by Roi, D. S.
“And only enough room in your life for those of the darker variety.”
She pressed her lips together and fisted her hands. “I am not a bigot. My father…” Offense tensed her shoulders. “Oh crap, what do you care?” She turned to descend the ramp.
“You’re lying to me, Cyana.”
His words ripped irritation up her spine. She twirled. “I am not a liar. I don’t hide who or what I am. I’m certainly not some snob who gets high and beats his women.”
“Is that what you think I am?” He stepped forward.
On the upper end of the ramp he really loomed over her. She shrank away from him.
Asher didn’t slow his advance. “Oh no, don’t take it back now. How much research did you do on the Wilmingtons, Cyana?”
She tugged at her sleeve. “I’m sorry I said it.” He joined her level with agitation marring his features. Her heart thundered. She sucked in a breath, took another step back until the stable kitchen wall stopped her movement. She held up both her hands. “Don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t? What?” His face softened from his irritation. “You must think I’m some really twisted son of a bitch.”
“Ce Ce, I need your help with these buckets,” Mama called from inside the kitchen.
She startled at the sound, pivoted to the doorway. “Comin’ Mama.” When Asher’s hands closed over her shoulders, she jumped again.
He waited until he had her complete attention to speak, “Tomorrow you’re talking to me. After the wedding. You and me. No one else. You understand?”
She didn’t answer. The heat of his tender touch stole her fear. His pleading gaze disarmed her, insinuated he hadn’t intended to scare her. A sigh passed her lips. Heat flooded her core. Why did he feel so safe? Even now. How could she trust what her heart was telling her?
“Cyana, promise? When all is done here and the bride and groom are on their way, it’ll be you and me.”
26
The memory of Asher’s stare haunted Cyana’s dreams. She was awake before Mama, making coffee and staring out the windows into the early morning darkness. Mama entered the kitchen dressed in a house coat and slippers. Her hair was full of rollers to persuade her afro curls the direction she wanted.
“Mornin’, baby,” she greeted.
“Morning, Mama,” Cyana smiled.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Mama said, grabbing a cup to fill with the brew. “You’re up awful early this morning. Is everything okay?”
“Just excited, Mama.” She sighed into her caramel fragranced brew.
“You got to have a little talk with your beau yesterday. You sure that don’t have anything to do with your mood?”
She smiled at Mama’s mention of Asher. The happiness fell short as the flutter of anticipation seized her gut from his insistence they speak again. “Maybe. I said some pretty nasty things. I might have made it so he won’t be too happy to see me today. You should have seen him. He was angry, like I’d done something wrong.” She peered down into her mug. If she could just make it through this talk, she’d be finished with everything. She wouldn’t have to see him again. “He didn’t tell me who he was from the beginning. I can’t get over it.”
“It could have slipped his mind to give you his full name. Since you showed up at the mansion, he coulda thought you knew already. The boy was probably just stressed. Could you imagine? Did you see that boy’s mama? Having to follow her around and wait on her hand and foot like she couldn’t do a thing for her family. Call me Sally,” Mama mimicked Ms. Wilmington’s tone, drawing a full laugh from Cyana.
“I guess you’re right. I can see how different our worlds are,” Cyana sipped the caramel flavored beverage; rolled it around on her tongue while Mama joined the table.
“Baby, it doesn’t matter if your lives aren’t similar. It only matters if you make room for one another in your hearts.”
Cyana took her hand from the mug and closed it over her mother’s strong grip. “Thanks, Mama. You’re the best.”
“Um-hum, and I raise the best children,” Mama boasted before they laughed.
Sally was the second to arrive in the Milway kitchen. Asher sipped his peppermint mocha coffee and acknowledged his moment of peace was over until the wedding closed. He could bear it, but hated having to ignore the twisted sensation in his gut from not having Cyana.
