She had long ago given up any consideration of the state of her hair. The way Michael looked at her when the salty water had dried, leaving her mane a tangled mess of waves and curls was enough to help her let go of that particular bane of many a black woman’s existence.
Right now, it didn’t hurt that their waiter was quick in his production of a rather large pitcher of red sangria. London watched with mouth-watering anticipation as the red liquid flowed into her glass, the occasional plop of an apple or orange slice going along with it.
“You’re such a bad influence,” she teased. “I don’t even normally drink this much.”
“Ahh,” Michael said with a wicked grin. “There’s nothing I love more than a cheap date.”
He winked as he said it, which caused her to laugh.
They ordered a variety of tapas as the torrent came down outside the eating area.
Three young men fell in through the plastic flap, all loud laughs and overly tanned skin. They carried the heavy backpacks that were the standard gear of every young American trekking their way across Europe and seemed to be completely unfazed by the sudden change in weather.
Normally, it would have been the sort of intrusion that she’d find annoying. Now she reveled in their exuberance. One of the boys, with his bleached hair in a bun and his face covered in a beard that had to be weeks old nodded and winked at her. Fortunately, Michael’s back was turned to them at the time.
“So much for fun in the sun, huh?” he said to her, obviously picking up on the fact that they were fellow Americans.
Michael turned to inspect him with an amused grin. “Nothing a little sangria can’t help,” he said, joining in their good mood.
“I like your way of thinking, dude,” nodded another of the trio, sporting a similar man bun and beard, his in dark brown.
The proprietor seemed less enthused about their entrance until they plopped themselves down and ordered a round of “mucho cerveza, por favor!”
Michael and London watched the trio laugh and sip beer, imagining their own much less exciting youths. Both of them went straight from school, to college, to law school, to work. It made their current situation all the more enjoyable.
The third, his hair in a big curly fro held back by a headband, picked up on their interest and decided to start up a conversation. “So how long have you been here?”
“A couple of days,” Michael said, indulging him.
“Yeah? We just got here. So much for fun in the sun,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, head to the beach, check out a bunch of babes in bikinis, sip a few cervezas…. This rain? no es bueno.” said Man Bun #2.
“Well, we’ll always have Ibiza,” said the blonde, leaning back in his chair, resting his hands behind his neck and looking at them with his eyebrows wriggling.
“Hell’s yeah, brah!” said Mr. Fro, reaching out his bottle of bear to toast to that. The other two joined him.
The blonde looked over at them and winked, specifically at London. “You want a good time, Ibiza’s the place.”
Now she was intrigued. Obviously Michael was too, since he asked the question. “What’s up with Ibiza?”
The three boys looked at each other and burst out laughing, shaking their heads. “Brah,” said the blonde, “what happens in Ibiza, stays in Ibiza.” The three of them laughed even louder, tipping their bottles to one another again.
Man bun #2 leaned over to them. “Trust me, don’t think, just go. You and your little señorita here will have a blast, trust me.”
Michael gave the boy a warning look at the overt familiarity with which he had referenced her. That had the young man leaning back with a mea culpa raising of the hands. Then the three of them went back to drinking their beer, lost in recounting the travels they had taken so far.
* * *
When the rain finally let up enough for them to make their way back to their hotel, London immediately stripped to hop into the shower as usual.
“You go ahead, I’ll be there to join you in a second,” Michael said.
She had already soaped off and had begun lathering in the shampoo to get the salty sea out of her hair when Michael popped in behind her.
“Here, let me,” he said, removing her hands and massaging her scalp in a way that made her close her eyes and smile in relaxation.
“So when we’re done here, pack up your bags for a few days,” he said into her ear.
She perked up and turned around, his hands still buried in her hair. “Why?” she said arching her eyebrow with the question.
“Don’t think, just do it.”
“We are not going to Ibiza!” she said, figuring out his plans pretty quickly.
“Au contraire, señorita,” he said, dotting her nose with a lather of shampoo.
She laughed. “We aren’t nineteen, Michael,” she pointed out, “I have a pretty good idea about what ‘happened in Ibiza and stayed in Ibiza’.”
“All the more reason to go,” he said. “Heaven knows we’ve already been acting like we’re nineteen all week long.”
He pulled her in closer, letting the shower rain down over her head to wash out the shampoo. “Let’s not think, just go,” he said softly into her ear.
All she could do was smile and eventually nod in agreement. God, the things this man had her doing. It made her love him all the more.
Chapter 21
The first thing he noticed were Brooklyn’s creations on the wall of the coffee shop. It made his heart stop for various reasons. It was a visually emotional reminder of their time in Paris. Each time he saw the large canvases it took him straight back.
It was also painful to see such beautiful works of art cheapened by being haphazardly placed on some coffee shop wall like nothing more than filler.
What had happened with the gallery? Obviously, a lot had occurred since he’d been in Los Angeles.
“Brooklyn.”
