“If you get bored, we can leave,” Laila said, walking into the art gallery. Dressed in a black velvet body-con dress with a sweetheart neckline and Italian heels, Laila pulled off her tinted cat-eye sunglasses and stuffed them into her small Valentino Garavani clutch. She glanced over at me and offered me a half-smile. “I mean it.”
After nodding, I scurried next to her, dressed in a checkered skirt and black bodysuit that was way less expensive than any of her clothing. We walked into the first gallery of sculptures and statues from the twentieth and the twenty-first centuries.
way “I love sculptures,” Laila hummed. “We have a couple at our main house.”
“Main house?” I asked.
“The family has a home about forty-five minutes outside the city,” she said, walking around the statue and star
