Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 22

PREPARING FOR CHRISTMAS at Bellbrae had always been one of Layla’s favourite pastimes, but with Logan there to offer his assistance, it took her enjoyment to a whole new level. He helped her select a tree from the forest on the estate and with two of the grounds staff’s help, it was transported to the largest sitting room in the castle.

In the past, Layla and her great-aunt had done the decorating of the tree, especially in later years when Logan and his brother had often been abroad and Logan’s grandfather had been too infirm to do much more than sit and watch and offer suggestions about where a bauble or strip of tinsel should be placed.

They were in the sitting room, putting the last touches to the tree, Logan standing on a ladder while she held it steady so he could place the porcelain angel, which had been in the McLaughlin family for six decades, at the top of the tree.

‘There,’ he said with a note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘Let’s hope she makes it through one more festive season, but I seriously think we might have to get a new one for next year.’ He climbed down the ladder and began tidying up the boxes in which the decorations had been stored.

Next year? Layla mentally gulped. We?

There would be no ‘we’ next year. Their marriage would have ended in October, as Logan had planned from the start. Or would it? He had been so wonderful to her over the last few weeks. Attentive and loving…yes, loving. Surely it wasn’t just an act? There was nobody around to witness it, as Aunt Elsie had extended her holiday, and the other Bellbrae staff were mostly casual and weren’t in the castle much but working in the outbuildings or grounds.

Logan turned with two empty boxes in his arms and frowned at her expression. ‘Hey, what’s wrong, sweetie?’

‘Nothing…’ Layla bent down to pick up a tiny strip of silver tinsel off the carpet.

He put the boxes down and came over to where she was standing and brushed his finger across her lower lip. ‘If you keep chewing your lip like that it will bleed and then I won’t be able to kiss you.’

Layla forced a quick no-teeth smile. ‘I guess I’m just a bit tired…’

He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his gaze so dark it was hard to tell where his pupils began and ended. ‘Is your leg hurting you? You’ve been doing way too much and that walk to the forest to get the tree was a bit rough in places.’

‘My leg is okay, mostly,’ Layla said. The chronic neural pain she suffered from was still there but she was less conscious of it. She still limped, because one leg was shorter than the other, but she realised she had become almost oblivious to the slight awkwardness of her gait. ‘I think you’ve helped distract me from the discomfort.’ She put her arms around his waist and smiled, properly this time. ‘Now, we need to find some mistletoe to hang over the doorway.’

Logan’s eyes twinkled. ‘Who needs mistletoe?’ He lowered his mouth to hers in a long drugging kiss that made Layla’s senses sing. It was silly of her to keep filling her head with doubts over the future. Silly of her to listen to alarm bells ringing in her head…except they weren’t in her head.

Logan lifted his mouth off hers and cocked his head. ‘Is that your phone or mine?’

‘Mine.’ Layla slipped out of his loose hold and picked up her phone from one of the lamp tables where she’d left it earlier. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled and answered the phone. ‘Hi, Isla. How are you? I was going to call you and—’

‘Guess what?’ Excitement and joy sounded in Isla’s voice.

Layla’s heart skipped a beat ‘Oh, my God, you’ve had the baby?’

‘Yes, a little girl,’ Isla said. ‘She was in a big hurry to get here—almost three weeks early—and I was only in labour two hours. Rafe was beside himself, trying to get me to the hospital in time. We’ve called her Gabriella Marietta Layla. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s adorable. Rafe is completely and utterly smitten.’

Tears came to Layla’s eyes and her chest swelled with love for her friend. ‘You named her after me? Oh, my goodness, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say you’ll be her godmother,’ Isla said. ‘And we’d like Logan to be her godfather. We would be so honoured to have you both as Gabriella’s godparents.’