His mother gracefully floated into the kitchen wearing her satin pajamas and matching housecoat. She always seemed to glide on her long legs. Asher could swear his mother was the only woman on Earth who wore high heels for house shoes. The years were kind to her face, lightly aging her eyes and lips. Finishing school made sure her posture was perfect and her demeanor a mystery. He was forever grateful Sally only birthed boys. It would be a marvelous mess if she had given them a sister to fashion into her perfect person.
“Can you not say good morning to your mother?” Sally asked at the coffee machine.
“Morning mother,” Asher said.
“It’s good morning, darling. It is Josh’s wedding day. It has to be a good morning.”
“Then it’s good for him. To me it’s morning,” he said.
She “humphed” and sipped at her drink. “Well, at least your taste in coffee hasn’t changed, much like your taste in good women.”
Asher’s hand tightened on the mug. The screw in his chest ripped a sting through him. His choice of coffee creamer held the influence of Cyana’s fragrance. Lately, any hint of vanilla, sugar or peppermint had him rubbing at the sore spot in his chest. Every thought of his woman had him ill with wanting. “Mother, I suggest you be careful with what you say about Cyana.”
“Cyana?” Sally gave a posh laugh while dramatically arranging her robe as if it wasn’t artfully placed where she wanted it to begin with. “Is that her name? I thought it would be a LaToya, Shenika or KiKi or something,” Sally rolled her eyes, “normal.”
Asher narrowed his lids at Sally’s insistence to prod him. “She does answer to Ce Ce, but I think it’s reserved for family members.” He sipped at his mug as she came to sit across from him at the island.
“Figures,” Sally said. “Really Asher, what’s wrong with all the beautiful women I’ve introduced to you over the years? When did you resort to dating the help?”
“The help, Mother? Really?” His grip burned around the mug. “Is that what you’re calling her?”
“Well son, she is providing a service.”
“You supply a wedding planning service. She offers a wedding cake service. How is it she gets labeled help and you don’t?”
Sally straightened herself. “I only provide top-quality high-end services in an industry I love.”
“Funny, Cyana does the same,” he said before sipping his coffee in the silence his statement created.
“Asher, is this what you want?” Sally insisted with her hand on her hip. “What will people think?”
“I don’t care. You haven’t figured that out yet. I want to be with Cyana.”
She set her mug against the island and leaned towards him. “All my choices for you have been perfect matches—”
“No,” Asher cut her off. “All your choices for me are not my choices. We went over this. I don’t understand why we keep revisiting it. I don’t want any of your pampered beauty queens or spoiled princesses. They only want my money and don’t give a damn about anything else.”
“And this girl? This poor girl doesn’t?” Sally asked.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. You can love it or hate it. I don’t care.”
Sally straightened, sipping her drink. “I swear you’re as stubborn as your father. It has to be in the blood.”
“Regardless, you are to stay out of the way. I mean it. You’re to leave her absolutely alone today. No bullshit.”
“Language, Asher Wilmington,” she scolded. “In the presence of a lady—”
“I mean it, Mother.” The words ground out of him.
“You have no right to put stipu
lations on where I can go at an event I’m hosting.”
“You will not go in the kitchen, Sally.” His voice teemed with warning. “Don’t forget who gave you the seed money to start your business. I own the house you live in and the car you drive. Every ounce of the trust father left has to go through me. Don’t think Gerald never taught me a thing or two about withholding.”
She stomped her heel against the tile floor. “All right. Enough. I will be entirely too busy entertaining guests to even pass by your kitchen.” Sally stood with her mug and toyed with her coat again before waltzing from the room. Asher didn’t deny the steaming venom shooting from her gaze before she left.
Cyana drove the Civic with the cake in the trunk. Once mama parked the beast truck at the Milway’s front steps, she hopped out. Asher was the first one to exit the house. Mama met him on the porch. Cyana’s heart hammered in her chest at the sight of him. His hair was freshly cut. His face clean shaven while he conversed with Mama. Mama nodded and came down the stairs towards the Civic. Cyana rolled the window down.
