The Billionaire's Club Trilogy: Deluxe Box Set

by C. L. Donley

  “How the hell did he get your measurements?” Amara marveled.

  “Honestly? Probably while I was sleeping. Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been sleeping like a cadaver.”

  “You think it’s twins?” Kim asked.

  “It has to be.”

  “Oh my God, Mya!!” said Amara.

  “When you do you find out?”

  “Next month.”

  “Next month?! You’re big as a house!” Amara exclaimed.

  “Right?” Mya replied.

  “Girl, she’s not that damn big.”

  Dale surprised them all again when they retreated outside on the roof to see a simple outdoor setup with chairs and a gazebo overlooking the Greek coast and Santorini villages. Just as Mya was coming down the aisle, the sun was setting, and it was Dale’s turn to be— in his words— a giant snotball. Mya’s dress was a vintage lace halter top that tied in the back and popped against her dark skin, with a deep V that would’ve been daring but with her baby bump protruding from her otherwise slender, fit frame she just looked like a hot mom, like mother Earth personified.

  Mya dissolved into emotion on the aisle watching Dale watch her. She’d always imagined falling in love with the guy that parted the sea of women this way and that to get to her. Even when it seemed like it was only hurting her chances she couldn’t help but chase this longing, obscuring herself further and further. Looking back, after doing exactly what she dreamed she still hadn’t realized it was him, even after all the dust had cleared. It was so excessively beyond her wildest dreams, but it wasn’t long before she couldn’t deny the truth. It was always him. She was grateful for the way they had collided. Had she known it from the beginning, she would’ve never let him get so close.

  The wind picked up and blew through the couple’s hair as the sun continued to descend behind them, adding purple-orange color to the otherwise white and blue scenery. Kim cradled a sleeping Jabari in her lap, thankful that he’d fallen asleep. Amara’s son Sam had to be placated with a phone as they sat in front of her. Kim caught Bel’s eye and turned to look at him. He smiled at her fondly, shaking his head. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she could guess. She broke the silence.

  “Let’s have another wedding.”

  “Kimberly.”

  “What?”

  “Let Mya have her moment,” he gently admonished her.

  “I didn’t say right this minute!” Kim flinched.

  Bel just gave her the smolder as he slowly smiled.

  “Name the day, and I’ll be there,” he whispered.

  “Forget it,” Kim rattled off as she turned her attention toward the altar. Bel giggled at her.

  “With the power vested in me…” the minister concluded. Thank God, Kim thought. She didn’t know how she’d ever had the patience for her Ghassani wedding.

  Dale wrapped his arms around his bride and kissed her passionately. Everyone whooped and hollered, and Kim was up on her feet yelling “yaaaas!” and doing body rolls.

  “Bottom’s up, bro,” Bel gave Dale a shot once they were at the outdoor reception.

  Both he and Grayson gave a speech because Dale didn’t have the heart to choose one over the other as the best man. And since the ceremony was Dale’s brainchild, he’d had Amara and Kim do the same for Mya. Bel cried, Grayson cried, as well as Amara, and also Kim. Which in turn made the bride and groom cry. It was the most emotionally draining wedding that had ever happened. Now it was time for drinks.

  “Dude, I know you’re just trying to get me drunk, and it’s not going to work.”

  “Bro, why would I fuck up your honeymoon like that, I’m just trying to celebrate.”

  “We’re all having one,” Grayson insisted.

  “To DaMaya,” Bel raised his shot class.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Dale scoffed, taking the shot and letting the vodka burn his throat.

  Grayson and Bel were indeed trying to get Dale drunk. And they’d gotten Kim’s brothers in on it, and even Mya’s dad. There was no way Dale was turning down a shot from Mya’s dad. He even gave the couple a loving toast, welcoming him to the family before he’d given Dale the double vodka shot. Dale was so touched he didn’t even notice that Mya’s dad did not have a shot glass to toast with.

