Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  “When did you get here?” Layla demanded.

  “Two days ago.” He set the drink in front of her, not sure when he’d ever felt this self-conscious. Was she happy he was here, or furious? He honestly couldn’t tell.

  Layla took a sip of her drink. “You’ve been here for two days and haven’t called me?”

  Tyler grabbed a rag and focused on wiping the counter. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure how to react. Wow.” She brushed her bangs off her forehead—a nervous gesture he’d come to love in Europe—and took another sip of her mint julep. “So you decided to defer your master’s program for a year?”

  “I ended up withdrawing.” One lazy night in Normandy they’d sat on the hotel’s balcony discussing this very thing. Her eyes had lit up with excitement at his plan, and he’d thought she had never looked more attractive.

  Layla leaned forward, her eyes brightening just like they had that night. “Are you taking the money and flipping a house?”

  He couldn’t help but smile at the eager anticipation in her voice. “Yes. I’ve already got a Realtor and everything.”

  “Tyler, that’s amazing.”

  The tall man pushed his way through the crowd, making his way toward Layla. Tyler grit his teeth. “Thanks.”

  One of the man’s large hands landed on her shoulder, making Tyler’s blood boil. “Do you have a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Layla rose from the barstool, cocking an eyebrow at Tyler. “Talk to you later?”

  “Of course,” Tyler said, swallowing back his disappointment. Maybe this guy was just a date and not a boyfriend. Layla seemed happy enough to see Tyler.

  She lifted her glass. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Anytime.”

  The man placed a hand at the small of Layla’s back, guiding her away from the bar. Tyler had certainly never been so forward with just a date. The gesture hinted at more than a casual acquaintance.

  Well, phase one of Tyler’s plan was complete. Layla definitely knew he was here. But phase two—admit his feelings—already looked in jeopardy. Now he had to beat out the competition.

  Classical music wove through the gentle murmur of voices filling the ballroom. Layla walked away from Tyler on shaky legs, hoping it wasn’t obvious her heart wanted to pound right out of her chest. She was vaguely aware of Grant’s hand at the small of back, guiding her through the crowd.

  Tyler had come to South Carolina, and she’d totally forgotten about Grant in the shock of the moment. No wonder hurt had flashed across Tyler’s face. It wasn’t like she’d exactly kept her feelings for him hidden.

  She’d dreamed of Tyler chasing after her a dozen times. That final night in Belgium, when they’d seen the last tour group safely to the airport and their job with Destiny Tours was officially over, she’d lain in bed and prayed Tyler would pound on the door. Imagined opening it to a tortured declaration of love, and finally—finally—a feverish kiss. But he hadn’t showed up that night, and she’d spent hours listening to the quiet breathing of her roommate and trying not to cry.

  The next morning, he had stopped by her room before leaving for the airport. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he’d stared at his shoes and mumbled a goodbye. Then he climbed in a taxi and left without so much as a final hug. Layla had cried for an hour, canceled her plane ticket home, and hopped a train to Italy.

  Grant’s lips brushed against her hair, making Layla jump.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She resisted the urge to pull away; they didn’t know each other well enough for whispered conversations, despite what their fathers wanted. But Grant had been a perfect gentleman all evening, staying close but not too close. A distant look in his eyes hinted at some hidden pain. Layla imagined the divorce weighing on him. Did he still love his wife?

  “Just fine,” Layla said, forcing a smile. “I worked with Tyler in Europe this summer. I didn’t expect to see him here.”

  Grant raised one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. He was GQ gorgeous, with his chocolate-brown wavy hair, trim beard, and wide brown eyes. Breathtakingly beautiful—the kind of guy she would’ve flirted with unashamedly four months ago. “You spent the summer in Europe?”

  Wow. They really knew nothing about each other. “Yeah, as a chaperone for high school tours.” Her gaze drifted back to Tyler. She’d never seen him in a suit and couldn’t decide if she liked the look or not. It hung on his lanky figure, but not in an unpleasant way. His messy strawberry-blond hair flew every which way, and his ears stuck out from his freckled face endearingly.

