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“Can you do that for me, Princess?” I wanted to argue. Tell him how fucked up he had me for expecting me to do nothing. But this was Quest. Selfless to a fault, at least with me. “Solana.”
Hearing him call me anything other than Princess made my nostrils flare.
“Yes. I’ll do it,”
“I need you to do something else.”
“Anything.”
“Go home and stop crying.”
He was too calm, almost like he accepted his fate, but I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be.
“But Q?—,”
He subtly shook his head and forced a smile, even if it wasn’t genuine. “You trust me?”
I lowered my head because this conversation felt too much like goodbye. I wasn’t ready to accept that yet. Taking a deep breath, I sucked in my tears before I stood up and looked my husband in the eyes.
“I do, and I need you to trust me too.”
“Solana,” I memorized all the variations of my name and what they meant. This one begged me to leave it alone. Not make things any worse, especially when he couldn’t protect me.
“I love you.” I kissed him, savoring every moment before clearing my throat, pretending not to be heartbroken.
I walked to the door, pausing in front of Gianni to make one thing clear.
“If I don’t get him back in one piece, I’ll make everybody’s life a living hell. Y’all thought I was a bitch before, but you haven’t seen anything yet. Trust me.” I took one last look at Quest, expecting him to be pissed off, but all I saw was pride. “Untie him from that fuckin’ chair and get him something to eat,” I fussed, storming out of the room before I did something stupid.
“Aye, just because you think you’re somebody’s wife doesn’t mean you can talk to me crazy!” Gianni fussed, locking the door and shoving me in the back.
“Whatever Gianni. You hear what I said.” I rolled my eyes, climbed the stairs, and walked into the living room where Mack and Tyson stood.
Gianni took my keys and drove my car while Mack and Tyson climbed in the car together. He tried to make small talk during the ride, but my only response was menacing glares. I meant everything I said and had no problem backing it up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tyson had finally come home. He hadn’t been here much in the last couple of days. Usually, I would’ve had an attitude, but after our previous argument, I was thankful for the space. Now, he was standing in the entryway of the kitchen. Quiet. Observing. Watching my every fuckin’ move.
“Are you going to say something?” I finally asked, growing tired of being under a microscope.
“Are you fuckin’ Vincent?”
“What?”
“You heard me, Ky. That’s what he called you the other day.” Tyson tugged at his bottom lip and then smirked. “I thought to myself, damn. A few meetings, and he’s already giving you nicknames. It’s only one reason a nigga would be that comfortable or bold. So, are you fuckin’ him?” He asked in an extremely calm voice. It was a little too calm because Tyson was impulsive. He felt deeply, resulting in an overflow of emotions that usually came out in anger.
“No, I’m not fuckin’ him.”
“But you have. And you want to again. You probably thought about it. You played with yourself to the idea of fuckin’ him, right?” He finally lifted his head and looked me in the eyes.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth!” He yelled so loud that I jumped before his tone leveled again, “For fuckin’ once, tell me the truth!”
I swallowed, weighing my options, but it didn’t feel like I had many.
“When I left and moved to Hammond Hills, Vincent and I dated,” I confessed, but it was clear he was already aware by way of Vincent.