  Amara noticed that every time Dale was given a shot by a loved one, the two billionaires seemed to be unable to watch and had to turn away. She walked up to the two of them disapprovingly.

  “Are you seriously trying to ruin my best friend’s honeymoon right now??” she said in disbelief to her husband.

  “He’ll be fine, he’s a good drunk. We’re doing her a favor I promise,” Bel re-assured her.

  “To be fair, she didn’t even know she was having a honeymoon until today,” Grayson defended.

  After about an hour Dale was talking a mile a minute on a variety of subjects, and could only be interrupted by the DJ playing either a Jay-Z song or a Celine Dion song, at which point he would grab Mya’s hand and retreat to the dance floor, loudly singing along. After this happened the third time, Mya turned her head towards the table where Grayson and Bel were sitting and gave them a glaring, unamused look over Dale’s shoulder, indicating she knew what they’d done. Grayson tried to avoid Mya’s gaze. Meanwhile, Bel laid his head on the table, dying laughing.

  Kim and Amara too were on the dance floor. Jabari and Sam were with relatives while their mommies danced. They joined their husbands at the table, chatting and catching up until Amara had the impetus to look around for Mya. She couldn’t find her. Dale was also conspicuously missing.

  “Um…where’s the bride and groom?” Amara announced.

  “Told you. Like I said, we did her a favor,” Bel said.

  “Gross,” Amara said.

  “It’s not gross; it’s beautiful,” Grayson said.

  “I still can’t picture it,” Kim said, looking across the table at her friend. Amara laughed.

  “Picture what, Dale having sex?” Grayson asked.

  “Why are you picturing Dale have sex?” Bel furrowed his brow.

  Amara jerked her neck back and gave Bel the stank face look.

  “Um, we have A/B conversations too, Bel, don’t get petty!” Amara sniped. Bel smirked.

  “Babe, I think you mean ‘we have A/B conversations too, your majesty King Bel,’” said Grayson.

  “Thank you, Grayson,” Bel teased. Kim continued as though not listening.

  “I mean… I can picture it but…” Kim scrunched her face as if she was currently on the task and it was difficult. Amara laughed again.

  “Dale handles business,” Bel contested.

  “He does,” Grayson assured them.

  “I don’t want to know how you both know that,” Kim said.

  “You really don’t,” Bel confirmed. Grayson started laughing.

  “The lot of you are disgusting,” Amara said flatly. Which only caused Bel also to start laughing.

  “Kim, how many people you think we have now slept with by proxy?” Amara asked her.

  “Girl, three hundred and fifty-two,” she rattled off without hesitation. Bel cackled.

  “Grayson won’t tell me the number. I know he has an exact count,” Amara confessed.

  “Don’t do it, bro,” Bel said.

  “Bro, I’m not an idiot,” Grayson replied.

  “I think I have a right to know,” Amara insisted.

  “Why would you want to? It’s irrelevant,” said Grayson.

  “How can you say that?”

  Grayson was a bit annoyed. It’d been a sore spot of contention for them over the course of the marriage. It was better now, but when Amara first became obsessed with the topic, it was the first time they’d fought since getting engaged. Bel felt the tension between them. Kim had clearly already known about it.

  “Amara, Grayson’s a one-woman man now. Just let it go,” Bel appealed to her.

  “How do you know?” Amara said, confessing her fear.

  “Because I’m loo
king at him,” Bel answered, holding out his arm opposite him where Grayson was sitting, as though it were obvious and visible. Grayson looked at his wife as if to say, “I told you so.” Amara just looked away, unconsoled.

  “How do you go from hundreds of women to one?” Amara asked honestly.

  “'Hundreds’?” Grayson protested.

  “Hundreds,” Amara insisted angrily, self-assured as she looked at him. Grayson just looked at her as though she were adorable. He was sad, however, because she was starting to grow less fond of the look. It was a development that was, in his heart and mind, a catastrophe.

