Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) (8 page)

Nick reaches for my hand across the center console and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I recognize that face you’re making, baby. What are you analyzing in that beautiful head of yours?”

Can he still call me ‘baby’ if we’re just friends?

“Layla,” he shakes my hand.

“Sorry. Just thinking.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “Talk to me.”

I sigh and tangle my fingers in with his, looking down at how his hand dwarfs my own. “What are we to each other?”

He glances over at me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re divorced. And there’s nothing alive anymore to tie us together.” My free hand goes automatically for the locket around my neck and I can see Tyler’s smiling face. It’s painful to refer to him as just some connection between Nick and me that no longer exists. But quite frankly I’m not sure I can refer to him yet as our dead son, no matter how much lighter I’m feeling.

“We’re Nick and Layla,” he answers simply. “That’s who we were before Tyler, and who we’ll always be. Our history isn’t erased just because he’s no longer with us.

“You’re right. I know. We’re Nick and Layla,” I repeat.

“That’s all the explanation I need.”

I wonder if it truly is.

Nick pulls onto a secluded residential street, houses on either side hidden behind large trees and gates with intricate wrought iron flourishes. I spy perfectly manicured green lawns with bursts of wildly colorful perennials, stone fountains lazily trickling out water, and the tell-tale paint coat of very expensive cars. The street sweeps languidly up a hill and the homes spread out in a colony of secluded mansions. He turns up and to the right, and we pull along a street with fewer homes, and the car stops at a corner lot fenced in cream colored stone and dark wrought iron.

He pulls up to the driveway entrance and stops to punch in a security code. The iron gates part and invite us down a road of stones spaced evenly in squares over greenery, grass peaking up between each slab. Either side is lined with a fairway of wild grass, tall rose trees bearing soft pink flowers, and lemon trees pregnant with seasonal citrus blossoms. Not even 10 feet from the entrance and it’s as if we’ve entered a completely new world.

The road curves up and around a round fountain with a marble statue of two figures embracing, one arching its back and arms up to the second who marvels upon the first figure’s face. Unhurried ripples undulate across the surface of the water beneath them. Nick parks the car beside the embracing figures and turns off the ignition.

“Come on,” he smiles at me as he opens his door. I follow suit and climb out of the Range Rover, instantly smelling the scent of jasmine on the air. I look up at the house before me in stunned silence. Two stories of a creamy white facade accented with white neoclassical cornices lined around the edge between the first and second floor and the roof. Large white windows dominate on all sides, reflecting the cloud-speckled blue sky above and behind us. A shallow terrace with whimsical wrought iron flourishes sits astride two beautiful columns of marble, crowning the earth beneath it.

A double-door entrance of finely polished black metal and glass opens from within and a woman dressed in an expensive shift dress and patent nude stilettos appears, welcoming us with a very big smile.

“Mr. Hudson, nice to see you again,” she says to Nick as she stretches her hand out to him. He takes it and shakes it firmly before she turns to me, eyes bright with excitement. “And Miss Garrett I presume?”

“Layla this is Sophia Robinson,” he introduces as I shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. Her handshake is soft but aggressive and I take an instant liking to her. “Welcome. What do you think so far?”

I look up at the house and take in a deep breath of air. “Honestly, I’m a bit blown away right now.”

“In a good way, I hope?” she asks.

“Absolutely. This place is stunning.”

“I’m so pleased to hear you say that.” And she does look pleased. Even proud.

“Sophia built this house,” Nick offers by way of explanation.

Oh, wow. “You’ve done a stunning job!” I compliment her, much to her satisfaction.

“I hope you like the inside as much as you do the outside, Miss Garrett. This house is completely bespoke and ready to be lived in. One of my interior decorator friends is just dying to pitch a few ideas to whomever decides to live here.”

Nick glances down at me, brows raised. He puts a hand on the small of my back and gently circles his thumb at my spine.

“Will the realtor be joining us, too?” I ask. I didn’t see any other cars, not even Sophia’s.

