Lately, my nights follow a predictable rhythm. I spend the best hours of them here, in the primary suite, anchored by the warmth of Aspen’s side. I still retreat to the guest wing around 3:00 AM—my early training alarms are a cross she shouldn’t have to bear—but the time leading up to that? Those hours belong to us, and I’m becoming addicted to them.
“I can’t wait to see how you look in the fabric my sister picked out for the party,” I say, thinking about how the form-fitting fabric will accentuate everything about my wife’s body that makes me proud. “You’re going to look stunning.”
“I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my hair for the headwrap thingy we have to wear,” she admits, frowning at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Chidi will make sure you’re well-prepared. She’s even more of a control freak than I am.”
She pauses, her hand mid-air. “I’m sorry...who now?”
I chuckle, realizing I’ve barely told her anything about the madness she’s about to walk into. “My sister. There are four of us, remember? And I’m the oldest—the sacrificial lamb.”
She laughs, nodding. “Okay. So there’s Chidi. Who else?”
“Yes, Chidinma. We call her Chidi. Her name means ‘God is beautiful,’ though she mostly uses that beauty to boss the rest of us around.”
“Okay, so Bossy-Is-Beautiful. Who’s next?”
“Then there’s Ngozi. We call him Gogo. His name means ‘Blessing,’ which was probably my parents' way of trying to stay positive after my mother’s birth control failed.”
“Here in America, we call those the ‘whoops’ pregnancies,” she says with a grin.
I laugh. “Basically. And then there’s the baby, Chioma.”
She arches a brow. “Another whoops?”
“Yes. Quite the whoops, indeed.”
“And what’s their nickname?”
I shake my head. “No nickname for her—she’s too stubborn for one. Her name means ‘Good God.’”
“Your parents sure do lean into names that celebrate the goodness of God, huh?” she jokes, but I take the opportunity to tell her more about our culture.
I look at her, my expression softening. “In Nigeria, we don't just pick names because they sound pleasant. We believe a name is a prophecy. A blessing or a purpose spoken over a child’s life from the moment they draw their first breath.”
Aspen tilts her head, considering this. “And what about you, Luca? What’s your prophecy?”
“Uzoma,” I whisper, my thumb grazing her jawline. “It means ‘the good way’ or ‘beautiful path.” And right now, looking at you, I’m starting to think that path led me exactly where I was always meant to be.”
“Are you nervous?” she asks, her voice breezy as she pumps moisturizer into her palms. She’s talking about the new episode ofSightUnseenairing in fifteen minutes. Our lives are about to be public property again.
“About the fallout?” I clarify, my gaze tracking the way the silk clings to her hips.
Even though she technically wears my last name, I haven’t asked her what we are yet. I haven’t put a label on the “forever” I’m starting to see when I look at her. My father’s voice echoes in the back of my mind, “You don’t just marry the bride, Luca. You marry the village,”he’d say. And we haven’t met the villages yet for each other. Not really.
As she walks past the edge of the bed, the scent of vanilla and cocoa butter trailing in her wake, I reach out. My fingers hook into the silk, and with one sharp tug, I pull her onto the mattress, right on top of me.
“What are you doing?” she yelps, her hands splaying against my chest to steady herself. “I just showered and the show starts in fifteen minutes!”
I don’t care about the show. I don’t care about the producers or the edit. I care about the fact that she’s currently straddling my lap. “It’s been two days, my love.”
“It’s been one full day and a few hours,” she corrects, though her breath is already hitching. “Get ahold of yourself, Chillmonger!”
I arch a brow, my hands sliding up the back of her thighs as I bite her nipple through the soft fabric. “Aspen, my love. Are we really going to do this again?” My dick starts to ache as I feel the night gown bunching tin my fists. “The part where you pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you?”
She shakes her head with a small, defiant smile playing on her lips, but she doesn't move to get up.
I reach up, my hand tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. I pull her head back just enough to expose the column of her throat and lean in, biting the sensitive skin just below her ear.
