“Oh, yes. I love you. I want to be your wife.”
Silently, they sipped the champagne, alternately smiling at each other and shaking their heads, amazed at the turn their lives had taken. “If we’re going to have a family, we should start soon,” he said.
“I agree, and that reminds me. If I’m moving to the West Coast, I have to talk with Krista’s father. Mama will live in the house and look after Krista when she’s home from college on weekends, but it’s best that her father have a clear picture of his role.”
“Absolutely. What do you say I invite him to dinner with us?”
“Good idea, but shouldn’t we invite Carla, his wife, as well? She and Krista have a good relationship.”
“Right. Call him and make a date for dinner at a first class restaurant. Can Krista come home Saturday? If you’d like, we can go to Washington and get her.”
“I’ll let you know after I speak with her father. He’s sending her to Howard, and I don’t know what he has planned. The best food is at the Crab Shanty, nicest ambiance is at Pinnetta’s.”
He closed one eye and half laughed. “Ambiance would be fine if I planned to propose, but I’ve already done that. Let’s go for the food.” He thought for a minute. “Scratch that. Ladies like to dress up. We’d better go to Pinnetta’s.”
Taken aback by Petra’s call, Goodman paced the floor in his studio office, wondering at her true reason for inviting him and Carla to dinner. “Look, Petra, if there’s anything behind this, I want to know it now.”
That didn’t sound friendly, and she could accuse him of being suspicious of her, but he couldn’t help it. He had everything going his way these days, and he didn’t want anybody to toss a monkey wrench at him.
“There is something, Goodman, but I didn’t know how to broach it to you. I’m moving to Oakland, California, where I plan to get married. I want to talk with you and Carla about arrangements for Krista and to introduce you both to my fiancé.”
He stopped pacing, stared at the phone, and then relaxed. “Really? Well, hell! This is great news. Congratulations. I was planning to bring Krista home Friday night, but she just called to say she wanted to attend some kind of sorority shindig. Don’t worry, babe. We’ll look after Krista.”
He knew Carla would love a chance to get dressed up, so he didn’t hesitate to commit them. His surprise at seeing Petra elegant and beautiful in a red chiffon dinner dress equaled his shock in learning that he was the father of a seventeen-year-old daughter. This Petra had come a long way from the practical, almost dowdy woman he’d known, and one look told him she’d chosen a brother who had class.
He shook hands with Winston. “I’m glad to meet you. Congratulations. Petra is as fine a woman as there is. I wish you both much happiness.” And he meant every word of it. Turning, he put an arm around Carla and tucked her close to his side. “Winston, this is Carla, my wife.”
During the dinner, they spoke mainly of Krista, although Goodman wanted to know how and where Petra met a man like Winston Fleet. But he didn’t ask; Krista would tell him.
“Will you bring Krista home to her grandmother every weekend?” Winston asked him. “If not, I can arrange for it.”
This brother meant business, a man who handled responsibility the way a great general handled his troops. Goodman shook his head. “I’ll do it. It’s important that she knows I’m responsible for her, and that she can always depend on my being there for her. When she’s in Oakland with you, you look after her.”
“Fair enough,” Winston said. “It will be my pleasure.”
“When are you leaving?” Carla asked Petra.
“The day after Krista’s birthday. That’s ten days from now.”
Carla leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with delight and anticipation. “Let’s plan a big party for her.” To Goodman’s amazement, they immediately began exchanging ideas. Occasionally, Winston offered a suggestion. The more he saw of the man, the more reassurance he gained that the man would be a good influence on his daughter.
He leaned back in his chair, and the conversation around him became a low hum as he considered his good fortune. He had the love of his wife, his sons, and his daughter and the respect of those who knew him. All this in spite of his momentary foolishness when he almost threw it all away on Jada Hankins. He knew she’d leave him alone now, because she had what she wanted and what she had hoped to squeeze out of him. A member of the community chorus showed him her invitation to Jada’s housewarming party to celebrate her new condominium. “You know Ralph Hayes, don’t you?” the singer asked him. “He flipped over Jada and bingo! Jada has a condo.”