“Mr. Wilmington would like to get the cake in first. Go ahead and back the Civic up around the drive. He’ll send out help to get it. You can park on the other side of the house. Then we’ll unload the kitchen.”
“Park on the other side of the house? There’s parking over there?” Cyana asked.
Mama put her hands on ample hips. “Of course there’s parking. There’s a whole lot back there girl. Now back up”
“Okay.” Cyana shrugged, whipping the back end of the coupe around to take it slow down the small drive between the house and stable kitchen. She hoped Asher would come out and help them get the cake. Instead, an array of workers came to her aid to help her move the heavy pieces into the side door of the house kitchen. After making certain her cake would be secure, she went out to move the Civic.
Cyana eyed the left side of the mansion and only saw the tall boxwoods. Nearing the side of the building, she noticed a wide driveway she’d missed before. Its entryway was expertly hidden by a thick lush patch of bushes. She smiled at how clever the optical illusion was if you drove past it fast enough. It led down a small hill before curving away from the house and dropping on a steeper descent until she could see a large asphalt parking lot. The lot was surrounded by garage awnings along the edges to provide shade. A covered walk and stone pathway were at the far end. She noticed it was set in a way not to be visible from the Milway yard. Off in the back right end was a large black F-450 Platinum with tinted windows and fat rimmed tires.
“Wow, what a truck.” She admired it while parking the coupe next to the Platinum monster. When she got out of the car, she could hear the sound of a machine. Movement down the pathway near the end of the lot caught her eye. It was Miguel on a golf cart.
“Señora Huffing.” He called out and whipped the cart around. “Looks like you’re my first ride today.”
She smiled. “Is this how everyone’s getting to the house?”
He nodded. “Long walk in those shoes. Señor Wilmington thinks of everything.”
She settled into the passenger seat. “Yeah, he does.”
Cyana thanked Miguel for dropping her off at the back porch. She scanned the pristine lawn. The rows of chairs sat neatly tied off with blue ribbon. Workers assembled the speaker system near the back of the isles. The flowers were in full bloom, scenting the air with rose and gardenia. Only a hint of the magnolia bushes carried on a breeze to the back of the house. The slow hum of bees and cheerful chirps of birds added to the blissfulness of the moment. The Milway became the perfect backdrop for the wedding day; all due to Asher.
She entered the house. The interior made her pause. The scent of vanilla and the cool air conditioning were welcoming. She admired the crystal glass on the tables filled with flowers and stones. The soft shimmering fabrics colored the walls and tables dominating the space she’d used to work out in. A set of thick satin banners was hung from the ceiling with the last name of the bride on one and Wilmington on the other in gold threaded letters. Her hand settled on the new bar to her left. The dark marble contrasted the floor. She knew Asher was good and now, viewing Sally’s work, it seemed the Wilmingtons were the perfect combination for happy beginnings.
It didn’t matter about differences now. In the Huffing home, work was the proof of merit. Asher’s family was worth every penny. She sighed before entering the house kitchen.
Iona and Mama bustled about the area establishing the order of food and coordinating with the wait staff serving tables. It was a good thing Iona spoke fluent Spanish. She and the lead server were going over a computer screen which, from what Cyana could tell, was a point of sale system to work the table set up. The addition was installed on the end of the cabinets near the doorway. She was impressed Asher would go to such lengths. He must have envisioned running a true restaurant out of the Milway someday.
Cyana was completely lost to whatever they were saying, ignoring the commotion to focus on her creation. Iona and Mama had always said she wasn’t good at leaving well enough alone until a cake was completely out of her hands. This time proved no different. She observed the tiers of cake, deciding small beads of chocolate would make a fine finishing touch. She fed her piping pouch to apply the detail. Satisfied with the pearls, she started the bottom layer. She almost had the top tier complete when Sally waltzed inside. She analyzed the kitchen. Cyana could understand where Asher got his height from. If his father was as tall as his mother, there was no escaping the six foot destiny.