  “Look, Amara, I understand what you’re afraid of,” Bel began, “but he could’ve been a virgin until he met you, and it wouldn’t have prevented what you’re trying to prevent.”

  “I’m not trying to ‘prevent’ anything, he can sleep with whomever he wants,” Amara stated flatly. Kim’s eyebrows went up as she slowly blinked.

  “She’s trying to force an open marriage on me,” Grayson explained.

  “Amaraaaah…” Bel whined disapprovingly.

  “All I ask is that he’s 100% honest with me. And he won’t give me that. The one thing I’m asking.”

  “Because the one thing you’re asking is the one thing that will explode your relationship.”

  “Says you! I’m fine; I don’t know why everyone keeps trying to protect me from shit!”

  “Listen, Amara. I know you, and I believe you. You’d probably take that number like a fuckin’ champ,” Bel began, “but he doesn’t want to tell you the number. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the number.”

  “Well he should’ve thought of that before he acquired ‘the number,’” Amara shot back as if Grayson wasn’t sitting right next to her.

  Kim laughed out loud. Amara, stay-not-havin’-a-boyfriend Riley, really had this gorgeous billionaire by the balls! Even after all this time, it was surreal to watch.

  “You’re absolutely right. He should have. But he didn’t. He had… no fuckin’ idea, that you, were out there somewhere,” Bel said.

  Grayson wondered why he’d never put it like that before.

  Amara sighed, somewhat placated and yet defeated. She didn’t dare look in Grayson’s smirking direction. He’d probably make her smile, and she didn’t want that from him, not right now.

  She looked at Kim and Bel across from her. Now a king and a queen. After a year they were already scarily looking the part. Knowing Kim these seventeen years, she found her trajectory completely unsurprising. The sight of them wrenched a smile from her heart, and it landed on her face. The couple returned it.

  “You just wait,” Amara glared, smiling. “You’re in the honeymoon period now, but the two of you will be where we are now, mark my words.”

  “Bring it,” Bel said, looking at his wife.

  Kim returned his loving gaze.

  “Can’t wait,” she replied as she lifted her chin, waiting for the king’s kiss. When he returned it her smile stayed in place as if she had something on her mind.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, trying to stay mum, while simultaneously making it clear that it was not nothing. Bel glared at her suspiciously.

  “I know that ‘nothing’ look,” Amara tried to out her.

  “Shhh…” Kim replied. She was going to wait until they were alone to give him the news.

  Kim was pregnant. So was Amara, but she didn’t know that yet.

  Like they’d planned as silly idealistic teenagers, they were all about to be pregnant roughly around the same time. Meanwhile, years earlier and on the other side of the country, Grayson and Dale were busy planning their futures thus: that they were going to marry hot models and live across the street from each other. They didn’t quite get there but they had gotten eerily close. Plans frightened Bel, even as a child, but he did dare to one day be happy. And now he was.

  “If you’re about to tell me we’re having another baby, I might have to get white boy wasted too,” Bel said.

  “Then I won’t tell you that,” Kim replied.

  “Kimberly… do not tell me there is a spare in your belly right now.”

  “Then I won’t!” she repeated. The surprise was completely ruined but it was totally worth it. The moment was ripe.

  Bel was silent as he looked at her. He was kicking himself inwardly. What was he thinking leaving the country without his detail? His family was the most important thing. Idiot! He wasn’t afraid in the same ways he had been the first time, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he would’ve felt better if they were home. They would be, in just a few hours. At least he was going to get to see her pregnancy this time. From start to finish. He smiled. He couldn’t wait to put more stretch marks on her.

  “Does it feel like a boy?” Bel cooed, grinning wildly and touching her belly. Kim rolled her eyes, smiling. She couldn’t deny that it did. She looked at Amara who was shaking her head.

  “Couldn’t just… let Mya be great today,” Amara playfully accused her, wrinkling her nose. Kim furrowed her brow and sat up straight, her mouth agape.

