by S. Ann Cole
By the time I’ve snagged a cold beer from the fridge and popped the cap off, I turn and catch the brothers engaged in some kind of weird hand signal.
They stop at once and don blank expressions.
I’m immediately suspicious. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
I point the beer bottle between them both. “That weird hand shit you were doing?”
“Oh, ah…” Brian mumbles through a cough, “Brock just wanted to know how the reading of the will went and I was signaling that it’s too soon to ask that kinda question.”
Brock looks to the ceiling and shakes his head.
I take a swig of my beer. “Uh-huh.”
They’re up to something. I know them well enough. Probably don’t want me to be a part of whatever they’ve got going on because I’ve not exactly been the best person to be around of late.
Moody, irritated, downright cantankerous would be a kind way to describe my behavior. They’ve been leaving me alone, and I’ve appreciated being left alone.
I yank off my beanie and toss it on the sofa as I head for the balcony.
“You can’t go out there!” Brock booms from behind me, prompting me to stop and turn around.
I arch a brow. “Why?”
Brock shoots a quick look at his brother. “Because I, uh, painted it. Oil paint. The fumes will suffocate you out there.”
“You…painted it?”
My tone, of course, is incredulous. I’ve been camped out here for the entire day and only left around two hours ago to attend the reading of Naan’s will.
I highly doubt he went out, bought paint and painted the balcony in those two hours. But screw it. These two are up to something and I don’t have the energy to give two shits. So I make a U-turn and head for the stairs.
“You didn’t paint the guestroom, too, did you?”
Brian chuckles.
“Shut up,” Brock grits out at him, which only makes Brian laugh harder.
Idiots.
Kicking my shoes off, I fall back on the bed and groan. I hurt. Everywhere.
Fuck you, Serena Bentley.
My phone vibrates against my thigh and I can’t get it out of my pocket fast enough. Please be her. Please be her. Please b— My brother.
I hit “Ignore”. Not in the mood for family drama.
To say the reading of the will didn’t go well is an understatement. Naan had only three people in her will. My little sister Cammie, Serena, and myself.
Uh-huh. Serena.
To Cammie, a five-million-dollar trust, contingent on her graduating college.
To Serena, her lifetime collection of jewelry and vintage mink coats, worth roughly two-million-dollars.
To me, her entire estate, a gross estimate of five-hundred-million dollars in assets, savings, and investments.
A lot of people don’t know this, but my father became the multi-billionaire he is today from a half-a-million-dollar loan he received from Naan shortly after he married my mother. He came from nothing, fell in love with a rich girl, married her, got a loan from his wealthy mother-in-law, invested it, and made himself a billionaire.
That’s not the story he tells the public, though.
In her heyday, Naan was an in-demand runway model, who later started her own cosmetics line, which later grew into a full-blown company. She went on to accept a one-hundred-million-dollar offer for said company, then made a great deal of well-advised investments for passive income, and retired early.
We know her as Naan, but everyone else knew her as Gracie Darling.
After the reading, while everyone else was indignant and insulted, my mother was simply sad.
But I knew it wasn’t about the money. She’s never been one to care much about wealth. I believe it was letting her own mother down that tormented her.
That said, I would never leave her at the financial mercy of my wicked father, so I plan on transferring half the inheritance to her.
After all, it should’ve been her inheritance, not mine. But she was never there for Naan, never stood up for her when my father decided to stick Naan in a home. Never went to visit her after I moved Naan from the shithole they stuck her in to New York where I’d be able to take care of her myself. So it’s no surprise to me that Naan did this. This is Naan’s brand of petty.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
This time it’s one of my cousins. All of a sudden everyone remembers my number.
I turn the damn thing off and toss it aside. My mind’s only interested in one thing right now, and that’s Serena.
What’s she doing right now? Who’s she with? What was her day like? Is she letting other men kiss her? Touch her?
Rage fueled by jealousy roils inside me at the thought of another man’s hands on her. See, this is how good people become homicidal. Broken hearts are lethal.
With another pitiful groan, I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. Screw everything. I fucking hate life right now.
I must have dosed off, because my mind is being jerked back to consciousness by loud, popping sounds.
An explosion now.
The hell?
I sit up, listening.
A series of pops and booms fires off in rapid secession. Is that…fireworks?
Sounds like it’s right outside, too. On the beach?
On a boring, humid Monday night in back-to-school September, what could possibly be a cause for celebration?
With a belligerent growl, I fall back on the bed and stuff my head under a pillow.
When a knock comes at the door, I rip away the pillow and bark, “WHAT?”
The door swings open, revealing Brody.
When did he get here? “Yes?”
He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s fireworks outside. You should come see.”
“Thanks for the unnecessary notification,” I grumble. “But I can hear well enough from here.”
“Trust me,” he says, giving me a strange look. “You’ll wanna see this.”
He leaves with a knowing smirk.
I start to put the pillow over my head again, but then I remember Brock and Brian’s suspicious behavior earlier. And now Brody’s here.
Something’s up.