Layla pictured Logan standing with her at the christening font, agreeing to spiritually sponsor their godchild. It was such an honour for any couple. And since they had become more of a connected couple than before, it seemed the perfect cementing of their relationship. Didn’t their increasing closeness signify a more promising future together? There were times when she was almost certain he loved her. He hadn’t said it but his body, his gaze, his touch said it for him. And didn’t hers tell him much the same?

‘We would be delighted to,’ Layla said. ‘I can’t wait to meet her in person. Can you put the face camera feature on so I can see her now?’

‘Here we go…’ Isla did the necessary button-pressing and the real-time camera showed a tiny pink bundle cradled in her adoring father’s arms.

Layla was so overcome with emotion once she got off the phone that she could barely speak. Happy joyful emotion. Jubilation for her friend and for the love and security she had found in Rafe. That was what she wanted with Logan. Lasting love, a family. Building a harmonious home life together. ‘Gosh, I can’t believe I’m a sort of aunty. And a godmother.’ She turned to Logan and smiled. ‘Did you hear? We’ve been invited to be Gabriella’s godparents. I’ve never been a godparent before, have you?’

Logan’s expression and posture were so still he could have been snap-frozen while she’d been on the phone. ‘No. I have not.’ His voice was flat, almost toneless, except for a fine thread of anger running underneath.

Layla frowned, her heart missing a beat. Why was he looking so cold and distant? ‘What’s wrong?’

He drew in a sharp breath and moved a few paces away, released the breath and then turned back to face her. ‘Do you not think it might have been appropriate to ask me first before accepting an invitation like that?’

Layla swallowed a bauble-sized lump in her throat. ‘But I thought you’d be honoured to—’

‘You thought wrong,’ he said, brows drawn down heavily in a brooding frown.

‘Logan…’ She tried for a conciliatory tone but missed the mark. ‘Why are you so upset? Being asked to be a godparent is such a lovely thing. It’s mostly symbolic these days but, still, it’s wonderful to be asked. I would feel awful saying no. And besides, they want both of us.’

‘You’ve seen the rubbish job I’ve done of being responsible for my brother. And don’t get me started on what a mess I made with Susannah. I’m not signing up for any more responsibility, especially when we’re not really a couple. Or at least not for the long term.’

Not really a couple. Not for the long term.

The words hit her like slaps. Cold hard stinging slaps of truth. A truth she had been hiding from for weeks and weeks, fooling herself her relationship with Logan was something else. Something like Isla had with Rafe. But it wasn’t. It never had been and never could be.

Why had she fooled herself it could?

Layla took a steadying breath, trying to control her spiralling emotions. ‘So, what you’re saying is you don’t want to be Gabriella’s godfather?’

‘I don’t want to be any child’s godfather.’ His eyes were as hard as his tone. Diamond hard. Don’t-ask-me-twice hard. ‘You had no right to answer for me. We might be having a good time but it doesn’t mean you get to sign me up for things I have no interest in.’

‘A good time?’ Layla gasped. ‘Is that all this is to you? Is that all I am to you?’ Pain ripped through her chest as if her ribcage was being wrenched apart with steel claws. But she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Not now. Not in front of him. How could she have been so gullible, so foolish as to think their physical closeness meant emotional closeness? He was as far away from her as he had ever been. She had fooled herself that his touch meant he loved her. That his passionate kisses meant he cared. That his lovemaking was lovemaking, not just sex.

Logan shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, glaring at her like she was an intruder he had never seen before and not the woman he had spent the last two months making passionate love to. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth. I told you right at the start how things were going to be. You accepted my terms.’

‘Your terms are completely ridiculous,’ Layla said. ‘They’re your insurance scheme against getting hurt, that’s what they really are. And here I was thinking my limp was holding me back, stopping me doing all the things other people do. But at the end of the day it’s just a physical limp. Your emotional limp is far worse. It completely disables you and yet you can’t see it.’

He gave a mocking laugh that grated on her already shredded emotions. ‘Thanks for the free psychoanalysis but I don’t need you to tell me how I think.’

