“Yes, much different,” she answered with a gentle laugh.

I didn’t think she’d lost that dopey grin the entire flight. I’d watched her look down at her plated food with wonder, picking up the real silverware, as if she’d never seen such a marvel. With amazement, she’d sat back and enjoyed a movie with the high-quality headphones the flight attendant had provided, like it was positively the best day of her life.

It made me happy.

The kind of happy I’d felt only a handful of times in my life, but this time, I also felt something else.

Fear.

Way back when, when I’d walked into that dress shop in California and first met the strong-willed girl who had fallen in love with my brother, I’d felt that same type of happiness. When I’d convinced her to hop on a plane to go to New York with me and fix my brother, it had simply been out of commitment to my family.

Lailah? She was just the bonus.

This though? This was purely selfish.

And the only one who could end up hurt was me.

“We’re staying with your family?” Cara asked as I followed behind her.

I bent over to tuck myself into the backseat of the town car that had met us at the airport.

“Yes,” I replied passively, trying to sound aloof. “My brother insisted.”

“Oh, okay. I mean, I get you. You’re family. But me? I can stay in a hotel, so you guys can catch up. I’m sure it’s been a while.”

“Your presence was insisted upon as well,” I said, staring straight ahead, missing the look of surprise that was surely spreading across her face.

“Well, all right. That’s very generous of him. And I did say I wanted to meet your sister-in-law. What’s her name? Lailah?”

“Yes.” I smiled briefly, impressed she’d remembered Lailah’s name.

“She seems like a fascinating person.”

“She is,” I simply stated as the driver finished loading our luggage into the back.

We quickly pulled into LAX traffic, and I paid close attention to Cara as she experienced LA for the first time.

Although the views you experienced when leaving the airport were hardly what one might expect when thinking of Hollywood, the Pacific Ocean, and rows and rows of palm trees.

“Is that a—” she asked as we passed a particularly gross part of Center Street.

“Gentlemen’s club? Yes. Although you won’t see many gentlemen entering a place like that,” I said, watching her shoulders slump in disappointment as we passed a Taco Bell and several other nondescript fast-food places. “Just wait. It gets better. I promise.”

And it did.

About thirty minutes outside of the dreary streets that surrounded the airport, past the greasy-food joints and the clogged freeways, we were greeted by the crystal-blue water of the Pacific.