Her eyes shot up in surprise at the voice. She was behind the cash register
“Alex! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed in surprise before she caught herself. He could see the momentary bit of embarrassment at him having caught her in her current situation, working the cash register at Joe on the Go. Then she straightened her shoulders, realizing that she had nothing to be ashamed of.
It was a far cry from Brianna, who would have probably scoffed at the idea of even stepping foot in this place to buy a coffee let alone work here. It made him love Brooklyn all the more.
“You won’t answer my calls or respond to my text messages. I can’t come up to your apartment. I had no choice but to come here,” he explained.
He saw the surprise in her eyes blinked out by apathetic contempt as she took on a professional demeanor. “How can I help you today, sir?”
She stressed the impersonal “sir” letting him know she had no intention of hashing this out right here. He didn’t care.
“I want to fix this,” he urged. “I need to fix this.”
“Maybe while you’re at it, you can have her fix you a cup of coffee and move on, pal,” said the man behind him in an impatient voice.
Alex ignored him. “Brooklyn, I’m not leaving until you at least agree to talk to me.”
“Sir, if you aren’t going order something to eat or drink then can you please move aside for paying customers.”
He stared at her a moment longer, hoping for a flicker of what they once had in her eyes. The closest she came was averting her eyes, not wanting to look into his.
“Uh, I am a paying customer here and I’d like a—” the man behind him interrupted, obviously intent on getting things moving.
“I’ll take a coffee,” Alex finally said.
“Will that be a small, medium or—”
“Large,” he said. “I figured it all out, how Trina got the photo—”
“Will that be all?” she asked with a warning tone.
“It was Brianna,” he said. Something about the name caused Brooklyn’s eyes to light up with fiery hatred.
“That will be $2.85,” she said with finality.
“Are you listening to me?” he asked. “Brianna had an old photo from—”
“Stop it!” she finally exclaimed, closing her eyes and slamming her hands on the cash register. “Stop saying her name!”
He stared at her, momentarily shocked. At least he had finally broken through that impersonal façade. But at what cost?
“Just pay,” she finally said, taking a breath. “You pick up your coffee at that end,” she pointed at the other end of the bar.
“I don’t want the fucking coffee, Brooklyn!” he yelled.
She gave him a cold stare. “If you aren’t going to pay, then you have to leave.”
He sighed and pulled out his credit card, tossing it on the counter in front of her. She slid it through and handed it back to him with his receipt, not even bothering to make eye contact.
“Can I help you sir?” she said to the next man.
“You know what,” Alex broke in, causing the man to give an exaggerated sigh of annoyance in his direction. He quickly changed his tune when he saw the dangerous look in Alex’s eyes. “Just put $100 on my card right now. That should be enough for the next…five people in line at least.”
He looked at the man and the four people behind him. “Just give your order directly to the barista on me,” he said, nodding down the bar.
The man behind him changed his gruff expression, raised his eyebrows and shrugged, moving down the bar.
“That should buy me 5 minutes at least,” he said, turning back to Brooklyn. “All I want to do is explain. Brianna, for some reason—”
“Stop it Alex!” she finally shouted, causing everyone to stop and stare. She looked around in embarrassment. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “You can’t just come here, where I work, and make these demands of me. You can’t. It’s not fair.
“I don’t care what happened with Trina,” she went on, almost in tears at this point. “I certainly don’t care about,” she paused before spitting out the name, ”Brianna. You do what you want with her. Just leave me alone.”
“Brooklyn,” he pleaded. “Just—”
“Do you need to take a break, Brooklyn?” asked the barista near her, finally coming to her rescue, giving Alex a frown. “I can have John take over the register for 5 minutes.”
“Yes,” she said, sighing with relief and escaping to the back before he could go on.
He watched her go, thinking back to what she had said. Something about Brianna’s name had sparked a special tone of rage in her voice.
Oh Brianna, what the fuck have you done?
“Hey, thanks for the coffee mister,” said the man who had been in line behind him. Alex shot him an irritated glare.
“Good luck,” he shrugged, scurrying out the door.
* * *
Brooklyn ripped her apron off and tossed it on the table in the tiny break room in back. She fell down on the chair and held her head in her hands, trying to erase everything that had just happened…and keep from crying in frustration and humiliation.
How had Alex even found out where she worked? She had an inkling of an idea it was her roommate Annie, who still for some insane reason held out hope for the two of them. Brooklyn would have to give the girl a firm talking to once she got home tonight.
In the meantime, she slammed her palms against her forehead trying to push out all images and thoughts of Alex and fucking Brianna from her head.
Just hearing her name on his lips had caused a fire inside of her so intense she had pretty much embarrassed herself. As though sitting there behind a cash register as her stupid rich ex-boyfriend confronted her wasn’t awkward enough. She had no doubt he’d also seen her work on the wall behind him. The image of him standing right in front of one of her pieces as he mentioned Brianna’s name over and over again was more than she could handle. Thank God, Joan had come to her rescue.
He had been trying to explain himself, but she wasn’t ready to hear it. Her crushing experience with the Manix Gallery was still raw, and she couldn’t help but blame Alex, no matter how unfair it was to him. After all, life had been unfair enough to her, why not pay it forward?