  He wasn’t gorgeous like Grant, but the boy-next-door quality was beyond appealing.

  “You didn’t know he was coming?” Grant asked, pulling her back to the present.

  “No.” I decided to take you up on your suggestion and see what South Carolina has to offer. What did that even mean?

  “Hmm,” Grant said.

  Had Tyler come here hoping to finally date? They’d danced around a relationship all summer. She’d opened up about her past, as unexciting as it was, hoping he’d reciprocate and she could figure out what made him so gun shy, but he’d revealed nothing. She’d finally convinced herself he hadn’t made a move because he wasn’t interested. It certainly wasn’t for lack of effort on her part.

  Of course he’d show up as soon as she agreed to a fake relationship with Grant. Nothing with Tyler had ever been easy.

  Time to change the subject. “You said your father wanted to see us?” Layla prodded.

  “Yes. He mentioned some sort of toast?” Grant shrugged, the movement fluid and graceful. “Probably wants to say something about the new store.”

  Layla pointed to the grand piano nestled in one corner of the room. A tall man with obviously dyed hair and an expensive designer suit that screamed trying too hard stood beside it. Mr. Davenport seriously needed a fashion consultant. “Is that him talking to the lieutenant governor?”

  “Good eye,” Grant said.

  They made their way toward the cluster of men near the piano. The smile on Mr. Davenport’s face said he was pleased with tonight’s party. Layla had to admit it was an excellent turnout, especially for a Thursday. Her father had pulled out all the stops.

  “Grant.” Mr. Davenport clapped his son on the shoulder and gave Layla a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s good of you to join us. Both of you.”

  “It’s a pleasure to be here, Mr. Davenport,” Layla lied. “Congratulations on the new dealership.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Mr. Davenport motioned to the group of men. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you know Layla Anderson.”

  “Of course,” the attorney general said, giving her a nod.

  “We’re so happy Grant has finally found a woman worthy of his affections,” the lieutenant governor added.

  Layla blushed and leaned into Grant. Let it be said she knew how to play her role. “Trust me, I’m the lucky one.” At least tonight had reassured her that dating Grant wouldn’t ruin her rep. Although, it might ruin her last chance with Tyler.

  Maybe he was only here for flipping houses, and it had nothing to do with her. South Carolina had some beautiful properties.

  They made small talk for a moment, and then Mr. Davenport said, “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. It’s time I make a toast.” He waggled a finger at Layla and Grant. “You two don’t go anywhere.”

  “We won’t.” Grant placed a hand on the small of Layla’s back again, pulling her closer. She glanced at the bar, but Tyler was handing a drink to a guest.

  The music drew to a gentle conclusion, and the room soon grew quiet.

  “Thank you so much for coming out tonight to celebrate Davenport Dealership’s twenty-ninth lot,” Mr. Davenport said into a microphone, his deep voice rumbling throughout the room. “Hasn’t Mr. Anderson thrown a wonderful party?”

  The spotlight shifted to her parents. They were only a few yards away, previously hidden by the crush of peop
le. The crowd clapped politely as her parents waved. Layla caught Daddy’s gaze, but he quickly looked away. Mom clutched his arm, her smile tense and forced. A twinge of unease curled beneath Layla’s ribcage.

  “But Davenport Dealership isn’t the only thing we’re celebrating tonight,” Mr. Davenport continued.

  Layla raised an eyebrow, looking up at Grant. He gave another of those fluid shrugs. Her father stared unblinkingly at Mr. Davenport, that plastic smile on his lips.

  Mr. Davenport held out an arm toward Layla and Grant, and the spotlight swiveled toward them. Layla stiffened, forcing her own fake smile forward. Was Mr. Davenport going to announce she was Grant’s girlfriend or something? Awkward . . . especially with Tyler watching. How was she supposed to explain this to him without upsetting Mr. Davenport?

  The smile on Mr. Davenport’s face was electric. “It is with great pleasure that I announce the engagement of my son, Grant Davenport to Miss Layla Anderson!”