‘You don’t need me at all,’ Layla said. ‘You don’t need anyone. You won’t allow yourself to. Which is why I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t be in a relationship that has limits set on it. I spent my childhood trying to fit in with impossible standards. Standards that didn’t factor in my needs or aspirations. Standards that didn’t include love. I want more than that now. I deserve more than that and you do too.’

His expression was masked but she sensed a simmering anger behind the dark screen of his gaze. ‘You’re free to come and go as you please. I can’t make you stay.’

Yes, you can, Layla wanted to say. Just three little words would make me stay.

But those three little words had never been a part of their arrangement. Neither had a future together ever been part of the deal. Logan had always been blatantly honest about that. ‘I don’t think it will help either of us if I were to stay on in this relationship. Of course, I won’t jeopardise your inheritance of Bellbrae. I will be your wife on paper, as you first suggested, to fulfil the terms of your grandfather’s will.’

‘Magnanimous of you.’ His coolly delivered comment was as cutting as a switchblade.

Layla pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. She couldn’t fall apart now. He was making it perfectly clear there was no hope for their marriage. No hope at all. ‘I think it’s best if I leave straight away. I will pack a few things and come for the rest later.’

‘There’s no need to be so dramatic, Layla,’ Logan said. ‘I’m sure we can be perfectly civil to each other until tomorrow morning. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours. I don’t like the thought of you driving all the way to Edinburgh at this time of day.’

And risk having him try and change her mind? No. It was better she leave now while she still had the strength and courage and self-respect to do so. Layla raised her chin to a determined height, her gaze steady on his unreadable one. ‘I appreciate your concern, but my mind is made up.’

Anger flared in his gaze and his mouth went into a flat line and he began a caged-tiger-like pacing of the floor. ‘This all seems rather sudden and impulsive.’ He stopped pacing to spear her with a look. ‘A few minutes ago, we were kissing. Now you say you want out?’

Layla smoothed her sweaty palms down her thighs, wishing she could smooth away the heartache she was feeling. ‘It’s not as sudden as you might think. I’ve been worried from the start—you know I have. I didn’t want you to lose Bellbrae. But I can’t lose myself in the process of you gaining your inheritance. And that’s what’s already happening. I can’t be who I’m meant to be if I’m tailoring my needs to suit your plans. I have my own plans and they don’t include a short-term loveless marriage.’

He rolled his eyes heavenwards and let out a not-quite-inaudible curse. ‘Oh, I thought you’d mention the L word eventually. You think I don’t care about you? Is that what you think?’

Layla forced herself to hold his embittered gaze. ‘I know you care. You care about lots of people. But you don’t love me.’

He sucked in a harsh breath and strode to stand in front of the waist-height bookcase. ‘You’re suddenly such an expert on my feelings.’ He pushed a hand through his hair and then dropped it back by his side. ‘Love?’ He shook his head and let out another breath and continued, ‘I don’t trust that emotion. I don’t trust the word when people say it to me. My mother said it so frequently and look how that turned out.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Are you saying you love me?’

Layla ran the tip of her tongue over her parchment-dry lips. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I did or not. You don’t love me the way I want to be loved.’

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he lowered his hand from his face to look at her. ‘No one can love anyone the way they want to be loved. The standard is set too high, fed by romantic fantasies encouraged by popular culture. It’s not real, Layla. What you feel for me is not real, it’s just a fantasy.’

How like him to intellectualise everything. How like him to dismiss her feelings as simple fantasy. What hope was there to ever change his mind? She had seen her mother try desperately to get her father to love her and it hadn’t happened. Layla had tried to get both her parents to love her and yet the drugs and drink had triumphed over her. Lucky Layla wasn’t so lucky after all.

She was unlucky in love.

‘I’m going upstairs to pack. I’ll text you when I arrive in Edinburgh.’

‘Fine.’

Layla took off the engagement ring and held it out to him. ‘I think you should have this back. It’s a family heirloom and I’m not family.’ Or ever will be.

