Grant eased his way down the immaculately laid cobblestone driveway. Layla stepped out of the car and gazed up at the house. Tall marble pillars supported an elaborately carved beam, and three shallow steps led up to the front door. Layla paused, staring at the monogrammed D in the iron door knocker. Grant didn’t bother knocking.
“I told the jeweler to wait for us in the east parlor,” Grant said, leading her through the entryway.
Layla stared up at the massive chandelier overhead. It had to be at least twice as large as the biggest one at Cypress Grove and overtook the entire room.
“This way,” Grant said. She followed him through a kitchen containing two six-burner stoves and through etched glass double-doors.
Layla stepped down into the parlor and looked around the room in surprise. It teemed with potted plants. The outside wall was mostly windows, and the tiled floor said sun room more than it said parlor.
Mr. Davenport and an elderly man sat in Victorian high-back chairs—definitely the wrong furniture for an Antebellum plantation, even if it was a replica—with a jewelry case on the short coffee table. Sunlight glinted off the diamonds, sending tiny rainbows about the space.
“Good. You’re here.” Mr. Davenport clapped Grant on the back then kissed Layla’s hand. “Calvin just got here. He brought a fine selection of engagement rings for you to choose from. Not a single center stone under three carats.”
Layla tried to keep her face impassive. A three carat ring would cost a fortune, but apparently Mr. Davenport wanted this charade to scream reality.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Calvin said, holding out a hand for both Layla and Grant to shake.
“Calvin’s aware of our little arrangement,” Mr. Davenport said. “Our secret’s safe with him. Pick whichever ring you like, Layla. I’ve got some business to attend to, so I’ll leave you to it.”
“Please, sit down.” Calvin motioned to the couch.
Layla sank into the plush fabric. The click of a closing door signaled Mr. Davenport’s departure.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d gravitate toward, so I brought a wide selection of settings,” Calvin continued.
He wasn’t kidding; there had to be at least two dozen rings here. She glanced down at her left hand, wondering what type of ring Tyler would one day buy for his bride. Certainly nothing as flashy as these. Perhaps a half-carat solitaire on a thin gold band. Simple, yet classic.
“Do you have a preference?” Layla asked Grant.
“Not really. Pick whatever you’re comfortable wearing.”
This is not how she’d envisioned picking out an engagement ring. Layla surveyed the rings nestled in black velvet. What would Tyler say when he saw one of these on her finger?
She picked up a pear-shaped yellow diamond in a criss-cross setting. It was nothing like the halo ring setting she would’ve gravitated toward. She didn’t want to choose a ring she loved for this fake engagement.
A bright light flashed in the room, followed quickly by another. Layla blinked, trying to clear the spots from her vision.
Grant jumped to his feet and raced from the room. Layla caught a glimpse of a wiry man with a camera running across the perfectly trimmed grass.
“What was that?” Layla asked, frowning at Calvin.
“I do believe a reporter just stole a photograph.” Calvin motioned to the pear-shaped diamond ring still in her hand. “Why don’t you try that on?”
Layla furrowed her brow. “A reporter?”
“The Davenports are the talk of the town these days. I suppose our little small-town scandals didn’t travel all the way to Europe, so you haven’t heard.”
Great. That photo would probably appear in full color in the Sunday paper. Hopefully Tyler wouldn’t see it. If she could downplay her relationship with Grant, convince Tyler to stick around . . .
Calvin gently took the ring and slid it onto Layla’s finger. She stared at it, her hand feeling weighted down with significance.
“The center stone is just a hair under three and a half carats,” Calvin continued. “The side stones add an additional carat in weight and are a D color. You’ll be hard pressed to find better cut or clarity in a ring.”
Grant rushed back into the room, breathing hard, and Layla yanked her gaze away from the ring.
“He got away. Security got the plates, but I doubt it’ll stop the photo from being printed.” Grant slumped back onto the couch, massaging his eyes with one hand. “Probably one of Elizabeth’s college friends. I’m really sorry, Layla.”