In all, Sally didn’t strike Cyana with the warm earthy glow Asher tended to have hovering around him. Her air was stiffer, coated with downright snob. Still, Cyana shot her a smile and switched her interest back to finishing the top tier on the cake while Sally busied herself with touring her entourage through the kitchen.
“Good evening, Ladies.” Sally sauntered in with her crew of photographers.
“Good evening, Ms. Wilmington,” Mama said. “How may the Huffing Kitchen serve you today?” Mama’s smile was big and cheerful. She was always ready for a customer to demonstrate excellent service to.
“Oh darling, please, call me Sally,” Ms. Wilmington permitted, before turning to her group of worshipers. Cyana had to stifle the laugh at her recall of Mama’s mimic. “These are the ladies of Huffing Kitchen. They will be preparing the menu at the marriage celebration. I can’t wait to bite into the mouth watering decadence I’ve heard so much about in Weynor.”
Cyana stepped away to get a full view of the cake while wiping her hands against a moist kitchen towel. One of the journalists took notice and broke away from Sally’s group. He approached her, quietly asked permission to snap a shot of the cake and her for a chance at a spot in the magazine. She graciously accepted. The photographer was in and out of her area before the group took notice.
She wheeled the cake back into the fridge. When she stepped out, she was face to face with Sally. Mama and Iona had completed the staff instruction and retreated to the stable kitchen. It seemed the entourage had left the woman in the kitchen alone. Cyana shot a quick glance around. How’d she orchestrate this?
“So,” Sally spoke, placing a slender hand on her hip. “You’re still in my Asher’s head, are you?”
“Excuse me?” Cyana asked.
“Don’t feign ignorance with me. You’re his latest crush. His current squeeze.” Sally rolled her eyes. “His main thang.” She flipped her wrist in a sarcastic display of sister-girl behavior.
Oh hell no, this woman isn’t belittling me. The irritation whipped through her. Cyana bit her tongue with cheeks blaring heat. Sally ran a keen eye over her chef uniform while Cyana closed the fridge door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you seeing my son?” Sally asked.
Cyana started to clear the island of her mess. She discerned Sally would get complete satisfaction if she confessed breaking off her relationship with Asher. The decision to leave well enough alone was made quickly. “Seei
ng him? I haven’t seen him at all today. If you’re looking for him, then you may want to check outside. He wouldn’t be in the kitchen.”
“I’ll take that as a no, which is good. You’re certainly not Wilmington material.” She waltzed by.
The Wilmington men must have had some type of trouble radar when it came to Sally. Asher and Joshua entered the kitchen. Asher shot Sally an irritated glance; then passed his attention over Cyana. She made a mental effort to keep her head held high and demonstrate her strength against Sally while her insides quivered with a cocktail of hurt and frustration. Asher’s jaw tightened. “Mother, the changing room needs to be ready for Rebecca,” he said in a voice pinched with agitation.
“Of course, darling.” She glided to him in six-inch stilettos, giving his cheek a peck before floating out of the space.
He sauntered to Cyana. She dropped her gaze to his black boots and inhaled the scent of his cologne mingled with natural vitality. The negative emotions churning her gut quelled into something far more confusing. She fought the tremor his presence shunted in her. Crap. This man is driving me insane. I have to be crazy to keep turning into mush around him.
“You got time for an interview?”
The tone of his voice caused her to make an effort to breathe through parted lips. She peeked up to him with confusion. “A what?”
“Come on. I got you set up in the French room.”
By the time she’d finished with the journalist who snapped her photo, the guests were arriving and seats filling in on the lawn. She went through the house and out the side door to the stable kitchen. The weather was sticky. She wasn’t looking forward to spending the day in the hot kitchen, but having Iona and Mama there would make it wonderful.
The workers buzzed about the lawn under queen bee Sally’s command. The canopy Asher carved set entwined with fabric and flowers. She made a mental note to get a better look at it later.
