Page 22 of Betrothed To Love

“What you know about Nigeria?”

“I know a little something. I took interesting electives in undergrad.”

“Hausa, actually. Northern Nigeria.”

“I’ve always wanted to go. I travel when I can but I’ve never made it to Africa.”

“I can take you,” I say and she chooses this moment to sip from her drink.

Not commenting on my offer, she asks, “Is your mom from Nigeria too?”

“Nah. She’s from Diamond Falls too. They met in New York when Shuga was there trying to be an artist. She left right out of high school and headed for NYC and he was there on a student visa at the time.”

“She doesn’t just like art, she’s an artist herself. I love that.”

“Yeah. She gave up on pursuing it after she married Asali. I think he wanted Shuga to just take care of home and us. Shuga was pregnant with Ace by the time they married. She still paints sometimes, but it’s just for fun.”

“So, you call your parents by their names?”

“Yeah. Always have. Well, almost. Shuga’s not my mother’s real name but that’s all Asali ever called her, and when my brother came, he called her Shuga too. It stuck. We all call her Shuga except my Niya. She’s her nana.”

“I love that. Shuga, that’s so cute.”

“She loves it,” I say before grabbing my plate and getting two more of the little sandwiches.

“Please, eat them all. It’s just me and I only like fresh bread. I won’t want this tomorrow.”

Her mentioning tomorrow gives me an idea. My family definitely needs to know I’m married and tomorrow is perfect and also timely. It’s also the ideal time for her to meet them, especially since we’re about to be announced in The Chronicle. Asali reads it faithfully every damn day.

“How ’bout you let me feed you tomorrow? I’m grilling Suya. Have you tried Nigerian food?”

“No, I haven’t, but I don’t know about that,” she says with a shrug.

“Why? You’re feeding me now.”

“The Deli is, not me,” she counters.

“You ordered it,” I rebut. “If your team is going to put our marriage in the paper, I have to tell my family and they will want to meet you. Tomorrow is perfect. It’s Sunday dinner and me and my brother are grilling.”

“I don’t know. That’s your family and I⁠—”

“Your family too,” I interject.

“On paper and just until January.”

“I thought we had to make our marriage look real. For me, that has to include my family. Anyone who knows me knows that. Besides, we can’t be looking like strangers at our dinner your team wants us to have. We’re husband and wife and have to look like it,” I say and inch closer.

When my leg touches her, she doesn’t flinch but she leans forward seconds later. She grabs her drink and downs it. After placing her flute on the crystal tray, she exhales then utters, “Okay. What time tomorrow?”

NINE

What time tomorrow? Did those words just fall off my lips?

Whew, chile! What was I thinking?

And why does Quintus smell so damn good?!

My heart races and I swear there’s a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He’s so close, very close, and I’m rattled, actually frazzled. What the hell is wrong with me?