Authors: Prescott Lane
She stopped for a moment, folded her paper, and looked out to the crowd. “It’s really hard for me to admit that. I started to grow up, develop, get tall. It was horrible. I was so uncomfortable in my body. My body was the enemy, the very thing that pained me. I blamed my body for what happened, believing there was something about me, about my body, my soul, my very existence, that made these things happen to me. It’s crazy, I know. But this letter to you, to no one in particular,” she said, holding up the folded paper, holding back her tears, “is my fight back. No more silence.”
Another picture flashed on the screen. “That’s my little sister, Katie. Turns out our grandfather had been molesting her, too. And turns out that Katie wrote a note, too. She wrote everything down. Everything he did to her—year after year after year. The letter was several pages long. It went on and on and on. Her letter was her suicide note. Katie killed herself 457 days ago. Hung herself from a tree in the backyard. She was 14.” The girl wiped a few tears from her face. “I was silent too long. I’m sorry, Katie.”
Gage stepped back to the podium, and the girl buried her head in his chest, sobbing. Layla got to her feet and held up her glass. “For Katie!” she said. The crowd followed her lead, and so did Gage. “For Katie!” they called out together.
The girl started off the stage, and Gage stepped back to the podium. “Thank you for sharing your story with us. And thank you for being so brave.” Then he turned to the crowd. “As you know, Hope Cottage needs another building. There are girls who need help, girls who have nowhere else to go. I know girls like this.”
Gage paused for a moment, catching Layla’s eye, then gathered himself. Poppy placed a hand on her arm, and Layla gave it a little pat.
“He’s really good,” the older gentleman at the table whispered to no one in particular.
“If these young girls can open up their souls in letters and in person,” Gage continued, “the least we can do is open up our wallets.” He smiled. “Of course, I could just write the check myself! But I’d be doing you all a disservice. I know you want to help. You wouldn’t have come tonight if you didn’t want to help. And these girls need your help. They need your support.”
Gage found Sarah in the crowd and pointed to her. “Sarah, I know we talked about raising $2 million tonight. I know that’s what Hope Cottage needs. But we’re going to do better than that. We’re going to raise $5 million tonight.” Sarah nearly fell over in shock. “There are good folks here tonight, Sarah. They’re going to help. They’re not going to let you down. I mean, I know who they are. I know where they live. I know their travel habits. I can make life very difficult for them with airport security!” The audience roared.
“So tonight, Hope Cottage will get every cent it needs and more. And if for some reason we come up a little short of $5 million tonight—which is not going to happen—Sarah, you give me a call. I’ll make up the difference—and then I’ll call TSA!” Gage walked off the stage to loud applause and headed straight for Sarah, giving her a big hug, camera lights popping all around.
Emerson took the stage to go over the plans for the evening, and the different rooms for the silent and live auction, for singing and dancing. As his sister spoke, Gage shook a few hands then sat next to Layla, stroking her cheek. Emerson wrapped up with a final announcement. “If we reach $5 million,” she said, “I’ll have my baby brother sing for you!”
“I thought you only sing for me,” Layla whispered to him.
“I didn’t know anything about that,” he groaned then spotted Emerson coming back to the table. “What the hell did you do?”
“Oh, loosen up, Gage!” she said. “When’s the wedding?”
“A month,” he said before Layla could respond.
“That’s fast. Are you preggo?” Poppy asked, seeing Dash staring at her.
“No!” Gage and Layla said at the same time.
“A month is so quick,” Emerson said.
“If you can pull off this event in two weeks,” Gage said, “then you can plan our wedding in a month.”
Emerson about fell over. “You want me to plan your wedding?”
“It would make us both so happy if you would,” Layla said.
“I’ll help!” Poppy said. “I could help with styling.”
“Sure. I’ll call you,” Emerson said.
“Poppy, your hair looks great—very natural,” Layla said.
“You think? I’m not so sure. I was thinking maybe I should. . . .”
“Leave it alone,” Gage said. “It’s the real you for a change.”
“Were you fake before?” Dash asked.