  “Fuck you, Amara, I am doing…very well today,” Kim objected, while also admitting she had a problem. The guys laughed.

  “Ain’t I, boo?” Kim eyed Bel. Bel just smiled as he nodded at her drunkenly.

  “You are,” he answered her, memorizing her face yet again. The soft light of lanterns accentuating her youthful beauty, and the glow of innocence she’d somehow managed to protect all these years. The king was utterly enthralled with her still. He pressed his lips to hers once more, faintly registering the social sounds of wedding guests, the dull roar of family tree branches brushing forth and back and shedding leaves, one against another.

  Fifty Three

  Kim's Black English Dictionary (BED)

  A/B conversation (n.): abbreviated version of a phrase delineating a private conversation e.g. “This is an a/b conversation so ‘C’ your way out.”

  Crip (n.): a member of the “Crips,” one of the largest crime-related gangs in America, predominantly African-American, consisting of an estimated 40- 45,000 members nationwide. Characterized by their wearing of the color blue to indicate affiliation.

  Honorary (adj.): reference to the once popular practice of granting a worthy non-native proprietor of black culture the privelege of being considered an adopted member of that community. Revokable by any native member.

  Nunya (n.): a shortened, phonetic version of “none of your business,” designed to appear like an answer but almost always causes the curious party ask a further question, revealing the full response e.g. “How much did you pay for your house? I paid Nunya. Nunya? Yeah, Nunya bizness.”

  Run tell dat (v.): sometimes [go] run tell dat, slang for “run tell that,” command addressed to a gossip or tattle tale urging them to tell everything they know, usually in the context of a dare to show how little it matters to you if they tell (never a bluff, hence the suggestion to “run,” not walk) e.g. “The manager knows you’ve been coming in late after lunch every day this week. Does she know it’s ‘cause her boyfriend can’t keep his hands off me? Go run tell dat.”

  Saditty (adj.): a made-up word connoting a bourgeoise or self-righteous attitude

  Swole (adj.): buff or muscular, a dialect form of swollen

  Various Coming to America references: Zumunda, She’s Your Queen/queen to be, Lisa McDowell

  Epilogue

  Queen Kimberly al Malwali of Ghassan lay in bed, having been awake for hours.

  Her baby daughter Zhara suckled at her breast. Zhara was their youngest, now eight months old, and she had four other siblings including Jabari, now eleven years old.

  Bel had kept Kim in perpetual pregnancy for these ten years. She’d had a break between delivery and a year or so of breastfeeding, and sometimes a free month or two afterward if she was lucky. Other than that, Bel continued to impregnate her without fail, and Kim was happy to oblige. The only thing Bel loved more than getting her preg
nant was seeing her pregnant. Every time she had a baby, citizens gathered in the great square to hear the announcement and then a year later to see the baby. The fact that she’d had three sons in a row practically made her a saint. Despite spending the first half of her life taking care of kids, motherhood suited her. The added bonus of never having to cook or clean, having plenty of attendants and nannies— and now, the presence of her own clean and sober mother as of three years ago— was enough to keep her bright-eyed and focused on the sole task of loving her babies and future heirs.

  She could tell by the way sun shone through the light of her parlor that it was about 8 am. Zhara slept through the night and it was a joy Kim had trouble taking full advantage of, because for the third morning in a row, the king had awakened her at the same early hour to make love to her.

  “Say my name,” he’d whispered.

  “My king,” she panted.

  “No,” he corrected her, “my name,”

  “Bel,” she’d complied, saying it like a question.

  “My fucking name,” he lowly demanded.

  “Belkacem,” she cooed in his ear, followed by a string of dirty demands in the Farsi she was now fluent in. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and buried himself deep inside. She stifled a grin. That always got him. And she could never return to sleep after that, his naked desire for her like caffeine in her blood.

  Besides that, she was excited because she would be reunited with the gang again for the first time in three years. It’d been a long time.