by Nana Prah
“That’s a tough one. No one has ever broken off a relationship with her without severe repercussions.”
Blaise clenched his fist and tried to keep himself from yelling.
“We aren’t dating. We never were. She kissed me once, and it was horrible.” He shuddered at the experience. “Wet, sloppy, and I swear that a mouthful of sugar wouldn’t have made it any better.”
Abdul chuckled. “Sounds disgusting.”
“There’s absolutely no attraction. No chemistry. Nothing between us.”
Unlike with Lamisi. One touch from her, and his skin buzzed. All he’d wanted to do when they were working together was get closer. Nibble on her perfect ears. Slide his lips along her smooth cheek before meeting her mouth, sparking the flames between them.
“Not sure what to tell you. Maybe you should meet with her face to face and let her know how you feel.”
“I’ve already told her. She’s a smart woman; she should’ve gotten it.”
Abdul snorted. “Smart and spoiled rotten are two different things. You’ve heard the stories about what happens when the oil heiress doesn’t get what she wants. She had a clothing boutique shut down because they didn’t have anything she liked in her size.”
Blaise ran a hand over his head and grunted. He’d heard the rumours and even believed that most of them were true. That’s what freaked him out. Someone who had everything going for her shouldn’t be so vicious. Damn his ego for getting caught up in wanting to be seen with her.
“You’ll figure something out, Blaise. You always do. Now tell me a little more about the new album. Did Lamisi really tear it up with the translation?”
The air became easier to breathe with the change of topic. “Not only that, but she came up with a name for the style.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Check this.” He paused. “Francohip.”
He could see the wheels in Abdul’s head grinding as his friend tipped his face to the ceiling. Blaise knew he’d gotten it when Abdul pumped a fist in the air.
“Aw man, that’s hot! A combo of Francophone and Hiplife.”
“Exactly.”
“She’s done well.” As if remembering something, Abdul brought his squinting eyes closer to the screen. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
Not that he hadn’t wanted to since the first moment he’d lain eyes on her. Everything about her appealed to him. He knew without a doubt that she was attracted to him also; yet, she’d stayed away from him instead of calling right away. It would’ve been for ever if she hadn’t needed the favour.
“Blaise.” His friend extended the name the way his mother did with a hard hit on the s when trying to draw out the truth from him.
“I haven’t.”
“Good. Keep it that way. She’s not the one for you. She’s not Muslim, and your parents wouldn’t approve.”
The thought of disappointing them was his Achilles heel.
Getting into relationships had never been an issue. Until Lamisi. He hardly knew her, but she made him think of a future as her children’s father. His mother had always encouraged that when he found the one, he’d know. Maybe he shouldn’t have rolled his eyes at what he now might believe to be sage wisdom.
“Lamisi’s mother was a Muslim before she converted to Christianity to marry her father. That should count for something.”
Abdul huffed out a sigh. “Unless she’s one herself or is willing to convert, then you know as well as I do that it doesn’t count. You mentioned you’d be finishing the translations tomorrow.”
Blaise murmured his agreement.
“I suggest you cut ties with her after that. Neither of you owe the other anything. The way your eyes glaze over when you mention her name isn’t a good sign.”
Done with the topic, Blaise asked about Abdul’s security firm. His friend delved into the latest development of his new venture, leaving his personal life alone. At least for the time being.
***
Unlike the excitement on the last day of school when she’d been younger, having this be her final time hanging out with Blaise didn’t thrill her.
The feeling of unworthiness which had initially kept her away from him had crept back in last night and stuck. He was down to earth and friendly, but he was also a star, accustomed to the glamourous things in life. She was a simple woman who didn’t belong in his world. Not like the fashionista Deola.
With good reason, she was sure that women threw themselves at him. She wasn’t the sort to share her man. Ever. He’d tire of her and move on—may as well do it before he got the chance.
Why couldn’t he be a regular guy living a normal life?
As soon as she parked in front of Blaise’s home, he came out.
Amadu stepped up to him first. They shared a handshake ending with a snap. “Hey, man. Thanks for letting us stop by again.”
“I owe your sister big time, so enjoy yourself.”
“Hi, Blaise.” Precious got a short hug while Lamisi hung back.
“How are you doing, Precious?”
“A little sore from my workout yesterday.” She held up a bag. “That won’t stop me from hitting the gym again. I washed your sister’s clothes. Thanks for the loan.”
“You’re welcome. Breakfast is ready and on the table. Help yourselves.”
Precious and Amadu went in without a backwards glance at her.
Unable to resist, despite her newfound resolve, Lamisi initiated the hug. Damn, he felt good. Solid, strong, and right.
“I have a surprise for you after we eat.”
Curious, she released him. “What is it?”
His eyes glimmered with mischief. “You’ll see.”
What could he have planned?
