Bound to Favor

by Kiru Taye

“Fari, how is school?” Ebun asked. She knew the girl had just started high school and was boarding. “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Yes. I miss home sometimes but I have my cousins in school too. So it’s fun. And Daddy comes on visiting days.”

  “That’s great. So you’re in the same school as your cousins?”

  “We’re not in the same class but we get to see each other after lessons and in the dormitories.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy in school,” Ebun said.

  Ebun had been raised in a single parent household after her father left, same as Fari was being raised in a single parent home after her mother's death.

  Yet, the difference between Ebun and Fari at the same age was stark. And it wasn't the money or their family status that made the difference. It was the network of family and support.

  Fari had aunties and uncles and grandparents and cousins who cared about her. Even if she couldn't rely on her father, she could always count on the support of her extended family.

  Ebun had never had that kind of family support.

  Veda returned with a bottle of ice water and a glass. She placed them on the side table and poured the water into the glass.

  “Mum said we have to help out in the kitchen,” Veda said.

  “Of course, you can go,” Ebun waved the girls off.

  As Ebun drank she recalled her time in secondary school. She didn’t have the support of siblings or cousins or any kind of relatives. She’d struggled to fit it. She’d been the only black child in her primary school and the same in her secondary school when she’d started.

  She had been taunted for her dark skin. Many times she’d been asked if she didn’t have proper soap to wash off the dirt from her skin. Other times she’d been asked if she’d lived in trees in Africa. Never mind that she’d been born in the UK and hadn’t been to Africa at that point.

  The other children hadn’t cared. All they’d seen was her dark skin and her nappy hair that couldn't be tamed with ‘Wash and Go’ shampoo.

  As she’d grown older and blossomed with boobs, the boys had shown interest in her. And needing validation, she’d succumbed. Her emotional and mental health had spiralled downwards from there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kamali came down the stairs and found Ebun sitting in the alcove by the foyer. She seemed lost in her thought with a glass of water in her hand.

  She’d changed into a long print dress that skimmed her curves. But he couldn’t forget her beauty underneath or how soft and smooth her skin had been.

  He sucked in a deep breath and tried to refocus his thoughts on anything but their lovemaking earlier.

  Why was he referring to it as lovemaking? It had been sex.

  Yet the constriction around his chest said it was more.

  She had been totally giving of herself, and he hadn’t been able to help himself from falling into the spell she wove around him. Even without much effort on her part.

  Like right now.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he coughed to get her attention.

  She glanced up and her face beamed.

  He loved seeing her smile. A new realisation.

  “You look refreshed,” he said as he stretched out his hand.

  She placed her hand in his and he pulled her up.

  “Thank you. So do you, Mali.” She winked at him.

  He grinned. She had a playful side he hadn’t seen before today. And he was rediscovering a side of himself that had been on lockdown for years.

  He tugged her close, leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Nawa, when you call me that I think about forgoing dinner and taking you back upstairs.”

  Her breath hitched and she lifted her arms around him and whispered back. “Well, if you’re good, I promise you some extra dessert later.”

  “Oh, you’re naughty.” He pressed his lips just under her ear lobe.

  “So are you.” She rubbed her palms down his chest. “I think we should go find the others before we get carried away.”

  He leaned back. “You’re right. Let’s go and find the others. I’m sure I can smell Miyan Taushe.”

  “Whatever that is, it does smell delicious.” she asked.

  “Miyan Taushe is a groundnut and pumpkin soup. It’s usually served with Tuwo Shinkafa or Masa. My favourite meal from childhood.”

  “Really? I must learn the recipe.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can cook it for you. You are my future husband, remember?” She winked.

  For a moment, the thought of being her husband made his heart soar. To sit at the table with her and share an intimate meal. To lie down in bed beside her at night and wake with her next to him.

  An image of Toyin flashed in his mind.

  He’d shared all that once with a woman and it had all been one big lie. One massive betrayal.

  He wasn’t getting married again.

  This thing with Ebun wasn’t real. He was happy to escape with her into this false bubble they were creating for the next few days.

  He’d admit he loved the attention she gave him. It soothed his ego and made him feel that at his close-to-middle age, he could still attract the attention of a beautiful woman.

  The only thing he’d felt for a long time had been resentment and anger. The last time he’d experienced this level of excitement he had been a young man in his twenties, exploring life.

  He could do this. He could feel alive again if only for a few days until they returned to Lagos and their normal lives.

  “Of course. Let’s find everyone.” He held onto her hand as they strode through the hall.

  Fahima popped her head around the door. “There you are. Food is ready.”

  “I thought as much. My stomach was rumbling,” Kamali quipped. He placed his hand on the small of Ebun’s back and let her walk into the dining room first.

  Everyone else milled around the table, chatting. Their family meal tradition dictated that no one else would sit until the head of the family was in the room.

  Kamali became the head of this unit after his father’s passing. In his absence, his mother took up the role.

  He strode to the table end reserved for him and pulled out the chair to the right for Ebun. “You sit here.”

  “Thank you,” she said and lowered her body into the seat.

