Page 79 of Betrothed To Love

“Oh. Cool. I will call you when I’m on break,” she says, then ends the call.

After placing my phone back on the little table, I wrap my arms around my beautiful and supportive wife. During my entire convo with Alami, she was rubbing my leg lovingly, silently letting me know that she had me.

“She sounded pretty grounded, right?” I ask after a beat.

“She really did. I wanted to scream when she said she wants to be a lawyer,” she says.

“Yeah, I like that. I can really guide her in the right direction.”

“You definitely can, baby.” She snuggles back into my chest, then sighs. “She’s going to have a lot of questions, you know. I would but I think you are the perfect person to answer them. When are you going to tell your brothers about her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe after I talk to her?”

“That’s two more weeks of no answers for them.”

“Well, Tre doesn’t care either way.”

“He does. I think he was just speaking out of anger. He’ll come around.”

“Kyau, I don’t know about that. He’s stubborn as fuck. I mean. We’ll see but I doubt that shit. It’s Shuga I’m worried about.”

“She knows,” Mireya says assuredly.

“You think?”

“Nah. I know. If Asali didn’t tell her, trust me, she looked and asked around. That’s what women do. You’re married to one. We don’t need detectives. When a man breaks our hearts, our natural investigative skills kick in on high gear. We find out every damn thing.”

“Is that right?” I ask, amused as fuck.

“Right, so don’t even think about it,” she says sternly.

“Breaking your heart will never be a thought. If I break yours, I’m breaking my own shit too. That makes no damn sense. All I want to do is love your fine ass.”

“Perfect answer,” she says before tilting her head back for a kiss.

TWENTY-THREE

Shuga is visibly different. In such a short time, she’s lost weight. I can mainly see it around her face and neck. She’s still beautiful and her fro is still fro-ing, but I can see it. She’s hurting and the wry smile on her face as Quintus pulls her in for a hug proves it. The spark that was in her eyes the day I met her is flickering, threatening to diminish, and my heart goes out to her.

“I didn’t know if you wanted guests but I just wanted to come say hi since we were picking up Niya,” I say cautiously. When she called for us to pick up Niya, naturally I came, but I debated coming into the house. She’s been closed off to her sons. So does she want me here?

“You are not a guest,” she tsks before holding her arms out for a hug. I step into it and embrace her. When she holds me for extra seconds and squeezes me, I have to hold back my tears.

All those years with a man, building with him and creating such a huge family, only for him to cheat and have a whole other family.

I don’t wish that kind of betrayal on anyone.

“Niya’s upstairs asleep. Won’t you go get her and take a few extra minutes,” she tells Quintus and his eyebrows instantly knit.

“Go, baby,” I say insistently, then grab and squeeze his hand. He nods, pecks my lips, and slowly heads toward the stairs.

“I want to show you something,” she says before taking my hand. She leads me through the living room, past a small nook filled with family photos to a door with a keypad lock. She enters the code then opens the door. “It’s down here,” she utters before taking the first steps.

I follow, and a few steps down, she flips the switch on the wall and the room illuminates. As soon as the room is in full view, my heart drops to my stomach and my eyes damn near pop out of their sockets.

“Nina Wright,” I gasp as I descend to the floor. “My God!” I marvel at the beautifully painted canvases leaning against the wall. Shocked is an understatement. I’m befuddled, unable to form the words or sentences I need to ask her the million questions floating in my head. And when I see the infamous Blues of a Woman, my knees buckle and I damn near faint. I steady myself somehow and take steps toward the masterpiece. When I reach out, I carefully graze my fingers over the eyes that captured me the first time I saw the picture of this piece to prove I’m not fucking dreaming. “Blues of a Woman,” I finally manage to blurt. “You’re Nina Wright.”

“I am,” she says from behind me.