Laila laughed. “If I told you to piss off, then you wouldn’t be able to tell me how your night was,” she pointed out, eying the state of Mathilda’s rumpled hair with a knowing grin. “Looks like it was a good one. You and Jackson are still doing well, I take it?”

  Mathilda sighed heavily. “Aye, no problems during the night, that is for sure.”

  “Are you saying there’s a problem during the day time?” Laila frowned in concern.

  Mathilda sighed gustily. “Jackson’s been dropping hints all the while, but now he’s started straight up talking about all the things we’re going to do once we ‘get back to New York.’” She mimed dramatic air quotes around the phrase.

  “But that’s great, though…isn’t it?” Laila was confused.

  Mathilda shook her head. “It’s not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not sure there is a ‘when we get back to New York.’” Seeing Laila’s open-mouthed shock, she rushed to continue. “This all started as a fun fling, aye? It was nae s’posed to get serious. And yeah, maybe I’ve been having some serious-adjacent feelings recently.” Mathilda paused to pinch the bridge of her nose between two fingers and squeeze her eyes shut in a tight wince of regret. “But how is it s’posed to work once we get back?” she asked softly. Almost plaintively, then looked to Laila as if beseeching her to actually answer.

  “Why do you feel like it wouldn’t?”

  “I’m busy as shite at the hospital for one,” Mathilda scoffed. “And Jackson is working on different cruise vessels year-round. When would we even see each other?”

  “Ye would have to work at it,” came a voice from behind them. "Make time for each other. And figure out if all this is a deal breaker for ye."

  Laila turned around sharply, but Mathilda just shrank lower in her chair. “Mornin’ to you too, Mum,” she mumbled.

  Sutton stepped out on to the deck, already dressed for the day in capris and sensible flats. She looked down at her pajama clad daughter with a mix of love and exasperation. “Good morning, my foolish girl. What are ye fussin’ at Laila for? There’s nothing to fuss about. Relationships require work, is all. And a few minutes of thought on what you want aside from gettin’ each other off would nae go amiss.”

  Mathilda sighed, but didn’t protest when Sutton sat across from her and squeezed her knee.

  “Where will ye live?” Sutton started ticking questions off on her fingers one by one. “Will ye have bairns? Will one of ye be staying home with the bairns? These are just the start. There are roughly a million wee details to be worked out so that the both of ye will be happy. But if ye see an actual future with him, my girl, then these are questions ye both will be happy to find the answers to. Do ye see a future with him?”

  Mathilda blinked. Her features softened and her gaze went far away. “I don’t know yet,” she finally said. To Laila, it sounded like she was sad to answer that way.

  Sutton squeezed her knee again. “It’s nothin’ that you need to be certain of right now. And if it turns out that the answer is no, then so be it. At least you’ll have found intense passion in your life. Not everyone gets that. I’m grateful every day that I had thirty years of it.”

  “Mum,” Mathilda hissed, embarrassed.

  “My girl. D’ya think you were born of Immaculate Conception, then? I know a thing or two about passion, no matter what you want to think.”

  Part of Laila wanted to save her friend from dying of embarrassment. That was part of the reason why she leaned forward in sudden interest to ask Sutton about her husband.

  But the biggest part of her, much bigger of a part than she had ever realized, wanted to truly know.

  She had never had someone tell her how relationships worked before. Even with the best of her foster parents, there had never been one she had felt she could go to with that kind of question. Everything she knew was something she had had to learn—sometimes quite painfully—all for herself. Being self-taught about these things left a lot to be desired. Eagerly, she piped up. “So you had passion with Mathilda’s father?”

  It was a blunt question, and she immediately regretted blurting out something so nosy. But rather than look put off, Sutton looked pleased. “Aye, that we did, though, like everything else in the world, it had its ups and downs over the years. But I’ve always counted myself more than blessed. We had decades together. We had a home, a daughter. Ach, and we had so much joy. To love greatly and be loved greatly in return?” The older woman shook her head, eyes suddenly bright. “Yes, that’s a blessing, lass, and there’s no denying that.”

