Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(16)

Ginger—if that was her real name—just smiled and nodded, the silicone in her boobs bouncing up and down with enthusiasm.

Just f*cking great.

I sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of my nose, as I glanced around at our family members nervously looking about.

“No need for that, Roman. I’ll go ask the hostess to set an extra seat for your . . . friend.”

“Thank you,” he remarked as his hands slid around Ginger’s waist.

I didn’t bother waiting to see where else they might venture to. Instead, I went in search of the hostess.

The anger inside of me was about to boil over, but I knew I had to keep it at a simmer. Tonight was not about Roman. It was about Lailah. All I wanted was to make sure she was happy, and I would not let some random hook-up of my brother’s detour that goal.

With the help of a very understanding restaurant manager, room was added to the table, squeezing in another chair, and Ginger was promptly ushered to her own seat.

Within minutes, the entire event seemed to breeze away into the past as conversations began, and excitement peaked. Grace and Lailah made game plans for the morning, deciding what time they should order room service and confirm appointments. Lailah’s mom conversed with mine about the weather differences this time of year on the opposite sides of the country. Roman continued to share his love with the two most important things in his life—liquor and hired entertainment.

Dinner orders were placed, and conversations fell into a quiet rhythm as drinks were sipped, and everyone settled in, waiting for food to arrive.

“Are you two packed and ready to leave tomorrow?” Lailah’s mother asked, holding a glass of chardonnay in one hand, while her fingers brushed the outer curve of Marcus’s thumb.

“I think so, but it would have been helpful if I’d known what to pack. Right now, I feel like I packed for six different trips because I had absolutely no idea what to bring, so I was forced to bring everything,” Lailah answered in a huff.

I couldn’t help the tiny smirk that spread across my face. “You seem awfully put-out for a girl who’s about to go on her romantic honeymoon,” I retorted.

“Oh, is that where I’m going? Because I’m not quite sure. We could be doing survival training, for all I know.”

“Now, there’s an idea.” I winked before leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I promise, no matter where we go or what we do, it will be magical. Want to know why?”

“Why?” she asked, her vividly bright blue eyes seeking mine.

“Because I’ll be with you.”

“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Roman muttered.

I shot him a dirty look. Just in time, the waiters arrived with our dinner.

My * brother was once again forgotten as we settled into our amazing meal. Since moving to New York, I had made it my personal mission to make sure Lailah learned as much about the city as possible—from the food to the culture and right down to the grimy subway system. I’d known she didn’t want to live in a glass box anymore, and I didn’t ever want her to feel like I was putting her in one.

There were times when I still worried about her though. When on a crowded street with someone nearby coughing, I’d find myself pulling her away, wondering if she needed to wear a mask more often. She had them, but she loathed the idea of wearing those terrible blue plastic things in public. She would wear one when the situation called for it, but luckily, those had been few and far between.

Keeping her away from infection had so far been relatively easy. Combined with our vigilance, we’d also been lucky. She attended a university where colds, flus, and God-knows-what ran rampant. She’d caught a few minor things but so far, so good.

Her good health had allowed us to travel the city in abundance. We’d been tourists, learning everything there was to offer. Much of it, I’d already seen many times over, but some of it had been just as new to me as it was to her. She had been astonished to know I’d never taken a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. It just wasn’t something we’d done in my childhood. I’d seen Lady Liberty standing proud out in the distance more times than I could count, but I’d never actually taken the time to go out and touch her. It had been thrilling.

Of course, everything with Lailah always was.

She brought a whole new sense of adventure to life that I’d never expected.

That was how tonight at this restaurant had come about. I’d seen this place a dozen times on my way to work, but I’d never given much thought to it. One day, Lailah had dragged me in for lunch, and we’d discovered our place. It was quaint and cozy. The food was amazing—fresh and organic—and the chef always managed to think outside the box. We had become regulars from that moment on.

“Hey,” Lailah said, looking at my plate of braised pork loin with marked interest.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, you can have half,” I answered, not bothering to wait for the question I’d known she was about to ask.

Her face lit up with glee as she began to cut her chicken in half before setting it on my plate. “Can I have—”

“Yes, you can have half of my risotto as well. But I get half of those potatoes!” I added.

We started our normal ritual of halving everything on our plates and shuffling it around. Lailah could never decide on just one dish, so she tended to always want what was on mine as well. Since realizing this, I’d been more than happy to share—as long as I got half of hers.