Relieved she’d said yes, Chance had the presence of mind to put the ring on her ring finger before getting up and pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly.
Until that moment Chance had been unaware that he and Petra had become the center of attention in the busy restaurant, but now, everyone around them applauded and cheered them on.
When he raised his head and peered into her upturned face, she was grinning happily. “I love you so much!”
It was the first time she’d told him she loved him, although she’d shown it in so many ways. The knowledge that she loved him made him want to protect her, support her in every possible way, to always be her shelter, whether it was storming or not. His mind was in a tumult. He unashamedly felt like bawling, but suppressed the feeling, though his voice was full when he told her, “I will love you till my dying breath.”
“Champagne, Mr. Youngblood.” Their waiter interrupted their celebration with a big grin on his face. “Compliments of the management.”
He held two tall glasses of sparkling champagne aloft on a serving tray. Chance and Petra took the glasses, thanked the waiter, saluted the other diners as their way of saying they appreciated their kind encouragement and drank deeply.
Afterward, he and Petra sat back down at their table, the rest of the diners resumed their own conversations and all was quiet again.
However, he and Petra would not have cared what was going on around them because they had eyes only for each other at that moment.
“Where do you want to have the wedding?” Chance asked, his gaze taking in the rosy hue of her lips, now even fuller after several passionate kisses tonight. “Here or in your hometown? Does your family have a tradition of your sisters getting married at a certain venue?”
“No,” she said. “My sisters have all been married at different places. Where do you want to get married?”
“It would be my pleasure to marry you anyplace in the world you want,” he said.
She laughed. “Does your family have a tradition?”
“My mother and father and his parents were all married at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. Alia had a destination wedding in the Bahamas because that was where Adam, her husband, was from, and many of his relatives couldn’t afford the trip to New York for a wedding.”
“I don’t know,” Petra said, sounding wistful. She glanced down at the diamond solitaire on her finger. “I kind of feel like I’m dreaming right now.” She looked into his eyes. “All I know right now is I’m drunk with happiness.” And then she whispered, “And I very much want to make love to you.”
Their waiter happened to be close by, and Chance called out to him, “Check, please!”
* * *
Primates of the Congo was in postproduction, work having concluded the first season of the show. It was mid-September, and Chance’s sister, Alia’s, one-woman art show was tonight.
The art gallery in Manhattan where the show was to be held was only blocks from Chance’s apartment, so Petra and Chance were going to walk to the event.
It was Friday night, and since Petra was no longer working on the show she had plenty of time at her disposal. She’d practically moved in to Chance’s place since the show went into postproduction. She was soaking in his tub right now.
These days her time was split between working out with Yoshi at his dojo, jogging in the park, redecorating her apartment and having lunch with her friends like Susie, or Alia and Debra. She also kept in touch with Paul and Noella, who had recently told her they were expecting. And her sisters were texting on a daily basis, keeping her updated about the family. She was busy, but happy to be busy.
She and Chance had told only their families about their engagement. They were saving telling the media until after the show’s premiere. And thankfully, she hadn’t seen or heard from Gareth since that night in Le Bernardin. Chance hadn’t brought him up, for which she was grateful.
She relaxed further in the bubbly warmth of her bath, her head on a tub pillow and eyes closed. She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in the past seven months. It wasn’t the prospect of actually being on television that was the biggest surprise. It was the fact that she was in love. Her!
She was the staunch believer in singlehood. She’d admonished every single one of her sisters not to get married, sometimes just before the wedding. Her sisters now laughed at her. But then they had never taken her seriously. They knew she was speaking from the perspective of a wounded bear: she’d been hurt and was fighting back by being ferocious. Chance, with his optimism, his confidence and firm belief that they belonged together, had changed her. She wished all women all over the world could have a Chance in their lives. Someone who supported them, no matter what. Someone who was able to quell their fears and make them laugh. Someone who was a thoughtful, passionate lover, who cared about their pleasure.
She smiled to herself. This generosity of spirit must be proof that she was in love.
Chance knocked on the door. “Pet, are you going to stay in that tub until you turn into a raisin?”
When she wanted a solo soak in the tub, he felt deprived because he wasn’t in it with her. But a girl needed some alone time.
She did miss him, though. “Get in here!” she called.
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He strode into the bathroom doffing his clothing as he came, which didn’t take long because he was wearing only sweats and a T-shirt.
She enjoyed the view. Sometimes she felt unusually blessed to be able to watch the play of muscles in his chest, arms, legs, stomach, buttocks—all incredibly toned and entirely impossible to resist touching.
He got into the tub, raising the water level so much that suds spilled onto the tile. She smoothly slid her body on top of his. They’d done this before, so she knew there would be no intercourse in the tub. They never made love without using condoms. They’d agreed that they wouldn’t bring a child into the world until after marriage.
His hands were squeezing her firm buttocks, and they lay crotch to crotch. His penis was hard and getting harder. She smiled sultrily and kissed him. The kiss was a substitute for sex. He was a master of French kissing, never too deep, always gentle and sensual. A slow burn. Pleasure was heightened in stages, each leaving her panting for more. A man who could kiss well was worth his weight in gold.