  Laila took a long, slow drink from her mug. Her mind was suddenly whirling. “Will you ladies excuse me?” she asked once she had drained it completely.

  She didn’t bother worrying about the knowing looks they shot her as she hurried off the deck. For once her mind just flat-out forgot to be embarrassed that anyone knew about her and Marc. There were more important things on her mind.

  Like hurrying back to his stateroom and quietly opening the door. Like pausing in the doorway with her heart full to bursting as she watched him and Grayson while they slept. Like shedding her workout clothes in exchange for one of Marc’s T-shirts and crawling back under the covers with him.

  Like fitting her body against his as he pulled her to him without waking and knowing this was where she belonged.

  26

  The Adriatic coast glinted in the late afternoon light, the wild cliffs and secret bays catching Marc’s eyes every time he glanced towards the horizon. They were drawing ever closer to Greece, and the medical clinic that was the true objective for this journey, a fact that caused a low-level thrum of anxiety every time he thought about it.

  But for now, that thrum was barely above a mild buzz. Everything felt too nice, too perfect for him to dwell on the fight that was to come.

  They’d spent this afternoon out on the main deck. Mathilda, who seemed to be bonding fiercely with the younger cousins in spite of her spirited protests to the contrary, was in the lap pool, playing some kind of complicated game that involved a lot of yelling and arguing about the rules. His mother had Grayson in her lap, somehow hypnotizing the infant into uncharacteristic stillness with a picture book she’d bought in Rome. Even his father had something akin to a smile on his face—which for Kenneth meant that his mouth was turned down in a mild grimace versus an outright frown.

  And as for Marc? Well, he was pretty sure he was actually smiling. How could he not when Laila had just lifted her hair from her shoulders and asked him to rub sunscreen on her back?

  “Sorry, is it cold?” he asked her, once he’d felt her shiver a little under his palm.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, and then shivered again the second he resumed rubbing her back.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Desire flooded his senses and he could hardly keep from shuddering, too. Touching her was an ever-expanding wonder for him. It was like every night, there was something new to discover about her sensitive, responsive body. Last night, he’d discovered that if he nibbled the shell of her ear as he entered her, she came almost immediately.

  What would he discover about her tonight?

  He looked around him, wondering how easy it would be for them to sneak away right now and get the process started.

  He was about to lean in and suggest this to Laila—by grazing his lips against her ear as he spoke, of course, since he saw no reason to play fair—when Aunt Sandra cleared her throat in that loud, self-important way she had when she wanted to make sure that everyone was paying attention. “Look at ye both,” she half-cooed, half-bellowed, once everyone had turned her way. She turned with a teeth-baring smile to Marc and Laila. “Come so far and in such a short time. You must be so pleased with yourself.” She turned to Sutton. “Not all women from New Jersey are gold diggers, right? Surely there’s at least one who isn’t jes lookin’ for a man with money—though whether Marc’s found her yet, I couldn’t say.”

  Marc felt Laila stiffen under his hands. He wasn’t sure what made him more furious: the implication that Laila was using him or the fact that Sabine was getting thrown in his face, yet again. He’d hoped that he could get through this vacation with his family without his disastrous engagement coming up.

  But it appeared that was not going to be the case. It wasn’t like this exactly surprised him. The bigger shock was that it was his Aunt Sandra who brought it up, rather than his father. He’d been braced for his da to mention the “gold-digger from the Garden State,” as she had been named by his relatives as much as possible. And maybe he would have, in his ongoing effort to drag Marc down every chance he got, if it weren’t for Laila. To his shock, Kenneth had been nothing but supportive of his relationship with her. He still ragged on his son whenever he thought his wife couldn’t hear him, but he didn’t drag up that particular skeleton—didn’t say anything that would put the new romance under strain.

