Page 12 of Matteo

Hearing her say it, I understand the question. She’s not going to like my answer. I sit down in the oversized chair next to the sofa. Layla snuggles into me on my lap, kicking her feet out with a grin.

“I just know.” My hand comes up to stop her arguing with me. “I’m aware of how crazy it sounds. Do not fear I didn’t wonder if it’s a sane statement to make. There is Layla’s father to contend with. The bastard broke her car seat base so Amy couldn’t leave him. So that promises to be an issue. Amy is very clearly on her last hope and prayer as she was living at a truly atrocious motel. And from what I can tell, barely enough money for her and Layla to survive on.”

My mother sighs and pinches the bridge of her elegant nose. Sometimes, I think my mother is overwhelmed by her sons and their unwillingness to fit into the public persona of a billionaire family in Dallas society.

“All of that will cause Amy to be wary of me. I have no doubt it will take time and patience to get her to trust in me. At the same time, I’m hopeful the connection we have is going to help her trust there’s something between us she cannot walk away from. She refused to come home with me initially. It wasn’t until I told her she could have all the pride she wanted except when it came to what was right for Layla. She folded immediately with regret she couldn’t tell me no.”

My mother is clearly surprised.

“That speaks to a woman with pride who also loves her daughter deeply and will do what’s right for her—despite it being against what she wants.”

She exhales slowly. “If she wants to leave, you will let her go?”

Those lines are trying to make an appearance on her forehead as I consider the question.

My honest answer is no. But I think she knows that already. “I’m going to do everything I can to ensure she doesn’t want to leave. I need your help. Since I don’t want to leave them here alone. Could you please shop for what they will need? Layla only has a few things I got from the donation room. And Amy has nothing at all except what she’s wearing.”

My mother’s sigh is from the depths of her soul. “Fine. We have exceptional lawyers who can keep you out of prison.”

I can’t help laughing. It startles Layla, and she laughs, too. “Thank you, Mom. Say, thank you, Gigi.” I tell Layla.

We’re both shocked when Layla gurgles the word. “Gigi.” Seeing our surprise, she laughs and repeats it. This time more clearly and with pride. “Gigi.”

“Oh, my darling, yes. I am your Gigi.” She reaches for Layla. This time, Layla happily goes into her arms.

I let go when it’s clear my mother has a good grip on her. Odd, my arms feel empty the same way they did when I put Amy down. The sensation leaves me stunned for a moment.

Her eyes are on me with concern. “Matthew? Are you all right, dear?”

Unsettled, I nod as I force a smile. “Yes, you’ve got my girl, and I’m already attached to her. While you have her, could I make a quick call? I want to offer the job to the person I’m hoping will be part-time and back up before it’s too late tonight.”

“Yes, go on. Leave me to get to know my newest grandchild.” My mother waves me away. Layla laughs and waves, too. Seeing them together, a sense of relief wells up inside me. She might not truly get it, but she’s going to support me. And it’s why I’ve never regretted forgiving her for my childhood.

It takes some digging to find the resume. The idea of someone who preferred not only part-time or on-call left me concerned they weren’t committed and responsible. Especially when the notes are she has a social media presence that’s important to her—that has to be accepted or she won’t take the position. The staffing agency reviewed it and felt the videos she posted were unoffensive since they were only make-up reviews and tutorials.

By the time I’m off the phone with her I’m sure she will work out. Once again, the level of relief running through me surprises me. I wonder where it comes from, considering I worked long and hard to make the center happen. Will I regret it in a week or two from now?

I shoot an email to the therapist requesting a session as soon as possible with my reasons for not only seeing her but why an immediate session is necessary. As I write the email, I begin to understand why there’s only relief I will no longer devote all my time and energy to the clinic. The center was to give me a place to serve my penance for being rich, the way oncology was before.

Except now that Layla and Amy need me, I’m done. I can finally see there’s no need to pay a penance. I’ve spent fourteen years doing everything I could to save the patients I treated. I served my time. I more than earned the right to be happy, to live a life for myself and not others.

I find my mother completely engrossed in Layla. “We are going to get you the best of everything. You let your Gigi take care of it. Do you like pink, or should we get you a rainbow of colors? I believe we should go with some warm colors with your lovely skin tone. Is your mommy native, or is it your daddy? If it’s Mommy, maybe we can go see a pow-wow. They are so much fun. The fry bread is so yummy. I must not have the whole thing. Will you share with your Gigi?”

Hearing my mother refer to another man as Layla’s father has bile bubbling up to the back of my throat. Would I have to share her with another man? Send her off on the weekends, wondering if he’s taking good care of her. It had to have been bad for Amy to leave him when she clearly was struggling on her own. I make a decision I’m aware could come back to bite me in the ass.

Back in the office, I grab Amy’s wallet and open it. I’d left her purse in my office to put in the safe later. The number is in my phone, put there by Rafe when it comes to staffing. He told me to have the staffing agency run everyone through a private security company run by Taylor Hunt and Sam King. They were able to delve into the very minutia of a person’s life.

I needed to know everything. The better to be prepared when I faced him with the news that I wanted Layla as my own. That’s it—that’s all I want out of the call—the means to make him fold on leaving our lives completely and totally.

When I walk into the living room this time, my mother is cuddling a sleeping Layla.

“How did you get her to sleep? She’s been out for hours already. I was sure I had another hour or two to keep her occupied.”

My mother’s smile could split open her face. “She needed a burping session. Poor thing. She was out like a light two minutes after letting out the biggest burp. I’ll put her in her crib.”

“I need to put clean sheets on the mattress. I’m not sure if they left any.” I’m ahead of her. The linen closet in the bathroom attached to the bedroom holds several fitted sheets for the crib and a few extra soft baby towels and washcloths.

The moment Layla is laid down in the crib, my mother is into everything. I have no idea where the pen and small notepad came from she’s writing in. “Hm, so I will be doing an afternoon of shopping for them. And do take down the decoration on the wall for Ava. Javier said it would come off easily. We can put something up for Layla soon enough. Do you plan on making the condo your home?”

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