Interest officially piqued, I throw the pillow aside and head downstairs. First thing I notice is that all the Cage brothers are here, including Brandt, which means something is definitely up. Because this one’s nickname is Mr. Absent.
They’re all out on the balcony, heads tilted up to the heavens, watching the fireworks.
“Wow, the scent of paint is strong out here,” I murmur as I walk out. “Why aren’t you all suffocating?”
“Shut the fuck up, smartass,” Brock grunts, and I chuckle.
Two brothers shift to the right and two shift to the left, leaving a spot for me in the middle.
I shuffle to the railing, another sarcastic remark on my tongue, but the words die a sudden death.
Below all the noise and bursting colors of the fireworks, are the words, ‘I LOVE YOU, KHOLTON,’ spelled out with twinkling tea lights on the sand.
Standing barefoot inside the O of the word ‘love’ in a short white beach dress, is the woman of my dreams, my nightmares, and my fantasies.
She makes a small wave when I appear, then nervously tucks her hair behind her ear.
“You videoing this, Brian?” Brody asks with a chuckle.
“Damn straight.”
Deaf, dumb and blind to everything but the drumming of my heart, I turn and walk off the balcony.
Walk out of the house.
Unhurried. Confused. Head swirling with unanswerable questions.
I see her when I exit the path to the beach. She’s aglow with nerves and fright. I like that. I like that she’s terrified. Fear means truth.
She means it.
Eyes never leaving her, I blindly step over the glowing tea lights to get to her. I join her in the O of “love”. She’s so fucking beautiful it’s bizarre.
<
br /> With a shaky smile, she says, “I know exactly when I fell.”
I’m stoic, giving her nothing. “When?”
Her gaze dips briefly to my lips and back. “On the floor, in the backroom of a soup kitchen.” She bites her lower lip and emits a soft sound. “You fed me Doubles, and then you…put your lips to mine and made me fall in love with you.”
As the fireworks abate, she glances up at all the people out of their balconies, watching us. Her cheeks redden.
But just as she always does in the face of a challenge, she juts out that defiant chin and continues, “This is cheesy and so not my style, but after everything, I know you’d never believe me any other way.”
Pausing, she inhales a deep breath before exhaling with, “I love you, Kholton. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m sorry for not admitting it sooner. But I was—am—scared. So freaking scared.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why are you scared?”
“I don’t know!” She throws her hands up. “I don’t know why I’m scared or what I’m scared of. I only know that when I think about how deeply I’m in love with you, I experience this crippling trepidation.”
I want to hug her, squeeze her, reassure her that I would never hurt her. But she holds her hand out to stop me when I advance.
“No, wait. Let me finish, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be this brave again.”
To restrain myself from grabbing her and kissing those beautiful lips of hers, I slip my hands in my pockets. “Okay.”
She whispers something inaudible—a prayer?— then shocks the shit out of me by dropping down to one knee in the sand. She then pokes one finger down the cleavage of her dress and comes up with a titanium band.
“Kholton Sharpe,” she starts, lifting the ring, “will you be exclusive with me?”
I blink at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
Her gaze bounces around at the scatter of onlookers. In a hushed tone, she asks again, “Will you be exclusive with me?”
I’m fighting back a smile now. “Babe, forgive me, but I’m confused. You asking me to marry you or go steady with you? You asking me to be your husband or your boyfriend? What will I be saying yes to?”
Her eyes blow wide. “Oh, oh…Oh my God, no!” She slaps her palm to her face. “Jesus, I suck at cheese. This is so embarrassing.”
Laughing, I get down on one knee, mirroring her. I touch the side of her face, her cheek soft against my palm. “What do you want, Serena?”
A tear falls from her long lashes as she replies, “You. I just want you. All of you.”
“Then, yes, I’m yours,” I tell her, meaning the words with every muscle of my heart. “Exclusively yours.”
I move in, about to mercilessly steal all her oxygen, when she adds, “But I also want the other thing. Marriage. When the time is right, I want to marry you.” She nods her head, vigorously, as if coming to a crystallized decision. “I want to marry you and be your wife and spend my life with you.”
Expelling a huge breath, she looks at me with wide eyes, on the verge of freaking out. “Holy shit. This is so not what I intended when I bought this ring, but…wow. That’s what I want. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
With tearful, but certain, doubtless eyes, she looks up at me and asks, “Kholton Sharpe, when the time is right—and that could be one, two years, three years from now—will you marry me?”
I’m grinning so hard now. Whipped to hell and back by this woman. She’s so damn adorable.
Lips a hairsbreadth from hers, I whisper, “Fuck yes.”
And then I kiss her.
Whoops and hollers rain on our heads as I kiss the life out of her.
Tears stain both our cheeks.
I love this woman.
Without breaking our kiss, I climb to my feet, bringing her up with me.
I hoist her up.
She locks her legs around me.
I walk with her out to the ocean.
She kisses me with mad passion all the way there.
“I missed you everyday,” I whisper against her lips.
“I loved you everyday,” she whispers back.