  Of course, he should have known better than to think his aunt would show the same consideration. He opened his mouth to let her have it, but his father got there first. “Ach, Sandra, what are ye on about?” he started to grumble. “Yer bein’ a fool, and you owe Laila an apology.”

  He was immediately supported in this by the stereo shouting from Marc’s mother and Aunt Sutton. “Hush yer yap!” Sutton hissed immediately, while his mother fixed her with the kind of withering stare that would have incinerated Marc on contact and demanded to what right she thought she had to be so rude.

  Sandra firmly in hand, Marc bent to whisper to the still-frozen Laila. “Dinna pay it no mind,” he pleaded. “Aunt Sandra is a bitter ol’ witch at heart. And she obviously needs to visit the nicer parts of the Garden State, don’t ye think?”

  Laila didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile at his desperate attempt to joke with her and defuse the situation.

  Which was how he knew that Sandra’s dagger-like words had cut deep.

  Laila rose so quickly that Marc’s hands fell to his lap. “I have to get Grayson down for his nap now. He’s been in the sun too long.” She dashed over to Marc’s mother and practically snatched the infant from her lap, causing the book to tumble to the floor.

  “Laila,” he pleaded as she hurried past him. But she didn’t look back.

  Nor did she head to his stateroom. As Marc watched her, she hurried down the stairs to the lower deck, clearly intending to put Grayson down for his nap in her room, rather than in the playpen that had been his bed in Marc’s room for the past few days.

  Marc let out a long, slow breath through his clenched teeth. The family had gone silent, everyone watching him watch Laila’s hasty retreat. As tempting as it was, now that he’d had a second to think about it, he knew that yelling at Sandra wouldn’t do any good. She’d just yell back, and get more angry and certain she was right. Looking at her now, the way she was clearly fuming over his mother, father, and Aunt Sutton’s remarks, he thought it might already be too late to settle things down—but he had to at least try. “Aunt Sandra,” he said levelly, “was there something you were wantin’ to say to me? Would you be so kind as to say it directly to my face, and not be droppin’ hints like some—”

  “Seaside fortune teller,” Marc’s mother finished with a snarl. Marc grimaced. That wasn’t helping—but there would be no convincing his mother of that.

  As he’d expected, Aunt Sandra seemed even more fired up now that she knew no one was on her side. “Maybe I’m the only one who hasn’t lost all their memories, but that seems all the more reason for me to be vigilant on me nephew’s behalf,” she said archly, drawing herself up until her spine was ramrod straight. “If no one else round here sees fit to look after ye, at least you’ve got yer Auntie Sandy watching out.”

  “I’m a grown man. I don’t need you watching out for me.”

  “Don’t you, though?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Because from over here, it seems like you’re making the same mistakes all over again. Deliberately setting yourself up for the same failure.”

  “Laila isn’t like Sabine,” Marc said, working hard to keep the growl out of his voice, no matter how badly he wanted to set it free.

  “Really? You are so sure of this after knowin’ her for what, two weeks? Do you even know her family? Who are her people, and how’d they raise her? You can’t know someone without knowing where they came from.”

  He gritted his teeth. He knew that what he was about to say wasn’t going to reassure any of them, but he hoped that all of them except for his closed-minded aunt had the good sense to realize that Laila was what mattered: not her parents, not her upbringing. She wasn’t special because of where she came from…or rather, she was because of the way she’d been able to overcome it, the way none of it had stopped her from becoming the incredible woman she was.

  And like hell was he going to slander Laila by implying she had anything to be ashamed of. “She doesn’t know her family. She grew up in foster care.”

  Everyone blinked. Sandra snorted in triumph, looking around at the rest of the family like this proved her point. Marc felt the back of his neck start to heat up. He clenched his fists, trying to summon the right words to say without causing a permanent rift in the clan.

  But before he could get himself together, his father rose to his feet. “Ye can wipe that smug look off yer face any second now, Sandra, because it’s doing nothing but showing you for the sour old shrew that you are.”

