Page 46 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“Could you move her somewhere else?” I ask.
“It’s too expensive.” She glances up at me as if she’s said something she shouldn’t have. It reinforces my theory that she’s struggling to pay for her nana’s care. “I mean, it would be too confusing for her. Next week she’ll be moved into the memory care unit, and that’ll be hard enough. Taking her to a whole new place is too much.” She gives me a sardonic grin. “For both of us.”
Her first response was most likely the more honest reason, and it bothers me. She’s dating Spencer. He plans to marry her. Why isn’t he helping her with the expense? He dressed her in designer brands and bought her a Boudron bag, but he can’t foot the bill for her grandma?
I want to stop listening to the voice that’s telling me her relationship with my cousin is insincere, but I’m finding that impossible with this new hypothesis.
“Tell me again how you met Spencer?” I offer her popcorn, and she takes a kernel without looking at me.
“At a party last New Year’s Eve.”
“Spencer doesn’t party. Unless it was a firm event, or a client invited him, he wouldn’t be at a party.”
She takes more popcorn and eats each kernel one at a time. People jostle around us, but we stick together, shoulder to shoulder.
“Did you lie?” I ask.
She stops at a booth of hand sewn aprons and flips through the child-sized rack without seeing them.
“We didn’t lie,” Layla says meekly. “I met him at a party. But, you’re right, it was at the house of one of his clients.”
“How do you know his client?” Spencer’s clients are business people who make a million dollars a year, minimum. Layla doesn’t hit me as the kind of person who hangs out with millionaires. That’s one of the things I like about her.
She huffs. “Why do you care who I know?”
“I don’t,” I say with a shrug. “I want to understand how you and Spencer met. You’re not his type.”
“Because I’m aschool teacher?”
She walks away, and I follow until I’m beside her again.
“I offended you with that comment last night, and that wasn’t my intention. How well do you know the Eccleston family? My mother was disowned because she married my dad, aschool teacher. It’s a sore subject for me.”
She slows her pace. “I’m sorry; I didn’t make the connection. Spencer doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s never cared about my career, and as far as I can see, neither does anyone else in the family.”
Probably because Grandfather isn’t here anymore. If he were alive, there is no way Spencer would have brought Layla to Christmas. It’s harsh, but it’s true. I’m shocked Spencer started dating her before Grandfather passed. My cousin never rebels.
“He may not care about your profession,” I say. I should not say another word, but she doesn’t see how mismatched with is with Spencer, and that bothers me. “But he cares about your appearance because he picks out your clothes. How much did the Boudron cost you? Three thousand atleast. And the coat? Another two thousand. I’d be surprised if those slacks were less than nine hundred.”
She stops in the middle of the path and glares at me. I’ve hurt her and I hate it, but I don’t regret what I said. She shouldn’t settle for a guy who treats her like a Barbie doll.
“How do you know I didn’t buy this coat myself?” Her voice quivers, but she glares with all the confidence in the world.
“Because I’ve seen you multiple times over the last six months, and you’ve never worn it until yesterday. Tori has a coat just like that in green, and it was new this fall. She wouldn’t shut up about it when I talked to her last month.”
Her stance softens. “I can’t understand why you care.”
“Because I care about you, Layla. Call me a fool, but I do. Are you in need of money? Is Spencer manipulating you?” I lean close and lower my voice. “Do you know he stands to inherittwenty milliondollars when he marries?”
Her expression doesn’t change as I mention the insane amount of money, which tells me she knows. Maybe I’ve gotten this wrong, and she’s manipulatinghim. I instantly disregard that thought. Layla isn’t the type to harm anyone, not even for her benefit.
She turns and stalks away. This time I don’t keep up, but follow slowly behind. She catches up to Brady, who’s trying on a greenLord of the Ringscape at a booth that sells fantasy costumes.
As I approach, Brady turns to me. “Owen, this is what I want for Christmas.”
“I already got you a Christmas gift.”
“I won’t like it as much as this.”
