The air between them is suddenly static, charged with a judgment that makes the hair on my arms stand up. I can see the flicker of hurt in Aspen’s expression, the way her shoulders start to hunch.
“Mummy,” I interject, sliding my arm firmly around Aspen’s waist. “We’ve only just landed. We need to go upstairs to wash and change into ourAso Ebi.”
I don’t wait for a rebuttal. I begin ushering Aspen away, my heart hammering against my ribs. I need to get her out of the line of fire, to get her into the fabric that marks her as one of us before the silence becomes a permanent scar. But as I catch one last glimpse of my mother’s stony face, I fear it’s already too late. The first impression has been made.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Geles, Gauntlets + a Silver Shadow Bribe
Aspen
The encounter with Luca’s mother was my worst nightmare coming to life. It wasn't just the way she spoke or the clinical way she’d appraised my clothes, it was the flash of genuine offense when I’d faltered at the scent of her specialty. It’s clear that a slight against the food is a slight against the woman who made it, and I can already feel the target forming on my back.
I didn’t even get the chance to bow the way Luca showed me!
I’ve seen this script play out time and time again. It’s a toxic tug-of-war where the woman in a man’s life is always the rope. If his mother’s grip on him is even half as tight as the one my own mother tries to keep over me and my brothers, I’m not sure I have the strength to survive the fallout. You can never truly love a man out of the grip of his mother, and if Luca is ever forced to choose between the legacy of his family and the “unconventional” woman he found in a Vegas pod, I’m terrified I already know whose heart will be left on the floor.
But the moment I step into the guest suite, the quiet dread is instantly drowned out by a sensory explosion. The bedroom is a hive of activity, smelling of burned hair, expensive perfume, and the metallic tang of hot curling irons. There are makeup artists hunched over vanity kits, mounds of vibrant sequins spilling off every surface, and people darting in and out with a frantic, joyful energy that makes my anxiety feel entirely out of place.
I sit in the center of the storm, feeling like a doll being prepped for an exhibit. Luca’s sisters, Chidi and Chioma, are hovering over me, their fingers working with rhythmic speed as they begin to wrap my headpiece.
“Don’t hold your breath, Aspen,” Chidi laughs, tugging the stiff, shimmering fabric across my forehead. “I know it feels like it’s cutting off your circulation, but it has to be tight to feel regal. This is actually a very small-scale look. For a wedding, we’d have you in something twice this size.”
“Small scale?” I squeak, trying to keep my neck still. “There are a hundred people in the backyard and enough food to feed an army.”
“This is just a birthday,” Chioma adds, pinning a final fold of the gold cloth. “Wait until one of us gets married. Then you’ll see the real chaos.”
Her words pull at a loose thread in my heart. Looking at the sheer scale of this “small” celebration and the way the house vibrates with the laughter of three generations, the way every auntie and uncle has shown up to pour their love into a single afternoon. It all hits me in a way I don’t expect.
We didn't give them this. We didn't give Luca’s family, or even my own, the chance to make a fuss. We didn’t give them the opportunity to pray over us, or to weave our two lives together with the ceremony this kind of legacy demands. I’ve been so busy protecting my boundaries and running from my mother’scontrol that I never stopped to consider what we actually stole from them.
In an effort to keep our marriage private, we’d inadvertently treated it like a secret to be hidden rather than a union to be celebrated. Looking at the vibrant, interconnected web of the Chidubem family, I realize for the first time that our Vegas wedding didn't just feel like a rebellion because of how or why it happened. It was a disservice to the two women who, for better or worse, had spent their lives waiting for this moment. Waited to see everything they’d poured into us honored as we began the journey of doing the same for a family of our own.
I wonder how Luca feels about it all. I wonder if, beneath the pride he claims to feel when he looks at me, there is a stinging sense of guilt for what he’s kept from them. It makes me more than a little uneasy, because he’s different here. It’s subtle, but it’s everywhere.
He’s traded his sleek, tailored suits and athletic gear for traditional attire—a long, loose-fitting tunic and trousers in the same forest green as my lace. It drapes off his broad shoulders in a way that makes him look less like a star striker and more like a man who was born to lead. And his voice...his accent is doing this endearing, melodic dance, slipping into inflections and slang that only seem to emerge when he’s talking to an Auntie or joking with Gogo. It’s like watching a new layer of him settle into place, and I can’t decide if I’m falling in love with this version or if I’m just intimidated by how much of him I still don't know.
“Done,” Chidi announces, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You look like you belong, sister.”
I stand up, the weight of the headwrap forcing me into an upright, regal elegance. I catch my reflection and the breath freezes in my lungs. The forest green and gold lace against my skin is striking. The intricate patterns make me feel shielded, yet somehow more exposed than if I were naked.
I look at Chidi. “Thank you so much. It’s gorgeous.”
“She didn’t have to do much,” Chioma says with a wink. “Our brother definitely married up!”
We all break into laughter, the tension in my shoulders finally beginning to relax. “I’m not sure your mother feels the same way,” I confess, the sheepishness creeping into my voice.
Chioma sucks her teeth, a rhythmic sound that reminds me so much of my own friends back home that I almost double over. “Our mother is old school, but she will warm to you. If not, so what? You can do things for her son that she cannot!”
“Chioma! Shut up before someone hears you!” Chidi hisses, though she’s grinning. “You’ll have to excuse our baby sister. She went to a coed boarding school, and she’s been a hot mess since she’s been back home.”
“Whatever! Boarding school has nothing to do with it.” Chioma yells. “You act like no one here understands why God told men to leave their mother’s breasts, and cleave to their wives’. There is only so much a mother can do!”
“Ew! Chioma!”
“I second that ew,” I laugh. “But...valid point.”
The girls actually make me feel a little better. I’m honestly shocked that no one has brought up the whole reality TV disaster, yet. They talk about their mom with this kind of “don't mind her” attitude, like her being a force of nature is just something you learn to live with. But I can't help but feel like it's different for them.