  Sandra sputtered. “You’re not seeing things clearly, Kenneth—”

  “Nay, I think I see them jes fine. It’s me lungs that ain’t workin’, not me sight. Laila’s a fine woman.” He stepped forward. “Maybe you’re not the one seein’ things so clear. Blinded by bitterness the way you’ve been for all these years.”

  “Ken,” Marc’s mother chided automatically. But it was more an automatic response than a real objection.

  His dad clearly didn’t see it as a reason to stop. “I can see why you’re worried about other people in the family makin’ bad choices on who they marry, seein’ as you married a man who ran off with his secretary.” Sandra’s eyes blazed in mute fury. “But that doesn’t mean that Marc is making the same kind of bad choice here.”

  Marc’s father turned to him with a look of finality on his face. The look of the family’s patriarch declaring a matter settled. “Don’t let that one go, lad,” he said to Marc. “She’s a bonnie one, and the fact that she can actually put up with ye is even more to her credit.”

  Marc smiled wryly. There was no way his father could offer his blessing without wrapping it up in a little jab at him first. Marc decided to ignore the prickly wrapping in favor of the actual gift inside. Ever since the Sabine debacle, his father had found it hard to trust Marc’s choice in partners.

  His approval of Laila meant a lot.

  He just wished she had been there to witness it.

  “Thank ye, Da,” he said, rising to extend his hand. His father took it and then inclined his head toward the staircase. Marc didn’t need any further invitation. His father was telling him to go to Laila.

  He turned and went.

  He descended to the lower deck with his heart in his throat. Damn that aunt of his, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. He hoped like hell that Laila was able to shrug it off.

  But after he knocked on her door once, then again, then again, he started to realize that she hadn’t.

  He kept knocking until finally the door opened a tiny crack. Laila peered out at him and then looked down at the floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

  “Ah, lass.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry my aunt was such a cow to ye. She was out of line sayin’ what she said, and I let her know that.” He paused. “Please know that I let her know that, and me da did too.”

  Laila blinked. The corner of her mouth twitched. Marc held his breath, waiting, hoping for that smile that was like the sun to him.

  But when it finally came, it didn’t fully reach her eyes.

  He swallowed hard, knowing that this wasn’t over yet. “May I come in?” he asked her. Once again, he held his breath, wondering if she’d shut him out, and worse, wondering if he might actually deserve it. If his aunt’s words had caused her this much pain, it was because he hadn’t given her enough reason to believe they were nonsense. “Let me make it right with ye?” he pleaded.

  She opened the door for him after a moment, but he didn’t miss the way she sighed in resignation when he stepped in the room.

  27

  Before Marc could say anything, Grayson started fussing. Laila looked relieved to have something to do other than look at him, and rushed over to the crib. Grayson continued to fuss, waving his little fists in angry protest. Marc expected her to pick the bairn up, but Laila stayed at the side of his crib, rubbing Grayson’s back and making soft, soothing noises to settle him back to sleep.

  Marc, standing there and waiting for her, suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. His fingers ached to reach out to her in turn, to soothe her and stroke her, to tuck her curls behind one ear and whisper the same sort of soothing babble that she was now using on Grayson. She may not be fussing herself, but he saw how tensely she was holding herself. It was clear she was hurting. He wanted to reassure her and coax a smile from her lips. And of course, as always when he was around her, there was the slow-burn desire that never went away—that part of him wanted to pull her in, hold her close, reassure her with kisses and caresses that she was beautiful, perfect, no matter what anyone had to say.

  But he couldn’t let himself do that. Not until they talked. Because, no matter what his Aunt Sandra claimed, he knew Laila. And he could tell that this anger, this hurt, was coming from something deeper than just a few ill-chosen words from a rude woman. Falling into physical pleasure right now would just paper over the problem. What he wanted was to get to the bottom of it. Laila deserved that from him—and more. “Laila,” he said slowly. Grayson’s whimpers had stopped, the boy back in a deep sleep, but Laila stayed at the crib, keeping her back to Marc. “Can ye look at me?”