Aldo
Layla sat silent in the passenger seat of my car. I steered through the evening-dark streets of the city, resisting the urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder or thigh. Resisting the urge to ask, to banish the quiet with words.
She needed this quiet, I knew.
This was not a normal silence, or even a pensive one. Certainly, she must have been reflecting over the past handful of hours—we had spent most of the day with the Orlovs.
But it was more than that.
The Orlovs were quite lovely people. Friendly, hospitable, charming. Forthcoming, talkative … They’d been everything Layla deserved in a long-lost family. Everything the Marcellos needed in an alliance.
Tea had followed breakfast and was then followed by lunch, and the conversation had never ceased between the three.
La