She flexed her fingers, pressing the thin band into the underside of her finger. “Do reporters take pictures of you on private property often?”
“They haven’t until recently, but I guess that photo will only help our case.”
Help his case, maybe, but hurt hers. Grant’s ex really was psycho, and now Layla was right in the middle of the whole mess. Awesome.
She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers until he stared at the ring. “What do you think of this one?”
“It’s fine,” Grant said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s the one I want,” Layla said, neatly sidestepping the question.
If only she could tell Tyler everything, but the risk of Mr. Davenport finding out was too great.
By the time Grant dropped her back at home, they’d worked out all the details of their story. Layla waved goodbye to Grant, then headed straight for the pond. Rain clouds hung heavy in the sky, and she prayed they’d drench her.
She slipped off her shoes and let the concrete warm her feet. The wind picked up, whipping bangs into her eyes. Time for an appointment with the stylist. Did they even have money for that sort of thing now?
Tires crunched on the gravel of the employee parking lot. Layla watched an older green Toyota park. The door swung open, the faint ding ringing through the air until the radio cut off.
A single foot emerged, followed by thin shoulders and a head of shaggy hair that glinted strawberry in the waning sunlight. She’d recognize that lanky figure anywhere.
Suddenly she was running across the concrete pier, up the gentle hill of soft clover, across the sharp rocks of the parking lot. She barely felt their sting against the soft skin of her feet.
Tyler turned around, a bewildered expression on his freckled face. “Layla?”
“Why are you really here?” She folded her arms, the unfamiliar diamond scraping against her arm.
He looked down, the tips of his ears glowing red. “You made South Carolina sound so appealing. I figured it was as good a place as any to flip houses.”
A raw ache burned at the back of her throat. “After all we’ve been through, that’s all you have to say to me?”
His eyes grew dark, and he shifted from foot to foot. “Congratulations. Grant is a lucky man.”
This wasn’t fair. Layla angrily pushed strands of hair out of face. “I gave you every opportunity to make a move this summer. I all but threw myself at you and nothing. That wasn’t easy, Tyler. You rejected me over and over again.”
“I didn’t—”
“Why. Are. You. Here?” She wanted to pound her fists against his chest. Scream at him for hiding from the chemistry between them. Force him to give her a chance.
The look in his eyes almost broke her. “I came here for you, okay? I was an idiot this summer, but you’re . . . and I’m . . .” He rested his hands on his hips, breathing hard. “I’m the one who should be upset here. You could’ve told me you had a boyfriend.”
“You could’ve taken one of a million hints and kissed me!” Thunder rumbled through the sky, and the first drop of rain landed on Layla’s arm.
Tyler ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “What does it matter now? You’re getting married.”
I’m not! The words were on the tip of her tongue, and she longed to hurl them at him. But Mr. Davenport’s beady eyes—the panic in Daddy’s voice that morning—kept Layla silent. A tidal wave of regret crashed over her.
Tyler nodded, as though her silence said everything he needed to hear. “I’m going to be late for my shift. I really do hope you’ll be happy with him, Layla.”
He walked away, just like he had in Europe, without bothering to look back. She pushed her toes into the gravel, fighting the urge to throw it at him.
The words poured out of her, a scream she couldn’t hold back. “I wanted you, you big idiot.”
He stumbled, pitching forward before righting himself. Hope ignited in her heart as he stood still. Visions of jumping into his arms and kissing him senseless danced through her head. Turn around! she begged. Fight for me.
He drew back his shoulders and continued into the mansion without a backward glance. The rain picked up its pace, turning into a light drizzle. Layla stared at the closed door long after Tyler had disappeared inside, her heart as tumultuous as the skies.
He’d finally summoned his courage and come for her after she’d convinced herself he never would. And then this mess with Grant and Cypress Grove and money had happened. Talk about awful timing.