  Everyone else took the cue to grab one. His mother sat at the opposite end.

  “Laila, you can sit here,” Yasmin said as she pulled out the chair to Kamali’s left.

  The woman already stood beside it and didn’t hesitate to sit before Kamali could do anything about it. He glanced at his mother but she shrugged.

  He’d promised he would give some thoughts to the woman so he didn’t contest the sitting arrangement. Although, he would rather Fari sat in the chair.

  “Fari, sit beside Ebun,” he said. He wanted his girls close.

  His heart did a jerk. He referred to Ebun as his girl?

  Warmth spread through his chest.

  For this week, she was his and no one else’s.

  “Okay, Daddy,” she said and swapped with Veda who had been sitting there. Next to Veda was Fahima.

  “Ebun, have you met Laila?” Yasmin asked. She sat next to Laila and Rashi sat next to her. The chair next to Rashi was empty.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Laila,” Ebun said in a relaxed tone and smiled at the other woman.

  “Same here,” Laila replied in a clipped tone and her smile seemed unnatural.

  “She is a family friend. Her father and our father were very close,” Yasmin carried on as if she didn’t notice the woman’s attitude.

  Kamali stiffened. His sister was up to mischief again. Was this going to be a kind of my-father-is-richer-than-your-father conversation?

  He wasn’t going to let it get there. From what Ebun had said, she was estranged from her father. He wouldn’t allow anyone to dredge up the hurt she felt towards her old man. He felt protective of her and no one was going to put her down in his p
resence.

  “Enough of that, Yasmin.” He lifted his hand and covered Ebun’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “But, I’m just doing the introductions.” Yasmin sulked.

  “I know what you’re doing and it’s not necessary. Now, behave yourself or I’ll send you back to Kaduna and you can come home on the day of the Kamu and Sa Lalle part of the wedding.”

  “You can’t do that!” Yasmin protested and glanced at their mother for support. But his mother knew better than to interfere in this.

  “Do you want to bet? And this goes for everyone else,” he hardened his voice.

  “Kamali,” Ebun’s gentle voice drew his attention and he turned in her direction. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. You are my fiancée and everyone here needs to respect you as such. It’s bad enough that they upset you earlier today. But I won’t put up with anymore rude remarks about you. If they can’t respect you, they can go back to their own houses.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Yasmin griped.

  “You do that. Now, let’s eat this food in peace.”

  For a moment, there was no sound. Then his mother waved her hand and Fahima started serving everyone.

  Kamali turned to Ebun. The muscles in her hand tensed.

  Squeezing her hand, he curled his lips in an encouraging smile.

  Her body relaxed and she returned the smile, mouthing ‘Thank you.’

  The rest of the meal passed without drama, the conversations mainly focused on goings on with other extended family members.

  Ebun engaged where she could and he noticed the rapport she had with his daughter. They could be mother and daughter. They had similar skin colouring and noses.

  When Ebun laughed at something someone said, he tumbled further into the spell of her.

  She looked at him, eyes gleaming and his body flushed with heat. He wanted to drag her out of the room and take her upstairs.

  After dinner, they retired to the living room.

  Fari took Kamali’s hand, “Daddy, are you getting married to Aunty Ebun?”

  He’d known his daughter would ask the question after his declaration. He hadn’t had time for a one-to-one with her to explain the situation. He tugged her to the alcove in the foyer where they could talk in private.

  They both sat on the settee, looking out of the window into the side of the house. Floor level lamps lit up the beige wall and the potted ferns and palms.

  “What do you think about Ebun?” he asked, trying to gauge her reaction.

  Her body posture perked up and a slow smile lit up her face. “She’s nice to me and I like her. Didn’t you say you didn’t want to get married again, though?”

  He nodded slowly. This girl never forgot anything. “I did. But your grandma thinks I should marry again. She said you would like a new mother. Would you?”

  “Sometimes.” Her smile was tentative. Her shoulders rose and fell gently. “Sometimes I wish I had a mother just like Veda and Rashi have Aunty Fahima.”

  Chest tightening, his stomach sank. His mother had been correct. He’d been depriving his daughter of a female parent. Perhaps he really should consider Laila.

  “Aunty Yasmin says you will marry Aunty Laila.” Fari echoed his thoughts. “Are you going to marry two wives like Uncle Jibril?”

  He would’ve laughed if it wasn’t a serious matter. He didn’t even want one wife, let alone two. But he would be permitted to marry four wives if he chose to do so.

  Rubbing his fingers between the middle of his forehead to soothe an oncoming headache, he closed his eyes and puffed out a breath.

  When he opened his eyes, Fari’s gaze focused on him, her head tilted to the side. The weight of her expectations and his responsibility settled on his shoulders like boulders threatening to crush him.

  Whatever decisions he made would impact her life, her future. She had a stake in this, perhaps more than he did.

  He avoided her question and asked another. “What do you think about Laila?”

  “I like her,” she said, shrugged and glanced around as if making sure no one would overhear. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “But I prefer Aunty Ebun. She reminds me of Mummy.”

