Page 75 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
He leans his hip against the table and waits until I look at him before responding. “Spencer doesn’t love you. His career will always come first. Are you happy dating a man who cares about his job more than he cares about you?”
Of course not, but I love Nana more than anything else in the world and she’s worth it.
Instead of responding to his prying question, I turn away and head to the door, leaving everything, including the beautiful bouquet from earlier. “Spencer is a good man and a good friend. He might not take me on a tour of a tree farm or wrap his own gifts, but he gives me what I need; security and peace. Good night, Owen.”
“Layla, let me help you.” He sounds like I’m ripping out his heart, which pains mine.
I pause with my hand on the door and glance over my shoulder. I give him a carefree smile. “How? By accepting your inheritance and marrying me instead?”
I meant it as a joke to lighten the conversation, but the question comes out as if I’m serious. His hesitation in answering is a punch to my chest. In his eyes, I just jumped from friendship to marriage and he didn’t follow. My cheeks heat from humiliation.
“I will marry for love,” Owen says softly. “I won’t marry someone who wants me for my money.”
His voice is kind, but I hear an accusation hidden in his words because I will marry for money.
I study the tile beneath my feet. “I speak from experience when I say there is no nobility in being poor.”
“I know that you’re struggling to pay for your grandma’s care,” he says. “I can help you. There is no reason for you to date Spencer if all you need from him is money. I will give you what you need, and I expect nothing in return. I just want you to be happy.”
He wants me to be happy. He’s not throwing his hat into the competition for my heart. Of course not, there isn’t any competition except in my head. What a fool I am. Tonight wasn’t about Owen wanting out of the friend zone, it was about being a friend.Get it together, Layla.
“I want to help you,” he says again. “Let’s get your financial situation settled, then let me take you on a date. We can see where we go from there.”
Maybe I’m not a complete fool. He still wants to date me, just not marry me. It’s an appealing offer. I’d rather not marry for money, but Owen doesn’t know what he’s offering. He’s a landscaper. He might own the business, but without his inheritance, he doesn’t have the capital to help me financially. It isn’t a thousand dollars here or there, it’s seventy-five grand a year for as long as Nana lives. It’s a hundred-thousand dollars of debt. If I tell him how much his help will cost, I’m sure he’d find a way, but then we’d both be financially ruined.
Maybe most important of all, I can’t use him for financial security like I can Spencer. Owen is too good and honest, and I have nothing I can give him in return. With Spencer, I have no such qualms because we’re using each other. I get someone to pay for Nana’s care, and he gets forty-million dollars and a wife to show off at work parties.
I will marry Spencer. I don’t need thoughtful gifts and laughter and pickles on trees to be happy. What will make me happiest is for Nana to receive everything she needs for as long as she needs it.
Owen will find a lovely woman and be unencumbered by debt and live a happy life without me. It hurts to think of him with someone else, but I have no claim on him.
“Good night, Owen.”
I head upstairs, expecting Owen to follow and argue, but all is silent. When I reach my room, I notice light shining under Spencer’s bedroom door across the hall. If he’s awake, I would like to see him and get myself back into a realistic headspace.
Spencer answers my knock in seconds. I’m familiar with seeing Spencer in suits, and it’s a surprise to see him in plaid pajamas. His pompadour flops to the side. A sleepy smile stretches across his cheeks. He is always handsome, but when rumpled like this, there is little that compares.
In his hand is a file folder that he hides behind his back. After he told me earlier today that his dad and aunt were taking care of everything until the day after Christmas, he might feel like a liar. Well, after the last hour with Owen, that makes two of us.
“Layla,” he says in a scratchy voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Can I come in for a minute?”
He steps back, and I walk inside.
Besides his rumpled bed sheets, none of his belongings are visible. It looks as if no one is staying in this room. I sit on the end of the bed.
“Is something wrong?” Spencer asks.
The two of us have only ever been honest with each other, and I see no reason to stop now. My situation with these two cousins has my head spinning and my heart hurting.
“Tonight, Owen made me a traditional German dinner to celebrate Christmas Eve. We hid a pickle in a tree. Then he gave me ketchup as a Christmas present. As well as a bouquet and a necklace.”
A flash of multiple emotions cascade across Spencer’s face. Surprise, anger, confusion, and finally resignation. After our conversation this afternoon, he might be unsure on how to respond. I’m not sure how I want him to respond.
What he finally lands on is, “Why a German meal?”
The corner of my lips tip up the smallest bit. He’s trying to make me happy in so many small ways, like taking time off from work today and tomorrow. Driving home from the tree farm in the van. Not lecturing me about spending time with Owen when, in this case, he has every right to.