His eyes hardened to ice, his jaw set in stone. ‘Keep it. I don’t want it.’

Layla curled her fingers around the ring and slipped it into her pocket and silently left the room.

His words could just as easily be referring to her love for him.

Keep it. I don’t want it.

Logan forced himself to watch Layla’s tail-lights fading into the distance. Forced himself to stand there at the window, watching her leave, instead of racing to his own car and driving after her, begging her to come back. But he was not the sort of man to beg. To plead. To humiliate himself over a relationship that was never going to work. It had all the odds stacked against it from the start and wasn’t he the biggest odds of them?

He was the last person to be anyone’s godparent. What sort of spiritual guardian would he be? He had messed up big time with his younger brother, keeping the reins too loose, and now he couldn’t pull back on them. It was painful to watch his brother self-destruct, knowing he was partly, if not wholly, responsible. He had done an even worse job of taking care of his fiancée. Taking on any more responsibility was asking for another monumental screw-up.

And now he had another one for his personal failure board—his relationship with Layla. It had been doomed from the outset because he was the common denominator in all his failed relationships. There was no escaping the uncomfortable truth that he was unable to care for someone without letting them down.

The tail-lights were finally swallowed by the cloaking darkness and he closed the curtains. Hadn’t he stood at this very window as a seven-year-old boy, looking for the lights of his mother’s car? Every night for a year he had waited, hoping, praying she would return. But, of course, she never had. His mother had told him she loved him every day of his life and yet those words had not brought her back. Her love had not brought her back. It had vanished with her. Or—even more likely—it hadn’t been there in the first place.

Layla fancied herself in love with him and he blamed himself for not sticking to his rules. He had blurred the boundaries by taking their relationship from on paper to passion and now he had to pay the price.

But he still had Bellbrae.

Layla had promised not to do anything that would compromise his inheritance and for that he was grateful. To lose Bellbrae would be to lose a big part of himself. He glanced at the Christmas tree that only a short time ago they had decorated together. The porcelain angel on the top of the tree had slipped sideways and looked in danger of falling. He deliberated on whether to climb back up the ladder or leave the angel to its fate. It had been repaired a few times—once Flossie as a puppy had run off with it during the tree-decorating process. Another time Robbie had thrown it in a tantrum not long after their mother had left. It had taken Logan ages to glue it back together before anyone noticed.

Flossie pushed the sitting-room door open with her nose and padded over to him, her tail low, her brown eyes so woebegone it made something in Logan’s gut tighten. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said, frowning. ‘I didn’t ask her to leave.’

But you didn’t convince her to stay either.

He pushed aside the intrusive thought and went over to where he had propped the stepladder against the wall. He unfolded the ladder and began climbing but he had only got up three rungs when the angel toppled from the top of the tree and fell to the floor, her porcelain face smashing into pieces no amount of superglue was ever going to fix.

Layla booked herself into a bed and breakfast in Haymarket in the west end of Edinburgh and fell into bed but not into sleep. She lay on her back, eyes streaming with tears, her chest aching with emptiness. What a fool she had been to admit she loved Logan. A gauche fool who should have known better than to think he would ever return her feelings. He had locked away his heart and she had been crazy to think she of all people held the key. She didn’t. And never would.

She looked at her bare ring finger and sighed. She’d left his grandmother’s engagement ring and her wedding ring on Logan’s bedside table. There was no way she could keep his family heirloom. The ring would just have been a painful reminder of how she had failed to win his heart—of how her dreams had been shattered like a robin’s egg on concrete.

She picked up her phone and checked if he’d replied to her text informing him she had arrived safely. He had, but in characteristic fashion had kept it brief.

Okay.

No words asking her to reconsider. No words of love. Just ‘Okay’.

Layla put the phone back down and flopped back against the pillows with another sigh. More fool her for wanting more than was possible.

But wasn’t that the pitiful story of her life?