“Nope, I’m real—boobs and all,” Poppy said. “I know you were wondering.” She flashed a smile, downed her drink, and sashayed off, with Dash following behind like a puppy.
Gage took Layla’s hand and gave her a little twirl. “You OK? I know I sprang this on you, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It’s a beautiful surprise,” she said, leaning in close, her eyes on his lips.
Emerson yanked on her brother’s tux. “You have to play host, remember? Need a few photos for the press coverage for Hope Cottage.”
He kissed Layla on the cheek. “Go check everything out. I’ll catch up with you.”
Layla took a minute to settle herself, to process everything, running her hands along the flowers on the table. Gage and Emerson—probably mostly Emerson—had thought of every last detail, even including Poppy. Layla looked around at the crowd. They could’ve been anywhere else tonight, doing whatever else, but here they were making their way through the ballroom to the auction room, the casino area, the makeshift dance hall, all in support of Hope Cottage, for young girls who needed help. She wished she’d known people cared so much when she was a child.
I might not have been quiet for so long.
She picked at her dinner a little then cut through the crowd to the silent auction room, surveying some items on display.
Poppy barged in and cornered her. “Tell me what you know about Dash! He said he likes my breasts!”
“He just came right out and said that?”
“Yes! It was wonderful. He said he liked my hair, too. So what do you know? Tell me! Tell me!”
“Not much. I know he’s not married. He’s a pilot—supposed to be a real good one.”
“And?”
“He has no verbal filter, which you already know.”
“And?”
“He’s a man-whore.”
“God, I love everything about him! He’s totally humpalicious! What should I do? I know he’s just looking for a little booty.”
“Are you OK with that?”
“Absolutely.”
“A little smash and dash?”
“I’m rubbing off on you,” Poppy said and skipped out of the room.
Layla smiled. It was good to see her friend so happy—after all the failed relationships, all the hair-cutting episodes—even if it was a bit strange Poppy was falling hard for Gage’s handsome friend. Layla turned back to the auction, and her eyes popped at the current bids—tens of thousands of dollars for bottles of wine, for trips to Caribbean islands, for sporting events, for roundtrip private flights on Southern Wings to anywhere in the world. Then she saw one of her handmade crosses on an easel.
“What do you think of it?” a husky voice asked, coming up beside her.
Layla looked into the dark brown eyes of a dashing hottie. “Well, since I made it, I think it’s beautiful.”
He chuckled. “You’re the artist?”
“It’s just a hobby, really.”
“I see more than that,” he said, writing down a $15,000 bid. “I better win.”
“That’s very generous.”
“Any chance I could get a dance with the artist?”
Layla looked away, embarrassed, just as Gage slipped his hand in hers and kissed it, making sure her ring caught the light. She loved how smooth Gage was—the way he’d show up out of nowhere, the way he’d be just jealous enough to let her know he cared, the way he’d stake his claim without all the chest-bumping bullshit. She gave the brown-eyed hottie an apologetic smile, and he walked away.
“See something you like, Angel?” Gage asked.
“Not at all,” Layla said.
Gage kissed her softly. “Did I tell you how stunningly beautiful you are? I can’t wait to get you alone later.”
His warm blue eyes slid over her body, hungrily. The heat coming off him caused her heart to beat rapidly. She didn’t know how just his eyes could make her so needy, so completely hot. “Do we have to wait until later? Isn’t this a hotel?”
“I like your thinking. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you on the balcony.” He pointed to a set of doors.
Layla walked outside, a mixture of nerves and excitement washing over her. She looked down at her hand. It was strange to be wearing a ring, to suddenly be engaged. She usually was more cautious and would think things through. But this felt right. It felt good. And she couldn’t wait to start planning the wedding with Emerson and Poppy. She wondered if Gage would want a big or small wedding, where it would be, who they’d invite. It didn’t matter to her.
“This event tonight, it’s perfect!” a voice bellowed from behind. “It’s getting a ton of press.”
Layla turned to find the older gentleman from her table nursing a drink. “It’s been a good night.”
“Damn near genius.” He extended his hand. “Governor Clements.”
