It was naïve and foolish of me to even think someone like Layla would want me.
How could she?
She doesn’t even know me.
Fuck!
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t have given her this ultimatum. I should have just offered to help with Zoey’s hospital bills and leave it at that. It was absurd of me to ask her to be my wife. What was I thinking? Aside from stalking her, what do I really know about the girl? I don’t know her, just like she doesn’t have the faintest clue about the man I am.
Stop lying to yourself. You know Layla.
She’s the only real thing in your life.
The only peace you will ever know.
Fuck it.
If this is my only chance to have her, then by God, I will.
If Layla doesn’t show up today, then not only will I bend her over my knee and fuck her senseless when I do find her, but I’ll bring her right back here and put a goddamn ring on her finger, kicking and screaming if I have to.
Fuck her being happy without me.
I’m her happiness, just as she’s mine.
Layla just doesn’t know it yet.
With that thought in mind, the weight on my shoulders begins to lift, but any air I had in my lungs disappears when I see Layla running toward me in a simple white summer dress, her hair in total disarray. She stops right in front of me, her palm to her chest as she tries to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible,” she tells me, panting nervously. Her eyes dart away from mine for a moment.
The lump in my throat from seeing her here prevents me from uttering a word.
“Have they called us yet?” she asks worriedly, looking around.
I shake my head mutely, unable to even speak. She came . . . and more than that, she’s fucking stunning. She doesn’t need a million-dollar wedding dress to look gorgeous. Every inch of her is perfect and made for me, down to the old, worn heels she teeters in.
Her brows wrinkle as she continues to stare at me.
“Is everything okay?” she questions softly, watching me nervously. Fear blooms in those emerald depths as she begins to fidget. Fuck, I put that there. I need to fix it and fast.
Everything is more than okay—it’s perfect.
But instead of uttering those words, I limit myself to a nod.
“Good. I’m glad.” She smiles hesitantly, straightening as some of her confidence returns.
I swallow down the lump of emotion in my throat and take her in, from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She looks absolutely stunning in her cream heels and a simple spaghetti strap dress. It’s perfect in its simplicity, although I’m kicking myself for not thinking of sending her something more expensive for her to use today just to show her how serious I am. But then again, I doubt any Vera Wang could possibly top her thrift store dress.
“Aren’t you cold?” I mumble, nervous she’s going to end up catching pneumonia wearing such a dress in the middle of winter.
“Not right now. When I realized the cab wasn’t going to make it in time, I had to run two blocks over here. I must have taken off my coat somewhere in the middle,” she answers, holding up her coat.
It’s at this moment that I realize something else is missing too.
No. Not something.