  Engaged?

  Her legs went limp, and she stumbled into a pale-faced Grant. He wrapped an arm supportively around her waist, jaw clenched tight. Blood rushed through Layla’s ears, and her mouth was desert dry.

  The crowd turned toward them, clapping enthusiastically. Layla forced herself to smile, but knew it was less than convincing.

  “Join me in offering congratulations to the happy couple,” Mr. Davenport continued. “Let the party continue!”

  This wasn’t right. She hadn’t agreed to an engagement, had she? That would’ve been ridiculous.

  No. Her father had definitely used the word date. Which meant either he’d lied to her, or Mr. Davenport had gone rogue. An emotion she couldn’t name swept through her entire being. Was this what betrayal felt like?

  Across the ballroom, Tyler’s lanky figure leaned against the bar, a rag held limply to a glass. Tyler, who had moved to South Carolina. Tyler, who now thought she was engaged.

  The spotlight flicked off, and the crowd broke up into smaller conversations. Layla and Grant were immediately accosted by well-wishers.

  “Congratulations,” Mrs. Oliver, the wife of the mayor, said.

  “Th-thank you,” Layla stammered.

  Miss South Carolina—Layla didn’t know her actual name—gave a syrupy smile. “I had no idea you were even dating someone, Grant. And so soon after your divorce. It’s only been, what, two months?”

  Grant’s arm tightened around Layla’s waist. “Four, actually. And we were separated for a year before that.”

  Layla leaned into Grant, matching Miss South Carolina’s sickly sweet expression with one of her own. “When it’s right, it’s right,” she murmured, gazing up at Grant.

  He gave her a smile so full of pain and gratitude that Layla knew there was no way he’d known about the engagement.

  But her father had to have known. Why else wouldn’t he look at her? Yes, the burning in her blood was definitely betrayal.

  She forced back the fury. Now was not the time to rock the boat—a boat loaded with debt and about to sink.

  “You must tell us the engagement story,” Mrs. Oliver said.

  How dare Daddy put her in this situation. When this party ended, she would let her anger flow, but first she would play the part. She needed to know what she was igniting before watching it burn to ash.

  Grant cleared his throat. “Well, I asked her out to dinner.”

  She should stand there stoically, an unwilling fiancée, and let the gossips set their tongues wagging. But what if Mr. Davenport refused to help Cypress Grove? Suddenly the consequences for not playing along felt all too real.

  “It was my favorite restaurant,” Layla prodded.

  “And when the waiter brought her drink, the ring was frozen in an ice cube.” Grant’s words were slow and halting, his eyes wide and unsure. He clearly had no idea what constituted a romantic engagement story, bless his heart. They’d both been duped by their fathers’ schemes.

  Layla leaned into him, wrapping both her arms around one of his. “Not just any drink, but a specialty drink he made me on our first date—The Layla. I couldn’t stop crying when I saw the ring, and he got down on one knee in front of all those people.”

  “That is simply charming,” Mrs. Oliver said, but the downturn of her mouth hinted at disapproval.

  Miss South Carolina grabbed Layla’s left hand. Layla curled her fingers reflexively.

  “And just where is this ice cube ring?” Miss South Carolina asked. She dropped Layla’s hand and laughed. “Did it come from a gum ball machine and already break?”

  “Of course not.” Layla leveled a scowl at the catty woman. “It’s at the jewelers.”

  “Surely it doesn’t need cleaning already,” Miss South Carolina said.

  “It’s . . . broken,” Grant said.

  Oh geez. He really was awful at deception. “I knocked a prong loose,” Layla clarified.

  “She’ll have it back soon,” Grant said.

  “Well, congratulations,” Mrs. Oliver cut in. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

  “Certainly,” Miss South Carolina said with a smirk. “Congratulations.”

  As the women walked away, Grant leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “We’ll deal with this after the party,” Layla said.

  Grant nodded, his deep brown eyes full of gratitude. And for the first time, Layla wondered why. Yes, his ex-wife was crazy. But what did Grant get out of pretending to date—or be engaged—to someone else?