His penis was right at the opening of her vagina, and she thought it best to break off the kiss before they got carried away. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” she said softly, her mouth on the corner of his.
But Chance simply turned his head and devoured her mouth once more. She melted, her core throbbing fiercely. All she wanted was him inside of her, fulfilling her, claiming everything she wanted to give him.
He was the one to break off the kiss this time and said with a deep groan, “Get up, girl, or we’ll end up making twins.”
She slowly got up off him. She stepped from the tub and he got out too. She grabbed a towel from the shelf and gave him one. Standing in the warm bathroom, they toweled each other semidry, just enough not to soak the bed they’d be falling on seconds from now.
The bed didn’t even creak as Chance fell backward onto it and Petra landed on top of him. Laughing, he opened the nightstand’s drawer and withdrew a condom in its package. Petra took it from him, tore it open and efficiently rolled it onto his engorged member. She was quite adept at it. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing’s funny,” Chance told her. “I’m just so damn happy, I can’t stop laughing.”
Petra raised herself up, and when she went back down, it was onto his penis. She pressed down until the full length of him was inside of her. She couldn’t help sighing with pleasure. “Is there such a thing as too much sex?” she asked. “Because I’ve never had so much sex before. Will we wear each other out?”
Chance laughed, his eyes dancing. “Let’s
give it a try, shall we?”
“Okay,” Petra said, riding him enthusiastically. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
Chance just smiled at her.
They were almost late getting to the art gallery.
Chapter 11
“Petra, don’t you look beautiful!” Susie cried, walking up to Petra at the gallery with a tall, handsome Scandinavian-looking guy in tow. Petra smiled warmly at Susie and hugged her briefly. “So do you!” she said enthusiastically. She had invited Susie to the showing but hadn’t been sure she would attend.
Susie had sold her house five days after it’d gone on the market in August, collecting way over the asking price. She now had no financial problems, except learning how to carefully manage her portfolio. Petra was so proud of her.
Susie had cut her thick shiny blond hair and now wore a sophisticated bob. “Petra, this is Ian Iverson. Ian, this is my friend, Dr. Petra Gaines.”
Petra smiled up at Ian. “It’s a pleasure, Ian.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Ian said in a friendly manner, returning her smile. “Susie told me you two have been friends for a long time.”
“Since college,” Petra said, wondering where Chance was. He and Alia had gone off somewhere when they’d gotten there half an hour ago. There must be a problem.
“And we don’t want to say how long ago that was,” Susie joked, and they all laughed.
“How long have you two known each other?” Petra asked.
“Susie and I were raised in the same neighborhood,” Ian said.
“We knew each other when we were younger, but lost touch when we went to college.” Susie picked up the story. “Ian moved back to take care of his ill mother three months ago, and we met again.”
“Just when she was getting ready to move out of the neighborhood,” Ian said, laughing softly. He looked adoringly at Susie. “I almost missed my opportunity.”
Susie blushed a lovely shade of pink. “But we didn’t,” she said, taking his hand and peering lovingly into his eyes. Then she must have remembered she and Ian weren’t alone and abruptly asked Petra, “Where’s the artist? I’ve been admiring her work and wanted to tell her how talented I think she is.”
Petra could only shrug and say, “She’s definitely here somewhere, but I haven’t seen her in a few minutes.”
Then she spotted Chance coming toward them from the back of the huge gallery. He had to make his way through a crowd of over two hundred people standing around chatting, eating hors d’oeuvres and drinking champagne off trays carried by uniformed waitstaff. He had a grim expression on his face, which sent her Spidey sense spinning off into the stratosphere.
Susie saw him, too, and said, “Oh, there’s Chance. He probably knows where his sister is.”
Petra thought it was a good idea to head Chance off at the pass, before he got to them. “Excuse me,” she said to Susie and Ian. “I’ll go see.”
When she reached Chance, he took her by the upper arms, his facial expression still quite serious, and said, “Petra, Alia is very upset.” He held her gaze. “I told you Alia was once married?”
“Yes, his name was Adam, and he was kidnapped two years ago,” Petra murmured.
“Well, soon after we got here, Alia received a phone call, and the man who was calling told her he was Adam. He said he and his team had been rescued and were being debriefed in Washington, DC. She’s really shaken up.”
“Oh, my God!” Petra cried. “Was the call real?”
“She says the caller sounded like Adam, but she was so traumatized that she can’t be sure. He did know certain things that Adam would know, like how they met, her birthdate and so forth. Anyway, Mom and Dad and I tried to persuade her to go home, but she insists on going on with the show. Whether that was Adam or not, she says her life must go on. It’s the attitude she adopted after she thought he was lost to her forever. I don’t know, Pet. I think my sister may be losing it.”
He sounded so anguished that she pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. “We’ll see her through this. She managed to survive his being missing. If it’s really Adam, it’s a good thing. But, imagine what he must have gone through all these months Alia didn’t know whether he was alive or dead.”
