“You should talk to him before you leave for London.”
I scoff. “If he wants something, he can reach out. He’s the one who left, not me.”
Mika blows out a disappointed breath, but she doesn’t push. I’m being stubborn, yeah, but can anyone really blame me? That man didn’t just break my heart, he fully humiliated me. And while I definitely did my part in adding insult to injury, he’s the one who blew up our relationship. He can be the one to initiate the cleanup process.
“All right,” she concedes. “Just let me know if you need any help handling that when the time comes. I can be your DC liaison for anything face-to-face if you don’t want to make the trek back from London.”
Despite the mood shift, I have to smile at Mika’s commitment to being my ride-or-die. If I asked her to, she’d hunt down Étienne and make his life miserable. The only reason she hasn’t yet is because of the broken leg and her dedication to keeping me sane. She can’t do that if she ends up in prison.
“Thanks,” I say as I turn off the mixer. “But first, you’ve got to help me get through Thanksgiving.”
Mika’s cackle echoes through the empty house. “Hope you’re ready to get eaten alive.”
CIA interrogators have nothing on Black aunties who insist on being in your business.
I don’t know how I’m related to half the women who descended on me the second I stepped into my parents’ Atlanta-suburb mansion, and yet I’ve been asked questions I wouldn’t feel comfortable answering even if Mika or Janelle posed them.
Speaking of those traitors, neither one has come to rescue me yet despite the frantic texts I keep shooting off. Not even Ron came over, even though I know he spotted me in the living room when he passed by the doorway a few minutes ago.
“It’s a good thing he’s handsome,” one of my great-aunts quips, a gnarled hand lifting her cane to point at me. “You can’t be having babies with no ugly man. Our genes are strong, but they only go so far.”
“I liked the other one better,” says another woman, who stares down her nose at me. “At least he was cultured. This man looks like he thinks the world begins and ends with England.”
“Give the girl a break,” an auntie in pink and green cuts in. I’m almost relieved that someone is coming to my defense until I see her wicked grin. “The dick must be spectacular if she married him that fast. Ain’t that right, Stella?”
There’s a mix of cackles, scoldings, and invocations of the Lord that make me want to groan and scrub my hands over my face. I know that’ll just give them more to gossip about, so I settle for sending anotherGET YOUR ASS OUT HEREtext to Mika. Again, I’m left on read.
I’m dragged back down to the couch two more times when I try to get up, but my third attempt at escape is successful whenI announce that I absolutelyhaveto go check on the status of the desserts. No one here would dare stand in the way of the sweet potato pie’s fate.
The hallway offers a reprieve from the aunts, though their laughter and raucous commentary continue to float through the air. But my peace doesn’t last long, because Daphne rounds the corner, bouncing her adorable toddler on her hip.
“Stella,” she greets brightly, like it’s a pleasure to see me leaning against the wall and looking miserable. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.” She makes a big display of glancing around the hallway, searching for someone else. “Your husband didn’t want to join us?”
She asks it so innocently, but I can hear the glee in the question, as if Thomas’s absence is an indicator of a relationship on the rocks. Or worse—that it’s not a real relationship at all.
“He’s working,” I say, smiling at her daughter instead of giving Daphne more attention. “The Formula 1 schedule stops for no one, not even newlyweds.”
The baby grins back at me, and the sight succeeds in mitigating the blood pressure spike Daphne’s arrival inspired. The kid is precious, with her chubby cheeks and cherub curls, and I swear there’s a pang in my ovaries when she lifts her little fingers and waves, making me almost wish I hadn’t canceled the appointment to get my IUD removed a few months ago. I’d done it at Étienne’s urging, after he changed his mind about wanting to start our family right after we got married. Instead, he asked if we could wait a year, to let it be just us for a while. I reluctantly agreed.
Now kids won’t be in my future for at least another year anyway, one more wrench thrown in my life plan. If the past month has taught me anything, it’s that I might as well wing it all.
“Newlyweds,” she repeats. “I had no idea you were interested in him for more than one night.”
She says it teasingly, like we’re both in on a joke, but even though I force out a laugh, I know she’s judging me hard.
“In fact, I had no idea you knew him before the bachelorette party.” Daphne cocks her head to the side, eyes searching my face. “When did you two meet?”
I’m careful to keep my expression schooled into something neutral and pleasant. Nothing that betrays the way my heart rate has skyrocketed and how my armpits have gone suddenly damp under my cashmere sweater.
Thomas and I haven’t decided on an official story yet, but I can’t deviate too far from what I told my parents in case Daphne seeks them out to verify the details. As far as I know, the general public doesn’t know our “love story” past the little things Thomas has mentioned in a handful of interviews, so at least I have that going for me. But this woman is sharp as hell.
“We actually met the same night that Janelle met Ron,” I answer with awow, what a wild coincidence, am I right?kind of tone. “Vegas is such a lucky place.”
I don’t dare give her any more details, lest she poke holes in the story. But that doesn’t seem to matter, because she’s already raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Really?” she challenges. “Because Janelle never mentioned that you knew Ron’s best friend’s brother.”
“Why would she mention it?” I fight to keep my voice light. “Thomas and I were just casual acquaintances then. Besides, she has plenty of friends that I’ve never heard of before. Is she supposed to know all of mine?”