Layla shook it, kicking herself she hadn’t earlier recognized the former governor of Georgia. “Layla Tanner.”
“I know,” he said. “Gage speaks highly of you. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you. How do you know Gage?”
“His father and I were close friends.”
“His father was a good man.”
“I didn’t realize you knew his father,” Governor Clements said.
“Gage and I dated as teenagers.”
“His father wanted the best for Gage.”
“Me, too.”
The governor sipped his drink and leaned in close. “Gage might think he fooled everyone tonight, but we both know better, don’t we?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“This sudden interest in women’s issues!”
“I still don’t understand.”
He leaned in closer, a twinkle in his eye. “Hope Cottage is about
you
. Am I right?”
“Excuse me?”
“That was rude of me. I apologize. It’s just that you live in Savannah, and Hope Cottage is in Savannah, and out of nowhere Gage is suddenly supporting the charity. And I’m very happy he is—don’t misunderstand me.” He clasped his hands in prayer. “Please forgive me if I’ve misread the situation.”
Layla relaxed a little. “I guess there’s nothing to really hide. I brought Gage to Hope Cottage a few weeks ago.”
“I knew it!” Governor Clements said, smiling brightly. “You don’t get to my position without drawing some connections, without knowing a little about human behavior!”
“I had no idea he was
this
interested in Hope Cottage.” She pointed towards the ballroom. “I had no idea about any of this. It was a complete surprise.”
“It was a surprise to me, too. Gage is a good man. I’ve known him since he was a little boy, and he still manages to surprise me.” The governor took another sip, and his face turned serious. “You’re going to need to be ready to answer questions about Hope Cottage. You know that, right?”
“Now I’m back to being confused. What questions?”
“People might wonder why you’re so interested in that place.”
Layla held his eyes. “I care about the well-being of abused girls. Is there a problem with that?”
“Of course not, Layla. I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you. I don’t mean any harm.”
“I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
He took a deep breath. “I think you care about the well-being of those girls because, at one time or another in your past, you were abused yourself.”
“
What
?”
“Am I right?”
Her instinct to run, she looked towards the door. She couldn’t believe the former governor of Georgia was talking to her about her past, let alone making correct assumptions about it.
Where is Gage?
She calmed herself then stiffened her spine. “My past—whatever it may be—is none of your business.”
“I agree with you!” he said. “It’s just that the press—they don’t! They think it’s
their
business, or at least the public’s business, to know. So they’ll dig into everything—what’s happened to candidates and their families in the past, what motivates them now, what they. . . .”
“Did you say
candidates
?”
“Layla, has Gage not told you he’s considering a run for governor of Georgia?”
“For governor? Are you kidding me? Gage runs Southern Wings. He loves flying. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t told you. He’s been groomed his whole life for this! Military service, good grades, successful businessman! The last piece of the puzzle was you, Layla. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d planned it.”
Her head began to spin. She walked to the balcony ledge and looked up at the stars, trying to make sense of what Governor Clements was saying. She wondered whether this was really happening, whether what Governor Clements was saying was true.
Why wouldn’t Gage tell me?
She thought about the timing of the engagement and wedding.
A month.
For a moment she wondered whether Gage was planning their life around some upcoming deadline to announce his candidacy. But that couldn’t be true. She trusted the man loved her—had loved her for 12 years—and that she wasn’t some pawn in a political game. Still, she was pissed he proposed without saying a word and scared what awaited her if he threw his hat in the ring.
“Are you saying Gage is using me to get elected? Because I don’t believe that for a second.”
He met her at the ledge. “Not at all. I’m simply saying it doesn’t hurt to have a pretty girl on his arm. I mean, do you know how hard it is to get elected as a single man? Especially in the South? It’s virtually impossible. People would think he’s gay or should be a priest or is just plain defective in some way. With you at his side, he’s going to be terrific.”
“Not that I care,” she said, “but you seem to have some real concerns about me.”
“I’m always concerned about everything, Layla. That’s how I got elected governor many years ago. That’s how I got re-elected, too, many years ago.” He patted her hand. “I just want you to be ready for the questions that will come. I want to make sure you’ll be ready with answers.”