, or we could not do this to begin with. I was voting for plan B.

I ran and ran, leaving everyone in my wake. This was problematic. I was never alone, couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent any time by myself. I always had at least one security person with me because of some issue Dad had with people who wanted to harm him by getting to us. I didn’t even care. No one was going to hurt me. Not if I kept moving and never let myself stop.

I was in Paris, right by the Louvre actually, and I had no idea where I was going. I didn’t speak French, not a word of it. Languages didn’t work for me, like many other things my brain just couldn’t do. In my wedding dress, I didn’t have pockets or any money. Not even my cell phone. That didn’t matter. Crowds of people waited outside of the Louvre, and I rushed past them.

It had to be a bizarre sight, some redheaded woman running in a wedding dress past tourists in the middle of Paris.

I ran until I lost my shoes. No one stopped me. By contrast, people seemed very happy to get out of my way. Eventually, I felt like I’d actually been running in a circle and not getting anywhere particularly far. I stopped to catch my breath. No one chased me. I was all on my own in the middle of who knew where Paris without a friend in the world. I’d left all of them back at the Palais Royal, what few I had. Most of them were more like acquaintances I did things with when I wasn’t seeing Kit that night. Or after I left Kit to go do whatever partying he was going to engage in without me.

I’d had some real friends at the beginning of college, but then I’d dropped out to pursue my fashion career. That was what we’d said to the media. The truth was I couldn’t cut it in school. I just wasn’t very smart.

Never had been.

I supposed it hadn’t mattered very much.

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