She looks to Nick briefly and then smiles at me kindly. “Not today. This is more of a private showing. Mr. Hudson though you’d appreciate being shown the house by someone who knows it down to the last coffer. Or rather,
up
to the last coffer,” she laughs at her own joke.

“Suddenly I’m worried for my bank account,” I chuckle nervously. No realtor? No sheet of paper with the house specs and a big price tag at the end?

“Why don’t I let you two walk around for a while? I’ll sit out at the garden fireplace and wait for you.”

“There’s a fireplace in the garden?” I ask, not able to hide my genuine surprise and delight.

Sophia smiles conspiratorially at Nick before reaching out and touching my hand with her fingertips in a surprisingly personal gesture. “You’re going to love it here.” She seems so enthusiastic and personable.

She ushers us in through the glass front doors and I immediately lose my breath. The double-height foyer is massive. Our shoes tap and click across an exquisite cream Carerra marble floor and a grand sweeping staircase with an ornate wrought iron banister curves up from our right up to a second floor balcony leading to rooms on either side. An enormous crystal chandelier is suspended like a crown above our heads, washing us in brilliant white light.

Everywhere I look I see some remarkably unique finish or touch, such as an entryway into the rest of the house flanked by flat engaged fluted columns and topped with a marble frieze. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful and we’ve barely even stepped inside.

“Impressed so far?” he whispers down into my hear.

“Too impressed. You know that even if I buy a house I have to be able to furnish it and pay taxes on it, right? And eat!”

“Baby, I told you. Don’t worry about the money.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Easy for you to say, Moneybags.”

He gives me a stern look and pulls me into him, hugging his arms around my waist. “Don’t over think this. Just concentrate on how beautiful everything is and try to imagine yourself living here.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “You seem to know your way around. Lead the way.”

His eyes sweep over my face and I get the warm sensation that he’s cherishing me. He kisses me chastely square on the mouth and then leads me through the second entryway and into the rest of the house.

Quite frankly it is all stunning and superbly overwhelming. The chef’s kitchen could easily accommodate a party of
many
, or a large family, and every appliance and surface is top of the line. There’s an office-slash-library with tall built-in bookshelves and a fireplace, a family room three times the size of my suite at the Canary with a fireplace so enormous I could walk into it, and several more spacious rooms that could easily be bedrooms, game rooms, or whatever-you-want rooms. The floors are an exquisite coffee brown colored wood that reflect light from the multitude of windows letting in the early afternoon sunlight.

Upstairs the master suite is exquisite. Cream colored carpet so plush beneath my feet I feel like taking off my shoes, and the walls are a soft shade of silver that contrasts beautifully against intricate crown and kick moulding. The bathroom floors are awash in more Carrera marble and Spanish-Mediterranean tile in aqua, cobalt and white accents everything in brilliant color. And as promised, the veranda that opens up from a pair white French doors has a singularly spectacular view of the Pacific in the distance. On a clear day you could probably see all the way out to the Channel Islands miles away in the distance.

Finally Nick leads us out to the expansive backyard that’s more gardens of Versailles than garden from Home Depot. I can barely find the words to speak as we find Sophia lounging by an oval fireplace set in the stone ground, and somewhere off in the distance I hear the sound of a fountain trickling with water.

“Well?” she asks brightly, standing to her feet as we approach. “What did you think?” Both she and Nick are looking at me expectantly and all I can manage is a sigh. A small, but heavenly sigh.

“Honestly it’s like someone has peeked into my heart and built my dream home. The only downside really is that it’s not a house for just one person.”

Sophia seems pleased at my appraisal. “It is a bit on the large side.”

“Yeah, what was it you said, Nick?” I ask looking up at him. “Large land but a modest house?”

He smiles sheepishly at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t want to give you any preconceived notions,” he admits.

“Uh huh,” I playfully admonish him.