Seeing the buffet spread on the table, all thoughts of his surprise were pushed to the back of her mind as her mouth watered. She filled her bowl with Hausa koko, a smooth porridge made from millet. Skipping over the fried eggs, toasted bread, and oatmeal, she forked koose onto her plate. She held back a moan when she took a bite of the spicy, fried black eyed bean cakes. She had to get the recipe of the best koose she’d ever eaten from Aunty Vida before she left.
The conversation was sparse as everyone focused on the succulent meal. Once plates were empty and multitudes of thanks given to Aunty Vida, they took off to their play spaces.
Lamisi turned to Blaise. “What’s my surprise?”
He grinned and stood.
“Follow me.” He stopped mid-step. “Bring your driver’s license.”
She raised a brow. “Why?”
“We don’t need issues from the police if they stop us driving the motorcycle.”
She clutched her hands to her chest as she looked back and forth between back door and Blaise. Letting out a squeal, she ran in place before crashing into him with a tight hug. “Thank you!”
She hustled to the living room where she’d left her pocketbook, rummaged through her wallet, and pulled out her valid motorcycle driver’s license.
“Do you want to see it?”
He chuckled. “No. I trust you.”
It must run deep if he was willing to let her drive his motorcycle after the stories Amadu and Precious had told him yesterday. An opportunity should be grasped, not questioned.
With one more leap onto him and a smacking kiss to his cheek, she grabbed his hand and bolted to the side of the house.
Little did he know that he was about to have the most amazing ride of his life.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As they worked on the last song to be translated, Blaise’s body still hummed from the residual adrenaline from the motorcycle ride. He’d given Lamisi free reign to go where she wanted. She’d taken to the longest stretch of highway she could find. Being Sunday, the Tema Motorway had been free of the standard traffic found during the week. And then, she’d surprised him by taking the George W. Bush Highway straight to its end in Mallam.
The ride had been as exhilarating as if he�
�d driven the motorcycle. Her merger of speed and safety as they’d zipped along the road had set him on a natural high. Three hours of driving hadn’t seemed to be enough for her when they’d gotten back to his place and removed their helmets.
Her skin glowed, and she couldn’t seem to shake her smile. His own had been plastered on his face at having made her so happy.
The translating went smoother than planned. Their minds refreshed, they didn’t just complete the last two songs, but went over the ones from yesterday and improved them.
Blaise relaxed with his hands propped behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles.
“We work well together.”
“Yes. Well, I’m a language genius.”
He nodded. “And you have the flow. I told you.”
She hopped up, raised her arms above her head, and flexed her back with a groan.
He rotated to the left as the desire to nuzzle her exposed abdomen threatened to take over good sense.
The chair squeaked as she flopped into it. “It just hit me that I haven’t heard you sing the complete songs with the French. We’ve been doing it all piecemeal.”
His moment of embarrassment had come. “I told you that I’m not the best at pronouncing the words.”
“Not a problem. We’ll go through it line by line.”
The faith she had that he wouldn’t butcher the language bolstered him.
He pulled up the last song they’d worked on since it was fresh in his mind. For this piece, they’d decided that the chorus would be in French and would start the song. In English, the lyrics were gorgeous, and he did say so himself. He’d been thinking about the woman he’d one day fall in love with as he’d written it.
He looked into Lamisi’s dark eyes. Had he unknowingly written the song for her?
Don’t be ridiculous. He barely knew her. Although he liked everything he’d discovered so far. Mostly. Her stubbornness could be irritating, but then again, who liked everything about anyone? It would be unnatural.
Just like in his lyrics, her smile made his insides go wobbly.
Hanging out with her felt … right.
Your love sets me free, allowing me to grow
The light in your eyes brings me to my knees
I will love you forever because
with you is where I’m meant to be
I will love you forever because
with you is where I’m meant to be
Lamisi sang it in French to the tune he’d created. He repeated the stanza.
Even to his own ears, the words came out stilted.
The way she bit her bottom lip and grimaced as she listened sent a trickle of sweat gliding down his back.
“That was a nice try,” she said with the hesitancy of a teacher to a pupil who’d messed up the answer. “How about if I sing it once and you repeat it?”
She didn’t wait for a response. Her sweet, melodious voice did justice to the song, and he got lost in it.
“Now you.”
A repeat performance brought on that same disappointed expression.
“Okay.” She stretched out the word. “You really need to work on your French. It’s a soft language, and you’re using it more like a battering ram than a feather.”
Ouch. Didn’t he like her honest nature? Maybe not at this moment, but he’d learn from her harsh teaching style.
“Let’s take the first line and work from there.”
Fifteen minutes later, her hair was standing straight out from how often she’d run her hands through it.
She sprang to her feet. “Your lyrics have been translated. I think I’ve done all I can for you.”
“What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”
“Do you want my honest opinion?”
Would his ego survive more of her blatant candidness? “Always.”
“Your French is awful. Have you ever heard anyone sing one of your songs and they mess up the language completely, but they joyfully think they’ve gotten it right?”