  That vice in Kamali’s chest tightened again, and the tension in his head returned.

  His daughter didn’t know it, but matching Ebun to his late wife didn’t bode well. Surely Fate wouldn’t curse him with the same type of woman twice.

  What a dilemma.

  He forced enthusiasm into his voice and patted her hand. “That’s good. Now, go on. Join your cousins.”

  “See you later, Daddy.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, beamed a smile that had his heart clenching before she walked across the hall back into the downstairs lounge.

  He got up, walked down the hall, opened the side door and went outside. Light from patio lamps aided his path as he went further through the maze of manicured emerald shrubs and pink, white and yellow blossoms in the back garden, the air scented with calla lilies and candelabra aloe.

  He reached the elaborate white gazebo, climbed the step and lowered his body onto the loveseat.

  Darkness settled around him bringing quiet and solitude. A trellis and climbing pink chrysanthemums obscured the main house standing about two hundred yards away.

  Here lay one of his favourite spots—a space where he could get away from meddling families and burdensome responsibilities for a few precious minutes.

  Vibration in his pocket made him pull out his phone. A smile curled his lips when he saw the notification. He clicked to read the message from Ebun.

  I didn’t see you after dinner. Are you okay?

  He typed a reply.

  Yes. Just having a quiet moment.

  A replied pinged back almost instantly.

  Oh. I disturbed you. I’m sorry.

  Don’t be, he sent.

  She didn’t send a reply to that.

  His insides quivered, his heart made sick. He didn’t want solitude.

  He wanted Ebun—her voice, her laughter, her scent, her taste, and her touch—her slick channel gripping him, milking him and sending him to paradise.

  His breath quickened, just as blood rushed south, peace overtaken by passion.

  He typed another message on his phone with trembling fingers.

  Meet me outside. Bring that jumbo pack of rubbers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Movement woke Ebun the next morning. She blinked and rolled onto her back.

  A shadow sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry, I woke you. Go back to sleep,” Kamali’s whispered in a deep voice that sizzled down her spine.

  She reached for the lamp on the nightstand and flicked the switch. Dull yellow glowed, illuminating the room and his splendid naked form as he strode to the armchair in the corner where his clothes lay folded.

  “Where are you going?” her voice sounded rough with sleep as she pushed to sit up.

  “Back to my room before everyone wakes up,” he said and pulled on his boxer-brief, stretching it over his tight buns.

  Disappointment made her stomach clench. “Can’t you stay? We are engaged, after all.”

  Though, it was a fake engagement, his family didn’t know that.

  Tilting his head, he flashed a set of white teeth as he grinned. “Technically, our time together should be chaperoned. We shouldn’t have sex until the marriage rituals are completed.”

  “Chaperoned?” She giggled. “I’m a thirty-five year-old woman not an eighteen year-old virgin.”

  His grin widened. “Even so, that is the tradition.”

  “Really?” She sat up fully with her back to the pillows and headboard. “So if you marry Laila you’d expect her to be a virgin?”

  “I don’t want to marry Laila,” came his immediate reply.

  “Just hypothetically then?” she persisted.

  His shoulders lifted and fell. “She is from a Muslim family, so yes I would expect he
r to adhere to certain standards, purity before marriage being one of them.”

  Standards that didn’t apply to Ebun.

  Her chest tightened and her eyes watered. She shook off the disappointment and carried on with the questions in her mind. “With your late wife did you wait until you were married before you had sex?”

  “I did.” He turned his back to grab the flowing, grey jalabia.

  “And was she a virgin?” She was asking for trouble and she knew it. But she wanted to know about his life with his late wife, wanted to know if life had been as rosy as the perfect pictures she’d seen of their wedding.

  His hands froze mid-air. The seconds stretched in silence and stillness. Then he pulled up the jalabia.

  “Kamali?”

  He didn’t say anything until his body was covered in the silk fabric. Then he turned slowly and faced her. His expression was shadowed and his smile had disappeared. “Toyin was a virgin.”

  Something was wrong. “But?”

  There was a deathly stillness to the way he stood. A cold shiver went down her spine.

  “But, nothing.” He walked to the side cabinet and grabbed his phone.

  She knelt on the bed and wrapped her arms around his midriff. He stiffened.

  “I’m sorry I upset you with my questions.” She breathed against his back and pressed close.

  “It is fine,” his tone was curt.

  “No, it’s not. I didn’t realise talking about your late wife would upset you. I won’t bring her up again. I promise.”

  His chest expanded and contracted as he puffed out air. “Okay.”

  “Then come back to bed.” She dropped her arms so he could move.

  “You know I can’t.” He turned around.

  “You said you’d be out for most of today. I won’t see you. And I’ll be stuck with your family members who don’t like me.” She pressed her lips together and batted her lashes. “Pretty please?”

  He puffed out another breath. “I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you.” She looped her hands around his shoulders and lifted her head to kiss him.

  When his lips descended on hers, he took over, gripping her nape in place while his mouth dominated. The tension that had been in his body translated into the kiss, making it punishing.