Layla
“I need to ask you a favor.” I hated the words even before they’d left my mouth. Hated thinking them. Hated that I’d cornered Marco in the break room of the hospital to ask this of him.
Marco was a nice guy; everybody knew it. He was one of the most well-liked doctors at the hospital, and here I was, taking advantage of his kindness and perpetual willingness to help.
Marco turned from the coffee maker, set a hip against the countertop. “What’s up?”
“I um …” My fingers drummed the counter, and I stared down at them, soft and white against the purple laminate. “This is gonna sound so weird, but I need you to pretend to be Eli’s father.”
“What?” Marco’s brows turned upward in confusion. “Why would—”
“Just for a little bit. To um …” But how could I explain it? That I was trying to