Chance’s eyes were haunted. “I didn’t think about that. He’s not going to be the Adam she knew and loved. At any rate, Alia wants to go to DC as soon as possible, and I’m going to arrange it. The company plane will fly us there after her showing.”
“That girl’s brave,” Petra said with admiration. Then she added, “I’m going with her.”
Chance nodded in agreement. “She’d like that.”
Shortly after Chance had told her what was going on, the museum’s curator, a compact middle-aged gentleman dressed in a gray pinstriped, double-breasted suit with a bald head and huge rectangle-shaped black-framed glasses, stepped onto a dais, bent toward the mic on the lectern and cleared his throat to get the crowd’s attention. “It is with great pleasure that I introduce an artist who will one day, I am certain, be considered one of New York’s iconic visionary painters. Her exhibition, Women of Strength, encompasses women from all backgrounds, from Ruth Bader Ginsberg to Aretha Franklin. Her work is both emotional and intense. It is transcendent and will resonate in the minds and hearts of those of us who are fortunate enough to view it. She is truly an artist to watch, and we are proud to exhibit her work in our gallery. Ladies and gentlemen—Alia Youngblood Braithwaite!”
Tears formed in Petra’s eyes as she watched Alia step onto the dais and shake the curator’s hand. She looked calm and collected, and radiated confidence in an African-print dress and her long hair in braids. She smiled and said, “Thank you, Charles. That was lovely. And thank you all for coming. Art has always been a part of my life. My mother gave me my first set of watercolors when I was three. I made a real mess on the dining room table.”
People laughed, warming up to her easy charm. She continued, “Luckily, I’ve improved since then. What inspired my collection, Women of Strength, begins with a sweet love story. I met a wonderful man and was swept off my feet. We got married, and less than a year later, he went to the Middle East to work on a project for the government and wound up getting kidnapped. The government couldn’t tell me if he was dead or alive. My gut feeling was that he was dead because if there were any possible way to make it back home to me, Adam would find it.”
Stunned silence followed this. She smiled. “After he died, something inside of me died, too. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep and I definitely couldn’t paint. I cursed God. Don’t worry about Him, He can take it. He takes so much abuse from us humans who tend to blame Him for everything!”
More laughter, but it was soft and hesitant. Petra was standing with Chance, his parents, Brock, Susie and Ian. Everyone was watching Alia with rapt attention.
“Then one night I woke from a very vivid dream about Adam. In it, he said, ‘Alia, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I died. You didn’t! Get out of that bed and go paint. You’re stronger than you think you are.’
“When I woke, I didn’t hesitate, I went straight to my studio and started painting a portrait of Harriet Tubman from memory. I’d seen so many portraits of her in the past that I knew every contour of that brave woman’s face. I worked until dawn, and when the sun rose that morning, I had the beginning of my collection. I thought I’d choose twenty-one women, representing the twenty-first century, who epitomized the strength and resiliency of all women.” She gestured to the paintings on the walls of the gallery around them. “And there you have it. I hope you see something that touches you and inspires you, or at the very least reminds you of a strong woman in your life. Thank you.”
* * *
Private plane or not, Petra knew a flight plan had to be filed and various other items needed to be checked off the list before the company plane could take off for Washin
gton, DC. So it wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that Chance, Petra and his family boarded the plane, and they were in the air a few minutes later.
The plane had a full crew, Chance told her: a pilot, copilot and a flight attendant. The Gulfstream extended range jet seated sixteen, so there was plenty of room. The engines were very loud when they boarded, but inside the noise was muted.
Having never been on a private plane before, Petra wasn’t prepared for how luxurious the interior was, with big comfortable seats that converted into sleeping surfaces.
She sat with Alia in the back of the plane while Chance and Brock and their parents were in the front, discussing something that they obviously didn’t want to concern Alia with.
Alia had her eyes closed, but she was not asleep because she started talking a few minutes after they sat down. “They’re discussing the situation,” she informed Petra. “They’re figuring out how best to support me. I know you and Chance are in love and you’re planning to marry him, but you need to know that you’re marrying into a family of troubleshooters. He’s the best of the lot. When a problem arises, he’s the one they send in to solve it. That huddle you see them in? It’s their strategy session. When they come back here, they will have decided what to do when we get to DC. If Adam is Adam, they’ll know how to proceed. If Adam is being detained longer than he should be, my father, who’s a lawyer, will know exactly what to do to get him back home. If he’s not well, he’ll get medical attention. God, I hope he wasn’t tortured or anything. I keep seeing images of him as a prisoner of war, starved and beaten.”
Petra held on to her hand. “Tell me about Adam. What did he do? Was he an artist like you?”
Alia opened her eyes and smiled at her. “Believe it or not, Adam was a physicist. He was doing postgraduate work in quantum physics and how the brain perceives consciousness. He believed consciousness creates reality. That we create our own reality. What’s amazing is he came from a very impoverished family in the Bahamas, won scholarships to come here and went to school for ten years on those scholarships. He was that brilliant. He was weird—weirdly brilliant. Besides being smart, though, he was loving and generous.”
Love in New York ; Cherish My Heart Page 27