  They spent the next few hours dodging well-wishers and accepting the unavoidable congratulations. Lying without getting caught was more exhausting than Layla had ever imagined. She glanced toward the bar several times, hoping to catch Tyler’s eye, but he was always busy with guests.

  It took an eternity for the party to wind down and guests to leave. It was after one a.m.—late, especially considering it wasn’t the weekend—when the ballroom finally emptied. Layla let her smile drop, and her face muscles instantly breathed a sigh of relief.

  Engaged.

  Tyler had disappeared along with the guests. Staff scurried into the ballroom, a definitive sign that the party had ended.

  Layla turned to Grant and folded her arms. “Okay, mister, you have a lot of explaining to do. I don’t remember anyone getting down on one knee and asking for my hand. What happened tonight?”

  Grant held up his hands in a helpless shrug. “I have no idea. I’m so sorry, Layla. We’ll talk to my father and get this straightened out. I agreed to a few dates for the society types, but that’s it.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She brushed her bangs off her forehead and let out a sigh. “This has to be our fathers’ doing. I can’t figure out why.”

  “My father is obsessed with image.” Grant grimaced and looked away. “My wife is a threat to that. I guess he thinks you’re the Band-Aid.”

  Wife. It hadn’t escaped Layla that he still referred to his ex in the present tense. Whatever had happened to break up his marriage, he obviously still wasn’t over it. “If you don’t want to go forward with this, you need to tell him.”

  Grant shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. “Elizabeth is my kryptonite. I’m not thinking clearly, and my father always does what he thinks is best. This time, I’m going to let him take the lead.”

  So much for Grant being her out. Layla sighed, but nodded. “We need to talk to our parents. I bet they’re all in the study, congratulating themselves on the successful execution of tonight’s little scheme.”

  They wove through staffers putting away chairs and made their way down an empty hallway. The door to her father’s study stood open, the faint haze of cigar smoke obscuring the dark wood-paneled walls.

  She found her parents and Mr. Davenport seated in the chairs surrounding the large fireplace. The men each held a cigar, and her mother sipped from a wine glass.

  “What in tarnation happened?” Layla demanded, looking back and for
th between the three parents. Grant stood silently beside her. What she wouldn’t give to read his mind right now.

  Charlie took a puff of his cigar, an oily smile spreading across his lips. “Tonight couldn’t have gone better.”

  Layla sank into a chair, her legs like jelly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We had no rings, no engagement story, nothing.”

  Daddy shot her a warning glance, his eyes dark with worry.

  “I thought it was better this way,” Mr. Davenport said.

  How? Layla wondered, but she held her tongue. What agenda could possibly be served by keeping Layla and Grant in the dark?

  Charlie snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray and clapped Grant on the back. “You two exchange contact info, if you haven’t already, and then we can get home. Tomorrow is soon enough to hash out the details. I know I’m beat.”

  Layla’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly snapped it shut.

  Grant pulled out his cell phone, avoiding Layla’s eyes. “Let me get your number.”

  Mom’s hand grabbed Layla’s, squeezing hard. Layla recited her number in a daze and quickly entered Grant’s in her phone as well.

  “Tomorrow then,” Mr. Davenport said. “Thanks for an excellent party, Drew.”

  “Of course. Let me walk you out.” Daddy rose and led both Grant and Mr. Davenport out of the room. Grant looked over his shoulder and mouthed sorry.

  Layla sank into the couch next to her mother, keeping her voice at a harsh whisper. “What just happened?”

  “Oh, Layla.” Her mother let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But your father’s right—this might be our only way out of this mess.”

  “So to save the family fortune, I’m supposed to marry a total stranger?”

  “It’s not going to get that far.”

  Layla thrust out an arm. “It’s already gone way further than it was supposed to, and it hasn’t even been twelve hours.”

  “I know, sweetie. But Mr. Davenport—”

  Daddy re-entered the study, and her mother broke off.

  “Well?” Layla said.

  Daddy poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a seat. “I know tonight didn’t quite go like we discussed.”