“You think he’ll hold me hostage, until you give him South in return? Should I remind you that he thought the exact same thing not so long ago about you?”
“Layla, you’re the most important thing in my life.” The power of his words could annihilate the whole city. “If Julij sees it, so does Frank. He’s losing, and he’ll stop at nothing to stay afloat.”
I turn left to avoid traffic. “Frank’s unpredictable, but not to that extent.”
That’s not part of the plan.
“Fine. I’ll meet you there.” Keys rattle in the background, cutting the time I hoped to have with Frank in half.
“You’re overreacting. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not leaving you there alone, Layla.”
Before I could persuade him, he cut the call. Frank’s car sits outside the garage, but Jess’s pink Escalade is gone. Nerves rage in me like a hurricane as I storm inside the house, the heels of my boots clicking on the marble floor. I march straight into his office, ready to scream and call him names. Ready to pack my bags and never set foot in this house again.
Frank sits by the desk, a cigar in one hand and a half-empty glass of whiskey in the other. One look at him, and my battle-ready mind crumbles. Courage fades, leaving just fear.
“Is it true?” I ask, my throat closing in. “You told him torapeme?”
Frank looks up, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t have to answer. It’s in his face: guilty as charged.
“Why?! How could you?! What did I do wrong? I did everything you told me to!”
“Calm down,” he snaps, tearing himself out of the chair without glancing in my direction. This conversation can’t take place inside. Frank’s too afraid the house might be wired. I follow him outside and join him when he stops under an old cherry tree. ”The plan was falling apart,” he says, his voice full of something much more sinister than the remorse I hoped to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Layla
EIGHTMONTHS EARLIER
The hotel bellboy leaves my suitcase by the bed and proceeds to unload my ski gear off the trolley. I take my thick winter coat off, heading straight to the bathroom to take a hot shower. Frank offered to spend a few days alone with me for the first time since I turned six. If there was anything else I wanted more than his attention, I wouldn’t have agreed to a weekend in Aspen.
Just the thought of all the snow and freezing temperatures is enough to scare me away, but I agreed because spending time with Frank compensates for the inconveniences. Skiing and talking took up most of our time. Each time he asks a question, I feel happier. He wants to know my plans, how my Italian is coming along, and whether I’ve made friends with Allie.
He’s cheerful for the first time in years. He even smiles, watching my clumsiness stop me from mastering the art of not falling down every ten seconds.
After dinner, we sit in the corner of the room, Frank with a glass of bourbon and me with a glass of mulled wine. It has been a while since I’ve felt so blissfully happy.
“It was a pleasant day, don’t you think?” Frank stretches out in his chair.
“Yes. We should do it more often. I’m willing to endure the cold and a sore butt.”
“Yes, it’d be nice if we could do it more often and build our relations without anything standing in our way.” His tone changes. He’s still friendly but nervous, too.
“What stands in the way?”
“Me... my business.” He waits for a moment as if deciding whether to keep talking. “I need your help.”
An unexpected shot of adrenaline jolts my body. I’ve never heard Frank Harston ask for help before. He’s too proud, too self-sufficient to seek help. I know that him asking and askingme ofall people is significant.
I jitter in my seat, growing impatient. Maybe if I help him, I’ll earn his acceptance. For five years now, he’s been treating me like a stranger. He was never a loving, caring father, we were never close, but five years ago, an invisible, impenetrable wall grew between us.
“Of course. What do you want me to do?”
Frank smiles, pleased with my eagerness. “I want you to help me regain South.”
My eyebrows form one line. That’s the last thing I expected to hear. “I don’t understand... how?”