Yes, he said to himself. Another married man set a trap for himself. He wondered how long Jada would be happy alone there while Hayes found one more lie to tell his wife in order to spend an hour or forty-five minutes with her. He felt sorry for both of them.
Ten days later, having shipped Petra’s car and personal belongings to his home in Oakland, Winston Fleet stood with Petra in the Baltimore/Washington airport. He kissed his future mother-in-law and stepdaughter good-bye, shook hands with Goodman Prout, and took Petra’s hand as they walked through the airport to security.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, sweetheart, but I’ll do everything within my power to see that you never regret it.”
“How can I regret it? I’m leaving my family in good hands, and I’ll be with the man I love and who loves me.
“You paid for first class seats?” she asked him as they sat down in the plane.
“I promised to do my best for you, and I meant it.” He kissed the tears of joy that spilled down her cheeks.
Epilogue
Four years later, Petra and Winston walked through the Baltimore/Washington airport with their one-year-old twins. He carried their son, and she carried their daughter. Goodman, Carla, and Lena met them at the airport, and they traveled in Goodman’s and Carla’s cars to Washington to attend Krista’s graduation from Howard University with magna cum laude honors. Krista along with Peter and Paul—junior and freshman, respectively, at Howard University—met them at the Willard Hotel where they would stay during the graduation proceedings.
After registering and getting a nanny for the children, the two families sat in the hotel’s lounge having high tea. “I’m surprised Krista didn’t major in music,” Lena said, her pride in her granddaughter obvious from her radiant face. “She plays so beautifully.”
“She’s naturally gifted,” Goodman said. “If she wants a degree in piano, all she has to do is take an exam. She’ll be a great lawyer.”
“You’ve done your job, Goodman,” Winston told him, “and you still have to educate Paul and Peter for who knows how long. I’ll send Krista to law school.”
Petra gave silent thanks for her blessings. Until her daughter married or established a place of her own, she would continue to divide her time between her parents and her two sets of siblings. Old man Collins’s advice had caused a lot of problems but, in respect to Goodman and her daughter, his counsel had been a wise and wonderful thing.
Fall in love with the women of Michele Grant’s Montgomery series.
A Heard It All Before
Accustomed to living the high life in Dallas, everything Jewellen Capwell knows about the hood comes from the movies. So when she agrees to accompany her best friend, Renee Nightingale, to a Southside ball game, her only concern is keeping her cool around her peeps. She’s not there to ogle guys—until she spots Roman Montgomery. When it comes to men, Jewel’s heard it all before, but Rome’s working from a whole new script . . .
Pretty Boy Problems
Avery Beauregard Montgomery has breezed through life on his dazzling good looks, six-pack abs, and spark - ling personality. But this pretty boy meets his match in Belle—a gorgeous woman with attitude and no time for trifling charmers. Now that Beau finally knows who and what he wants, what will it take to get Belle on the same page?
Any Man I Want
As the be
autiful baby girl of the protective Montgomery clan, Katrina has led a charmed life. A modeling career sky-rocketed her to fame and fortune. Facing thirty, she’s ready for a challenge and goes into the fashion design business with her sister-in-law. If only her personal life ran as smoothly. The only man Katrina’s really drawn to is the one she can’t control: former pro footballer, notorious player, and family friend, Carter Evan Parks.
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Turn the page for an excerpt from Any Man I Want . . .
Prologue
I don’t regret much
Katrina—Saturday, May 21—10:22 p.m.
“You will rue the day you ever discarded me!” Kevin Eriq Delancey declared dramatically as he slammed his belongings into a designer suitcase that cost more than my first car. Thankfully, we were in a private villa of an exclusive resort in Barbados and no one was close enough to hear his ranting and banging around. “Rue the day! Do you hear me?” he repeated, punctuating each word with the hard toss of an object into his luggage.