She glanced up at the mansion, its white exterior turning gray with the rain. “You better be worth it,” Layla muttered. Then she prayed Tyler would wait for her until she could explain.
Over the next two weeks, Tyler tried to forget about Layla. He threw himself into searching for a property to flip, dedicating all his free time to perusing listings and visiting properties with his real estate agent, Catrina. But Layla’s words kept ricocheting around in his brain. I wanted you, you big idiot.
Across the pond, he caught glimpses of her climbing into Grant’s white Mercedes. He even saw her at the mansion twice and had to duck into a room to avoid her. What would another conversation accomplish? The girl of his dreams had been within reach, and he’d let her slip away. Despair ached in his stomach. He didn’t much like the taste of regret.
Except . . . well, why would she admit to wanting him if she was planning to marry someone else?
After another sleepless night, Tyler dragged himself out of bed for an early afternoon appointment with his real estate agent. They’d visited half a dozen properties over the last two weeks. Tyler felt like two were a possibility, but he wasn’t ready to make an offer.
Catrina’s shiny silver sedan, the Whitney Real Estate logo splashed across the rear windshield, was already parked on the crumbling curb outside a worn Victorian. Tyler pulled up behind it, underneath an overgrown willow tree that’d be the first thing to go if he bought the house. He got out of the car and stared up at the building. More than one shingle was missing from the roof, and the peeling paint made the home look sad and lonely. But the circular turret porches were beautiful, and the scalloped trim work . . . well, they just didn’t make homes like this anymore.
Catrina emerged from the sedan, wearing a sleeveless blouse and pencil skirt. Her skin was more leathery in person than in her photo on the company website, but her blonde hair was pulled back in the same sleek bun. She strode forward, a binder clutched in one arm.
“Ready to do this again?” she asked.
“Definitely.” Tyler had spoken with half a dozen real estate agents before finally settling on Catrina. Whitney Real Estate was one of the most well-respected companies in the area, and Catrina had impressive closing numbers and stats. So far, he’d been more than happy with his choice.
He looked up at the house. “Place has a lot of potential.”
“The bones are pretty great,” Catrina agreed. “I think it might be perfect for your purposes. Shall we go look inside?”
Tyler nodded. The MLS listing had only featured two pictures of the interior, and both photos had been poor quality. He hoped the owner would be eager to strike a deal and sell.
Catrina fished the key from the lock box and opened the front door. A staircase stood directly in front of them, several spindles missing from its railing. The entryway was perhaps fifteen feet tall, with a living room off to the side—a living room that someone had painted bright yellow. Yuck.
He walked into the room, the carpet crunching under the weight of his shoes. Hand-carved chipped and peeling white crown molding accented the ceiling.
“I can’t believe someone painted over that trim work,” Tyler said.
“I know.” Catrina pulled a face, revealing crow’s feet around her eyes. “I bet the wood underneath is mahogany.”
“It’d look great with a dark stain.”
She nodded and pointed at the windows. “Those were replaced about ten years ago. Someone bought the house, hoping to flip it then ran out of cash. They aren’t as good as the new energy-efficient panes, but they’re a lot better than the originals. That should save you some money.”
Excitement coursed through Tyler. He still couldn’t believe he was really going to flip a house. “I bet there’s hardwood flooring underneath this carpet.”
She pressed a finger to her lips, a gleam in her eyes. “If you pull back a corner while I’m in the other room sending a few texts, I’ll never know.”
“Good to know.” He grinned at Catrina as he walked across the room, counting paces. They made a good team. “About twelve feet by fifteen feet. Not huge, but not bad, either.”
“And there’s probably a beautiful view of sunsets out those windows in the evening.”
An image of Layla nestled up against him on a couch as they watched the sunset had him scratching his neck uncomfortably.
Catrina motioned through a doorway. “Shall we see the rest?”
Tyler nodded and stepped into a formal dining room. A kitchen counter top peeked through the doorway, indicating an adjoining kitchen.
