Layla
“A ball?” I stared down at the cream cardstock invitation, the curling gold script declaring that I, Layla Bennett, had been invited to a goddamned ball. How cool would this have been, if I was seven?
“You should go.” Aldo hovered in the doorway to the guesthouse kitchen, arms crossed and a shoulder propped against the doorframe. Casual. Almost friendly.
Were we friends?
“Why?” I half-turned towards him. “So I can play dress-up and pretend like I belong in this world?”
A smile flickered at the corner of Aldo’s mouth. “Maybe.”
“What’s that look for?” I narrowed my eyes at him. He was up to something, but I couldn’t read him well enough to know what.
He turned back to all through the doorway. “You ready, El?”
“Yes!” Eli whizzed into the kitchen on socked feet, his smile reachi