I blinked twice and then deliberately looked back at the thumbnail I was slowly filing. It didn’t seem prudent to laugh, but really—he sounded like a poorly written soap opera character. I coughed to cover up the giggle that threatened to spill out. Rue the day? I thought— okay, sir. I refrained from sighing deeply or rolling my eyes.
“Yes, I hear you, Kevin.” I stayed still while keeping my eye on the fuming man pacing around the spacious accom modations. This trip had been successful professionally and disastrous personally. My photo shoot went flawlessly; my relationship went up in flames.
With growing detachment, I watched as Kevin railed at me, so angry that spit was literally flying from his mouth as he spoke. I had deliberately waited until tonight. I thought I’d staged this perfectly. We had a lovely dinner; I made sure he drank the lion’s share of the wine. Our week here in Barbados was nearing an end. I’d hoped he’d be mellow enough to avoid just this kind of scene. True, there’s never a good time to break up with someone, but seeing as how we’d only been dating a few months and neither of us were fooled into thinking this was any sort of love connection, I thought it safe to cut the ties before we headed back to the States.
I had long since given up dating models or photographers or designers. I was sick of men who required more pampering, ego-stroking, or mirror time that I ever would. I was tired of men who just wanted a trophy for their arm, a playmate for their bed, or photo op to boost their careers. Some of the blame fell on me. I hadn’t always chosen my companions wisely. I was a busy woman. I didn’t want to put a lot of work in and I wanted it to be easy. But I’d found that easy men were like cheap shoes: You got what you paid for, they were usually uncomfortable, and you shouldn’t expect them to last long. I decided it was time to put at least as much effort into picking my men as I put into picking my wardrobe. Priorities, you know.
At first glance, Kevin seemed to be a great choice. He seemed different in a good way. He was supposed to be my anti-drama boyfriend. The grown-up, sophisticated, ’bout-his-bidness man who made the rest of them look like preschoolers. Educated, sophisticated, wealthy, and articulate; Kevin Delancey was supposed to be a step up on my dating food chain. Someone I could try and build something with for the long haul.
Yet here we were . . . again. Kevin was the CEO of a hugely successful online purchasing Web site. Serengeti was similar to Amazon.com, but the products were primarily manufactured and sold by people of African descent and targeted the African-American community. He started the company in his dorm room at Morehouse fifteen years ago, took it public for a ton of cash, and then went private again. He was now listed somewhere between Michael Jordan and Warren Buffett on the Forbes’ Richest Americans list.
Unfortunately, those riches had not bought Kevin very much in the way of couth, class, or chill. As my nephew Chase liked to say of ill-behaved people, “Dude had zero chill.” Kevin put the X in extreme everything. And I’d missed the initial warning signs. Totally my fault. Kevin rolled up on me at an event for BellaRich Designs, the fashion house I ran jointly with my future sister-in-law, Belle Richards, and my brother, Beau. Beau and Belle were also former models. Since I was phasing out modeling for anyone other than BellaRich, I’d been more focused on design and promotion. It was at a BellaRich party where Kevin came over to compliment us on the line of evening wear we’d debuted.
At first impression he came across suave, sophisticated, stylish, and supremely confident. Just a shade under six feet, he was olive-skinned, easy on the eyes, and had a smile that no doubt closed many a deal. I admit to being somewhat fooled at first. I had to dig down a few layers to find that he was all about the surface and not much else. At this moment, I narrowed my eyes at him as he continued to pace and pontificate. Perhaps he should’ve finished Morehouse—they generally turned out a better product.