As soon as the thought entered her head, she felt bad. At some point she’d be ready to hear his excuses, today just wasn’t the day.
Chapter 22
Michael ordered a private jet to carry them away to the island of Ibiza. If they were going to do this, they would do it right. The look on London’s face as she stared out the window in wonder was enough to tell him it was worth it.
He couldn’t lie to himself. It had mostly been watching the three guys in that restaurant that had influenced him. So carefree and obviously enjoying life, even the rain hadn’t seemed to bother them all that much. It was an experience he had never been exposed to.
Michael had spent his younger years trying to live up to his father’s expectations. His grandfather, George Wright was the one who’d really begun the Wright Empire, buying up property in the outer boroughs before they became gentrified. Richard had expanded it into Manhattan, building bigger and grander structures reaching as high to the sky as he could make them—which was as overt a nod to Freud as Michael had ever seen.
Michael had grown up with the expectation that he’d do his part to expand on that even more. No gap year backpacking through Europe for Richard’s oldest, thank you very much. His tiny act of rebellion had been going to law school instead of getting an MBA as Richard expected. It had been enough to drive his father crazy, which was good enough for Michael.
He brought his thoughts back around to the present, the scowl on his face disappearing as he saw London sitting across from him in the tiny jet wearing a long aqua colored dress with spaghetti straps that showed off her rich, bronze skin. He smiled at the contrasting line of lighter brown going around her neck where she had adamantly refused to take off her top in Barcelona for the past week. His eyes slid down to the brown leg peaking out of the side split of the dress, showing off a sandaled foot.
This little detour was going to be so enjoyable.
“Look at that water!” she exclaimed as they flew in low over the coast, watching the sunbathers in front of the grand hotels on the beachfront. They were close enough to actually see details and she gasped in surprise. “So many more women here are topless…and with their kids!”
Michael laughed. “Welcome to Ibiza, London.”
She looked over at him, scandalized, then laughed as well. “You’d still better not be getting any ideas,” she warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
It was a lie. Of course he was dreaming of it. He was a red blooded man after all.
* * *
After a few caipirinhas, a delicious drink of lime, sugar, and liquor, they grabbed their towels and headed down to the sandy beach outside of the hotel. They opted to lie out in the sand instead of taking advantage of one of the lounge chairs with umbrellas blocking them from the sun.
Michael was already taking on a nice, rich color. If it wasn’t for those deep blue eyes—and the parts he kept covered with his swim trunks—he could have easily passed for Italian or a native of the south of Spain.
London admired his firm physique as he lay down next to her in the sun. She reached out to run her fingers over the fine black hair covering his chest. A ripple of jealous admiration ran through her. This was her man right here next to her. Even after only three and half months, of this she was sure.
She flipped over and sat up to look out at the water. “I’m going to go in. This sun is getting to me already and it looks so inviting.”
He stood up to accompany her. On the way down to the water, her eyes were drawn to the many women who so nonchalantly had their tops off. There were the two young, blonde women who were probably in their early twenties, baking themselves to a color that was darker than London underneath her own top. There was the young mother with a baby, sitting next to her husband. A woman who was pro
bably twice London’s age and couldn’t have cared less. There was even a woman with three children ranging in age from about 3 to 10, all frolicking in the sun together like it was no big deal.
If anything, London was beginning to feel like the odd woman out.
“Tempting isn’t it?” Michael teased, as though reading her thoughts.
She swatted him on the shoulder with a grin as she lay back to float in the water that was the perfect temperature. “I do have to admit, they make it seem so natural and normal.”
“Because it is—at least here, anyway,” he said leaning back to float next to her.
London stared up at the blue sky that was the same color as the water they floated in. “Maybe, if I was just in the water, that way no one could see.”
Michael laughed and stood up to look down at her. “Even if they did, here no one would care.”
She came up and looked out at the beach. This deep in the water, it came up to her chest, just enough to cover the goods. “I suppose I could just untie the straps here and see how I like it.”
Michael was much taller and the water came up to his mid-chest area. “I can guard you from all the predatory eyes,” he grinned.
She grinned back and then laughed at herself, wondering why she was being so silly. With a deep sigh she reached around and pulled the string around her neck and then the one around her back, letting her bikini top float off in front of her in the water.
Excitement gleamed in her eyes as she looked up at Michael’s supportively admiring glance and then over to the beach…where literally no one gave a damn.
“It does feel kind of liberating,” she admitted with a guilty smile.
Michael came in close and brought her to him. “I love watching you turn into this beautiful free spirited butterfly.”
She brought her arms up around his neck, her feet floating off the sandy bottom below them. “When did you become such a poet?” she asked, smiling into his face.
“You, my dear, are quite the muse,” he looked down at the round, brown tipped, globes floating in the water between them. “Well, you and those lovely tits of yours.”
Mr. & Mrs. Wright: A BWWM Romance (Wright Brothers Series Book 2) Page 11