He chuckled at her analogy even though he knew where she was going with it. “Many times. Especially when they don’t understand the language that it’s being sung in.”
She rotated her wrist once before presenting her hand palm up with fingers pointing at him. “That’s you when you sing in French.”
“Come on, I can’t be that bad.”
“Record yourself and see.”
Blaise accepted the challenge. When he played the verse back, he cringed. Horrible. If this had happened in any of the Ghanaian languages or even English, his career would’ve never gotten off the ground.
He rested his head against the back of the chair and scraped a hand down his face until it rested over his mouth. “What am I going to do?”
His transition into French shouldn’t be this difficult. He was a man of rhythm and languages. He’d finally found something that he truly stank at.
The hand she placed on his shoulder brought a comforting warmth.
“From what I can tell, you have three options.”
He waited for her to share.
She settled into her seat. “First of all, you could scrap the idea altogether. The songs would sound fabulous in English and the languages you’re loquacious in.”
Just as he was about to speak, she placed a finger against his lips. He willed himself not to suck it into his mouth and let his tongue sweep over it.
As if realizing what she’d done, she removed her touch and clasped her hands together on her lap.
“I’m spouting ideas. It doesn’t mean you have to take any of them.”
“Fine. I’m listening.”
“The second option is to collaborate with a Francophone singer.”
Not bad. It had occurred to him to do it with a couple of the songs, anyway. He’d feel like a fraud if he let someone else sing all of them. It wasn’t as if he was starting a boy band or anything. He was a solo artist and would continue to thrive as one.
“The last is that you practice until you speak French like it’s your first language. Or at least sing the lyrics as such.”
After what he’d just heard come out of his mouth, he wasn’t sure about that option, either. “Do you think it’s possible?”
She shrugged. “It depends on how much work you’re willing to put in.”
“Will you help me?”
She snapped her neck so far back that her chin became double. “Um. I’m busy with my dissertation, remember? Busy, busy, busy PhD woman here. No free time.”
“Please. I’m willing to put in the work. I really am. I just need a little of your time. Not all of it. Just some.”
The fact that it would keep him seeing her was secondary, yet worked out well. He didn’t doubt that the more she got to know him, she’d find him irresistible. Just as he found her.
Her twists shook with her vehement rejection. “You should be taught by someone from a Francophone country or get immersed in the language or something like that. That’s how I learned how to speak it. I studied French in senior high school and had a couple of classmates from Togo and Côte d’Ivoire who I used to harass into speaking with me. I even followed one of my friends home to Côte d’Ivoire during one of our long vacations. Such an amazing experience.”
He’d thought about taking a trip to Côte d’Ivoire, but the idea of going to a non-English speaking country by himself didn’t appeal. He grabbed her hand as an idea caught hold.
“I know you’re working on your dissertation, but I desperately need your help. Will you travel to Côte d’Ivoire with me?”
With her eyes wide and mouth gaping, he didn’t anticipate a favourable response.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lamisi’s parents had taught her to say what she meant because the truth would serve her. She’d learned over the years to soften her words with kindness.
The latter left her current sphere of existence only to be replaced by pure exasperation.
“Are you right in the head? Why would you ask
me for such a huge favour when I just told you how busy I am? Why don’t you ask Deola to go with you instead?”
She clamped her lips closed at what her temper had let escape. What had gotten into her? A jealousy she shouldn’t be experiencing over a man she hardly knew.
It didn’t matter. Rather than deal with the issue she’d created, she picked up her things to take her mortified self home. She’d accomplished her mission. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t speak French in a manner anyone would understand.
He clasped a hand to the back of his neck and growled.
The action made her dash towards the door.
“Lamisi, please wait.”
She stopped and turned at the pleading in his voice. What was she doing running away like a bunny facing a hunter? She was stronger than that.
“As I told you before, Deola is just a friend.”
“Okay.”
“I should’ve taken the call when it came through yesterday, but we’d had such a great day, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest to emphasize her response. “Okay.”
He sighed. “The truth is that she likes me, but I only see her as a friend.”
“I knew there was something going on between you two. The media doesn’t always lie. Everything is based on at least a kernel of truth.”
“Except when it comes to anything going on between her and me.” He took a step closer. “The attraction is purely one-sided. It’s just that she’s spoiled and likes to get her way.”
Lamisi snorted. “Not surprising for a billionaire oil heiress. She probably gets everything she wants just by raising a finger. What makes you think she won’t have you?”
“Because I don’t want her.” He closed the distance between them by another step. “I never have. I hate to admit this, but I initially saw her as an ego and possible career booster. I was wrong. But then, we got to know each and became friends. Nothing more. It turns out that I really like someone else.”
Her heart threatened to hurdle into her throat with its fierce beating. The smouldering gaze he captured her with gave her the answer, but she had to ask anyway. “Who?”