The thing was, people met me and saw the packaging. Light skin, light eyes, long hair, proportioned body. They don’t take the time to see the sum of my parts. They assumed that as a model, designer, and business owner I was all champagne, caviar, red carpets, and flashbulbs. Really, I was most at ease curled up in front of On Demand with chicken wings and cheap Chianti. Kevin didn’t get to know that side of me. He had no interest in the sweatpants, T-shirt, hair-in-a-ponytail, chill-on-the-sofa side of me. We started off as arm trophies for each other and I took my time over the course of the next few months deciding if I wanted it to be more than that. Our dates were glossy: high-profile restaurants, club openings, movie premieres, charity events. I didn’t like the way he treated people he didn’t seem to think were his equal. Rarely did he find anyone to be his equal.
of time with him so I thought perhaps I was judging him too harshly. After all, the man ran a gabillion-dollar business; he didn’t necessarily have time for all the niceties.
I came into this week thinking that it was going to be our make-or-break week. Kevin and I had flown down to Barbados for a shoot showcasing the newest line of Bella Rich resort wear. Belle and I decided to go with Caribbean-inspired colors and prints for the line. Kevin had placed a substantial order after seeing the initial drawings. Seemed like the perfect time to mix business and pleasure for both of us. If only Kevin had shown a tenth of the prowess and presence in the bedroom that he did in the boardroom—we wouldn’t be in this situation. Okay, that’s not fair. I wasn’t breaking up with Kevin because he was terrible in bed. Being terrible in bed was the last of many nails in the Kevin Delancey coffin.
And believe me . . . it wasn’t just tragic bedroom game. Wait, let me say that again: Tragic. Bedroom. Game. A man of his age should not only know how things work, but should at least know where to find them. I mean, this is Anatomy 101. It’s just not that hard to locate a minimum of three erogenous zones. That level of ineptitude indicated both selfishness and laziness. I’m sad to say I had to fake my way through it . . . twice. Once to give him the benefit of the doubt. The second time hoping he improved his game. At my age, faking it? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Before you judge me, know this—I was not so shallow that I couldn’t overlook or provide hands-on assistance to someone with subpar swerve skills. The fatal flaw that put the dagger in whatever Kevin and I had? He treated people like crap all the time. Not just when he was stressed or busy or multitasking. He thought everyone was there to cater to his every whim. He cussed out the waiter, made a maid cry, shouted at his subordinates, threw a tantrum when the gift shop was out of the lotion he preferred, and snapped his fingers and pointed when he required something. The third day of the trip, when he pointed at the coffeepot and then to his cup, I raised a brow.
“Did you . . . need something?” I asked silkily.
He snapped his fingers twice and said, “Katrina, you know I’m better when I have my coffee.”
“Is there a reason why you cannot pour it for yourself?” It wasn’t that I was opposed to pouring his coffee; it was the way he expected me to respo
nd to a doublesnap of his fingers. What was I, a dog? No, sir.
He sneered. “Oh, I forgot, Princess Katrina, you are too bougie to serve your man. You’ve never had to lift a finger a day in your pampered life. You’re too cute to pour a simple cup of coffee, huh? Never mind.” While I sat there, astounded, he called the front desk and ordered a butler to be assigned to our suite. This fool could’ve poured four cups of damn coffee in the time it took for him to insult me, call down for assistance, and wait for someone to arrive to fetch his caffeine. After that, I was done. I played the “oops, I have my period” card and moved to the other bedroom in the suite. You would think after a week of me ducking out before he woke up and dodging him all damn day he would be a little less surprised at my declaration. I even softened the breakup by saying (cue an epic eye roll here) that he was just too much man for me.
much man for me. “Are you listening to me, Katrina?” He stood by the front door of the suite, hands on hips. The muchmaligned butler holding his luggage stood warily beside him. His expression indicated that he wished he was anywhere but here. I could empathize.
“Of course, Kevin,” I lied smoothly.
“Well, hear this. You remember this moment. This is the moment you made an enemy of Kevin Eriq Delancey. You will regret this moment for the rest of your days.”
I flung my hair over my shoulder and met his gaze directly. “I don’t regret much. Life is too short for regrets.”
His nostrils flared as he fought visibly to control his anger. “You will regret this.”
Clearly nothing I said was going to make this go smoothly. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Kevin.”
A Different Kind of Blues Page 29