When I’m knee deep in water, I pull back so I can see her eyes. “Serena?”
“Hmm?” she hums with a contented sigh.
“I’m happy.”
She blinks dreamily. “Khol?”
“Hmm?”
“Me, too.”
Our lips meet again, right before I submerge us both under water.
Epilogue – Kholton
“You’re my Braden Carmichael.”
Thirteen months later
“You’re late, boy!” Aunty Reba yells at me when I burst through the doors of The Roti House.
I plant a quick kiss on her cheek before searching the crowd for my fiancée, because Reba’s wrath is nothing compared to hers.
I don’t see her.
“She’s late, too,” Reba supplies.
I glance down at my favorite Trinidadian. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” she plants her fists on her hips. “Everyone else, except the two of you, showed up on time to your own gender reveal party.”
She sucks her teeth and points sturdily to where two chairs are set up in the middle of the room, wrapped with silky white material and decorated with pink and blue roses. “Get your overgrown white butt over there and call your woman.”
Like an obedient little boy, I do as she commands and plant my “white butt” in one of the chairs. I spot Brock and Brian in the crowd, watching me get schooled and laughing their faces off. I furtively flip them the bird.
The Roti House has been transformed into a pink and blue puke fest, with a small group of all our close friends and family eagerly awaiting the reveal.
Thirteen months ago, after we became a legit exclusive couple, as much as Serena needed a baby, we decided not to rush it, to let it happen naturally. And in the meantime, we would enjoy all the sweet benefits of a childless relationship.
“Naturally” happened six months ago. We went to the Maldives for her birthday weekend and she got sick, puking nonstop. We thought she had food poisoning, so I took her to the doctor. She puked on me when we found out it wasn’t food poisoning after all.
Not one of her finest moments.
Three months later, we learned we would be having twins. Yep, we’re in for one helluva ride.
Neither she nor I are fans of this gender revealing thing, but Aunty Reba, after learning we were pregnant, insisted we let her host a gender reveal party for us. All Serena and I had to do was show up on time.
And we couldn’t even get that done.
I’m late because I had a class run over, then I had bad luck getting a cab to stop for me. But I’ve no idea why my fiancée is late. Last I heard from her was when I phoned her three hours ago to check up on her. She told me she was getting into the shower. We’d already decided the night before that we would be coming separately due to our schedules.
Flipping my satchel open, I get out my cell to call her. But just as I’m about to hit the numeral assigned to her on speed dial, she comes bursting through the door. “I’m here! I’m here!”
I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips from seeing her. Her flirty red dress and heels she knows I’m against her wearing. Her blazing red hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail with bangs she got last week to hide a tiny, barely-visible-to-the-eye zit that popped up on her forehead.
That’s Serena Bentley right there.
My girl.
Fiancée.
Soon-to-be wife.
And that protruding six-month bump is the home of our babies.
My life.
Her green gaze darts around, searching, until they land on me.
She smiles.
I smile.
“You’re late!” Reba barks at her, and she winces. “And I can’t even be mad at you with that adorable bump. Get over there next to your man and let’s start this thing.”
> My baby scurries over and I rise to help her settle in the chair next to me.
Sitting down again, I lean in close and whisper, “Not fair that you got off easy because you’ve got my babies growing inside you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You were late, too?”
“Yeah, class ran over. Left you a message,” I explain. “You?”
She’s suddenly sheepish. “I, uh, took a nap?”
I bite back a laugh. “Seriously?”
“I know, I know,” she whispers, shamefaced. “It was supposed to be a fifteen-minute power nap, but I forgot to set the timer and the next thing I know it’s two hours later.”
The laugh breaks free this time.
“Stop laughing,” she scolds, though her own lips are twitching.
‘“Babe?”
“Yes?” she answers, biting her lip.
I rest my hand on her stomach. “You’re gorgeous and I love you.”
Fifteen minutes of toasts and jokes later, Reba declares it’s time for the big moment. Serena and I are both clueless of the details or what the reveal method is, so we simply follow Reba’s instructions, making secret jokes along the way.
First, a tarp is rolled out.
Next, two easels are brought out and placed on the tarp. Both easels have bloated black balloons pinned to them.
“Ah,” Serena says, rubbing her belly. “I see where this is going.”
“Hmm,” I hum distractedly, mesmerized by the way she’s rubbing her belly, petting my babies.
Reba comes over and gives us each a red dart. “Up, up!” she says enthusiastically.
Once we’re both up, she points to the easels, then to the darts in our hands. “I think it’s obvious what you need to do, nah?”
“C’mon, Khol,” someone calls from the crowd, “show us who’s the better shot!”
I turn and look down at my fiancée. “They’re pitting us against each other.”
Shrugging, she turns to face me. “Well, bring it on. You know I never back down from a challenge.”
“And I love that about you, baby.” I lower my forehead to hers. “But I don’t wanna compete with you anymore. What I want is to be a team with you. Us against it all.” I raise a challenging eyebrow. “Think you got it in you to be a team player, princess?”
