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“Not good enough… Some fucker will try to get through me.”
“Then get busy making some boys…”
“Already working on it…Valentina’s the holdup. If it were up to me, she’d already be pregnant.”
“It’s not up to you?”
“No. Her body needs to rest. And we both want to enjoy our little Iris. The time goes by so quickly. Cassie is already in second grade. She came home crying because a boy in her class cut her hair. Gio, I had to be restrained. Valentina told me I’m overreacting.”
“—as usual.”
“But since she won’t let me hold this kid down and pluck every piece of hair from his scalp, strand by bloody strand, I’m teaching Cassie how to kick his ass. It is the only reasonable alternative.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
“Laugh now. But wait until it’s the womanyoulove.”
I finish the call and my drink. How far would I go to protect my woman? I look down the hallway towards her bedroom. Despite mocking him, I admit. Pretty fucking far.
* * *
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeates the suite, mixing with the mouthwatering sizzle of bacon. Yet the enticing scents barely dent Jeniah’s wall of silence. She’s been quiet since she padded into the kitchen, her eyes heavy with sleep, herbraids a wild waterfall down her shoulders and back. A look that makes her infinitely more tempting than anything I’m cooking.
“Hungry?” I ask, gesturing towards the spread laid out on the gleaming granite counter.
Jeniah nods, sliding onto a bar stool across from me. “Morning,” she mumbles, her fingers restlessly toying with her napkin, smoothing and refolding it.
“So, we’ve got a game plan for today,” I say, trying to break through her brooding. “First up: clothes.”
That snags her attention, and her expressive brown eyes finally meet mine. “My things? From the house?”
“Yeah,” I nod, spatula in hand. “Your call. We can head back, grab what you need, or we can set you up with new stuff.”
She tucks a wayward braid behind her ear, bites her lip, and then her words tumble out in a rush: “Why are you doing all this? Why me?”
Now it’s my turn to stall, stabbing at my eggs with my fork. How to answer? Brutal honesty or a sugar-coated version? In the end, I opt for the straight shot. “Because we’re getting married.”
“You said I had a choice—”
I raise a hand, cutting off her budding protest. “You do have a choice. I promised you that, and I’m not going back on it.” My voice is firm, my gaze steady, letting her see I’m not feeding her bullshit. “But we need to amend one thing about that promise.”
She narrows her eyes. Ready to argue. Ready to fight. But I leanacross the kitchen island.
“When it comes to your safety?” My tone leaves nothing for her to argue. “There’s no choice.” Her lips part. But I power forward. “You didn’t get in the damn car last night when I told you to. That’s not an option. Not now. Notever.”
She tries to cut me off, but I lean closer. “When I tell you to duck, you duck. When I tell you to run, you run. When I tell you to get in the fucking car, you get-in-the-fucking car. You got me?”
She’s ready to spit fire in my face for a moment, but then her shoulders droop. “Fine… I understand.”
Relief washes through me. If we’re playing a sport, then I’ve won the game—but not the season. I won’t claim victory until my ring is on her finger and her body is in my bed… I will have both. The order it happens—that’s the choice.
* * *
We return to the apartment after shopping for essentials. Shopping is fucking tiring. I don’t clue her in that I usually have people do this. I’ve never spent a day going in and out of stores. With one phone call, I could have had deliveries within the hour. But I want to spend time with her, and she needs the distraction. So, even though I have no plans to become a professional shopper, today was fun.
I also enjoy cooking for her. Nothing extravagant—pasta, garlic bread—but I wouldn’t be Yaya’s grandson if I didn’t know how to feed myself, and my woman. Jeniah leans against the kitchencounter, watching me slice a loaf of bread. “So… is this our second date?”
I move my hand just before I cut it, meeting her amused smirk. “Nah. I can do better than this.”