“Formal dining rooms are still very popular in the South,” Catrina said. “This will appeal to a lot of buyers. They love to entertain.”
Layla seemed like the type who would want a formal dining room. She’d been the life of the party in Europe, pulling the shy teens out of their shells and quickly becoming a favorite of the more energetic kids.
Tyler walked over to one wall and tapped on it, listening for the hollow spots between studs. He glanced up at the ceiling, trying to envision what the blueprints of this place must look like. “I bet this isn’t a load-bearing wall. I could open the doorway to create a more open feel to the space. Not all the way, though. It’d ruin the charm.”
“Vintage meets modern.” Catrina nodded in approval. “There’s enough room to comfortably fit a table for eight and still have room for a china cabinet and server.”
Tyler closed his eyes, already envisioning what table he’d put in this space. Something with rounded edges and claw-foot chairs. He shook his head, erasing the image of Layla, an apron tied around her waist, pouring a bottle of red wine as he sat down to dinner.
Flipping houses might be harder than he thought. He hadn’t factored in how quickly he could get attached.
Catrina led him through the rest of the home. The kitchen would require a complete gut, and he was concerned about the water damage on the floor in the upstairs bathroom. But the furnace was only ten years old, apparently replaced at the same time as the windows, and the home had charm in spades.
When Catrina’s back was turned, Tyler pulled up a corner of the living room carpet and found that there was indeed solid wood underneath. Refinishing the floor would save a lot of money and add value to the property. Perfect.
Outside, Tyler glanced up at the home, excitement welling up. It took a lot of willpower not to make an offer on the spot.
“I think we have a winner,” Catrina said. “This is the first time I’ve seen that sparkle in your eye.”
Tyler took in the peeling paint, overgrown yard, and cracked driveway. “It has a lot of potential. I have a good feeling about this place.”
“Want me to make an offer?”
Excitement swelled within him. He hadn’t pre-qualified for much, but this house was within his budget. Between his student loans and the tips he made at Cypress Grove, he could renovate this house. And once he
sold it, he’d take the profit and buy another one. Slowly but surely, he’d build a business.
Would Layla see the potential in this home like he did, or would she turn up her nose at the dust and disrepair?
“Let me sleep on it,” Tyler said.
Catrina bobbed her head. “It’s a big decision. You definitely want to make sure. There’s no need to rush with this property; no one’s looked at it in months.”
“You said there were a few more properties in the area, right? I think I want to see those as well, just to be sure.”
“I’ll see what I can set up. You’re working in the evenings, right?”
“Right. Usually from about five or six o’clock until one or two a.m.”
“Where did you say you work again?”
“I’m a bartender at Cypress Grove.”
Catrina raised an eyebrow. “The mansion over on fifth? It’s a gorgeous property.”
“Mrs. Anderson did a great job restoring it.”
“Her and a team of experts, right?” Catrina laughed. “I guess the rumors are only rumors, then.”
Tyler’s brow furrowed. “What rumors?”
“I heard the company president of Whitney Real Estate met with Mr. Anderson recently. Supposedly the Andersons are in trouble, financial like, and thinking of selling the place. Guess I was wrong if they’re hiring new employees.”
A fist tightened around Tyler’s heart. If Cypress Grove was sold, would he be out of a job? The mansion certainly hadn’t looked like it was in financial trouble, with the three-hundred-dollar bottles of wine and crystal chandeliers. But Mr. Anderson also hadn’t hired a new event coordinator. Poor Cosette was close to a nervous breakdown.
Tyler took a deep breath. Catrina was right—Cypress Grove wouldn’t be hiring new employees if there were issues. Mr. Anderson would hire a new event coordinator as soon as he found someone qualified.
“I guess it’s just a rumor,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Catrina unlocked her car and climbed in. “I’ll email you a few more properties tonight. Are you free on Monday?”
Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions) Page 6