She was the kind of beautiful that made heads turn. I was the kind teachers overlooked.
I was never the kind of girl people noticed.
But Violet never treated me like a project.
“You don’t see how special you are, Layla. Seriously. You make me laugh all the time.”
She stayed by my side through high school, college, and every year after, I kept expecting her to realize I was too awkward, too poor, and too much effort.
Another difference between us was that Violet had somewhere to return to.
All I had was a message from my brother:
“Don’t come back here, Layla. Don’t come home acting like anybody owes you something.”
Violet had somewhere to return to.
So I followed her to her city.
Not in a creepy way. In a broke-twenty-five-year-old-with-no-plan kind of way.
My apartment was cramped. The pipes shrieked every morning, and the kitchen window refused to close, but it was mine.
Violet showed up during the first week with groceries and a plant I managed to kill nine days later.
“You need curtains,” she said. “Maybe a rug.”
“I need rent money, V.”
“You need a home-cooked meal. That’ll fix everything.”
That was how I met Rick, Violet’s grandfather.
My apartment was cramped.
The first Sunday Violet brought me to his estate, I stood in his dining room pretending I understood the artwork. I complimented the silverware, staring at the forks and knives like I was about to perform surgery.
Violet leaned closer. “Start from the outside and work your way in.”
“I don’t like you right now.”
“You’d be lost without me.”
Rick glanced up from his soup. “Is there a reason you two are strategizing over the cutlery?”
That was how I met Rick.
Violet smiled sweetly. “Layla thinks your silver is judging her.”
Rick looked directly at me. “They’re judging everyone, doll. Don’t take it personally.”
I laughed. And that was the beginning.
After that, Rick began talking to me. He asked questions, remembered my answers, and noticed I always saw the cost of things before their beauty.
“Because price decides what gets to stay beautiful,” I said once.
Rick looked directly at me.
Rick leaned back. “That’s either wise or sad, Layla.”
“Probably both.”
He gave a small smile. “You say hard truths like you’re apologizing for them.”
I glanced down at my plate. “Habit.”
No one had ever said my name like it mattered.
Violet noticed my connection with Rick quickly. “Grandpa likes you more than the rest of us,” she said one night.
“That’s because I say thank you when he passes the potatoes.”
“Grandpa likes you more than the rest of us.”
“No. It’s because you argue with him.”
“Only when he’s wrong.”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
Then one evening, while Violet was upstairs helping her mother, Rick said, “Have you ever considered marrying for practical reasons?”
I looked up from my tea. “As in health insurance?”
“More like security.”
I waited for the punchline. It never came. “You’re serious.”
“Have you ever considered marrying for practical reasons?”
“I am.”
I set my cup down. “Rick, are you… proposing to me?”
“Yes, Layla.”
That should’ve been the moment I walked away. Instead, I asked, “Why me?”
“Because you’re intelligent and observant. Because you’re less impressed by money than you pretend to be.”