“Let me give you some of the history of the house.” Sophia holds her hand out inviting us to be seated around the fireplace. She regales me in the story of first coming to the plot of land and talking with the owner about the possibilities, then rattles off a list of every beautiful corner of the world where the marble, tiles, wrought iron, fireplace mantles and flowers originated from. I get the sense from her demeanor that this house is the crowning jewel of her career, and half suspect she wishes she could live here herself.

“I just have one question,” I say when she finishes. Both she and Nick are looking at me expectantly, waiting for my unabashed approval of this opulent house. “This home is gorgeous. I mean, everything in it is finished to perfection. Why the hell would the owner want to sell it?”

I notice with curiosity the look Sophia exchanges with Nick, and she takes a moment to consider the question before standing up, then smoothing down her linen shift dress in a most ladylike fashion.

“Why don’t I let you two enjoy yourselves here?” She holds her hand out to me and I’m so very confused. I stand and shake her hand, smoothing out the pleats in my own dress. “It was an incredible pleasure to meet you, Layla. If you want the number for my interior decorator friend just give me a call. Nick, as always it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Thanks for coming out, Sophia.”

I watch her retreat from the house to wherever she originally came from, and then look up to Nick waiting for some sort of explication.

“So?” He takes me in his arms and his fingers caress at my bare shoulders. “Can you see yourself here, Layla?”

“Nick this home is amazing. How did you come to know about this place again? You and Sophia seemed to be on friendly terms with each other.”

“Well that’s kind of an interesting answer, Lay,” he says thoughtfully. He reaches a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulls something unseen from within. “This might help explain.” Between two fingers of his closed hand he produces a thick notecard folded in half, and hands it to me. Curious, I open it.

“2-1-5-8-3,” I read out loud.

“That’s the combination to the security gate outside.”

I feel a crease forming between my eyes as I look up at him, still confused. “I’m missing something.”

“Oh, right,” he says, and unfolds his hand out in front of me. Sitting in the middle of his palm is a wool pouch in a familiar shade of blue,
Tiffany & Co
stamped in black at the bottom. “You’ll be needing this.”

“Oh, Nick, what did you do?” I hesitate a moment before picking up the pouch. It has a bit of weight to it, and when I open it upside down into my palm a key on a sterling silver keychain falls out, making a delicate
ting
sound as it does.

“The owner isn’t selling this house. He’s giving it to you.”

I think the world has stopped spinning.

“You’ve bought me this house?” I ask, disbelieving what he’s just said.

“No. I built you this house.” His thumb moves gently across the hollow of my cheek and he’s looking at me with the brightest, bluest eyes that are absolutely filled with unconditional love.

“How? When?
Why
?”

“Bought the land, hired an architect. Shortly after Vegas. Because I wanted to build you a dream home for our family.”

I am utterly, totally speechless.
A dream home for our family
. And I can easily picture what he had in mind. The three of us in this gorgeous house, big family dinners at Thanksgiving, a decorated tree and twinkling lights across the banister at Christmastime, rainy days spent cuddling on a couch by one of the may fireplaces. It’s the dream I had growing up in picture perfect reality. The only thing missing, however, is the family.

“Nick, this house is everything I could ever hope for,” I say, finally finding the right words. “But I’m one person.”

“You won’t be forever,” he tells me. “You’ll have children again, Layla. Lots of them if that’s what you want. You can fill this house with everything you ever dreamed of. That’s why I built it for you.”

“For us,” I correct him, taking his hand in mine. “Why are you giving me something you could easily keep for yourself, for your own hopes and dreams?”

Without another word he leads me by our entwined hands to a patch of garden just beyond the stone paved edge where we’ve been sitting. There is a small slab of concrete sitting in front of a blossoming magnolia tree barely taller than me. Nick leans down and I follow his lead, wondering what he’s showing me now.

“Look,” he points to the concrete. I do, and permanently pressed into the solid material is the impression of a tiny set of hands. “I made this with Tyler while you were out running errands one day. I’d just bought this land and was going to make one for each of us, but I never got around to it,” he says solemnly. “This tree was just a sapling when it was planted, and there was nothing else here except dirt and possibility.”