“Are you ready for this?” Asher asked her quietly under his breath.
“No,” she whispered shakily.
He glanced over at her, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He stopped her abruptly on the gravel path and stepped in front of her.
“Asher—”
He cut her off by seizing her mouth in a quick kiss.
“Don’t let them get to you. You’re too special for that, Laila. You’re worth a thousand of them. A million.”
A hushed, nervous laugh left her throat. “Oh, really? To whom?”
“To me,” he said without pause. Her smile faded.
“Asher?”
“Coming, Mom,” Asher called, squeezing Laila’s hand before he turned.
• • •
They sat in a pristine, luxurious room that overlooked a wide terrace and the lake in the distance. It was a room meant to intimidate, and it did its job well. At least on Laila, it did. It was decorated in blackwood and white upholstery, with silver and crystal accents. Laila didn’t think she’d ever been so uncomfortable in her life. The sound of a magnificent blackwood grandfather clock ticked loudly in the oppressive silence.
“So you perform in a nightclub,” Asher’s father said, interrupting the horrible silence. Asher had just explained to his parents that Laila was a singer. They’d agreed beforehand to be honest with his mom and dad about that, without revealing any details that might tie Laila back to Yesenia. It had been Laila’s choice not to mislead Asher’s parents from the first about her career. It had been an intuitive decision, one that she was now actively dreading.
“That’s right,” Laila said breathlessly.
Madeline and Clark shared a swift glance that somehow spoke volumes of puzzlement and vague disapproval. She might as well have just revealed that she flew to Mars for a living.
“She writes her own music, as well,” Asher said from where he sat next to Laila on a stiff, stylized white couch. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “She’s the most talented musician I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re hardly much of a judge, son,” Madeline said. Her superior, knowing glance at Laila seemed to say loud and clear that no one knows a man better than his mother. “His piano teacher practically had to chain him to the bench during his lessons. He always wanted to be playing football or out on his sailboat.”
“I didn’t know you took piano lessons,” Laila said, turning to Asher.
He shrugged. “I might as well not have, as much as I actually learned.” He waved at the gorgeous Steinway at the corner of the room. “Why don’t you play something, Laila?”
She flushed in embarrassment.
“Don’t put the girl on the spot, Asher,” Clark said.
“He’s not always the most sensitive of men,” Madeline agreed.
“I think Asher is incredibly sensitive.”
All eyes zoomed to Laila.
“I mean . . . he’s always thinking about my needs. He understood I was an artist even before I did. He’s the one who encouraged me to sing and write. He knew I wouldn’t be happy, being anything else,” she said, looking at Asher. Relief swept through her when she saw his small smile and the warmth in his eyes. He reached up and touched her cheek briefly, and for a moment, they might have been the only two people in the room.
Clark cleared his throat loudly. “Well, he always was more sensitive to his lady friends’ needs than he was his parents’. I suppose that’s not uncommon for a young man.”
Laila felt heat flood her cheeks at the subtle innuendo.
“I don’t know how you would know that, Dad,” Asher said. “I’ve never brought any of my girlfriends around the house before.”
“We have met several of them, though, at various functions. And one hears things,” Clark said, frowning pointedly at his son. “It’s not as if you’ve ever been lacking in female companionship.”
Asher sat forward, eyes blazing. “What’s that supposed to—”