Not About That Life (Feeling Some Type of Way Book 3)

by Vera Roberts

  He chatted with a few queens, shamelessly flirted with a few gay patrons who really questioned if he was truly hetero (and were a smidge disappointed when he confirmed), and was rather impressed by the bartender who served Ian one of the best old-fashioneds he’s ever had. (“Those gay dudes know how to make a damn drink,” he later cheered.)

  Adrienne took it upon herself to introduce me to more of her friends. Some I’ve already knew from the wedding and others are from her non-profit she’s starting to be an outreach to the LGBTQ minority youth.

  She knew how much she struggled with her sexuality and being gender fluid, and with the lack of support she’d received from Sam, she wants to help others in a similar situation.

  I’m so proud of my sister. She went from turning tricks to using her body for good.

  The music switches to Yvonne Elliman’s “If I Can’t Have You”, and Ian leads me to the dance floor. A flurry of reds, blues, greens, and purples pulsate through the club as wispy, odorless smoke from overhead surrounds us. I’m caught by surprise, giggling and laughing as Ian sways to the music. He pulls me close to him, pressing his body against mine, and it feels like it’s just us in the universe.

  I don’t care about the online detractors, Sam issues, or hell, even Michelle issues for that matter. Seeing the slightly drunken bliss on Ian’s face, his dimples prominent, and his brilliant, beautiful smile, I couldn’t care less about anything or anyone else.

  Instead, all I care about is this man holding me, lowly singing in my ear as he sings along to Yvonne’s soothing voice.

  “If I can’t have you, I don’t want nobody,” he purrs in my ear, and I feel his deep voice rolling through my insides, hitting my core and shooting up my spine.

  It’s a new Ian and we can both tell. The stress of the past several years have been lifted and I feel, probably for the first time in a long while, he could actually enjoy himself without worrying about anything.

  He twirls me around and grinds me against me, holding me at the small of my back, and sings to me the entire song. I want to pinch myself and wonder if I’m still dreaming, if this is all just one big fantasy like I’ve read in numerous e-books.

  But no, this is my reality. This is my new life with my fiancée.

  The song ends and we head back to the bar to rejoin Adrienne and Blake. My sister is now wearing a platinum-blonde wig and channeling her inner Lil’ Kim a la Notorious K.I.M. album cover. Blake is sporting a new goatee and showing off his muscular frame in a black shirt and blue jeans.

  “You two looked so hot on the dance floor!” Blake complimented. “Everyone was watching.”

  “They were probably wondering why are those heteros taking up all of the space on the dance floor,” I chuckled.

  “Probably,” Adrienne twirled a straw in her mouth, “but I think some were jealous.”

  “I Can’t Believe He’s Not Gay?” I joked.

  “That would be it,” Blake nodded, “but anyway, congratulations, guys! It’s been a long time coming for sure.”

  “Thank you,” Ian nodded, “Domi’s the only one I want and you know, I’m done playing games with this one and that one.”

  “Oh, I think you were done a long time ago. No man gets almost naked with a woman and just cuddles with her,” Adrienne rolls her eyes as I softly punch her arm. She grabs my left hand and approvingly stares at the gigantic rock on my finger. “How many carats am I looking at?”

  “Twenty-three,” Ian boasts, “one carat for every year of her life.”

  I’m floored. I didn’t think to ask about how many carats were on my hand and I just honestly thought it was just a huge diamond. “Really?” My voice comes small like a period at the end of a sentence.

  “Why not?” Ian flashes that brilliant smile at me. “Only the best for my woman,” he winks.

  “Shit, if you don’t want to marry him, I’ll take him, honey!” The muscular bartender says behind us as he slide four more shots. “On the house, guys.”

  “Thank you!” I leaned over and gave the bartender air kisses. Ian held my waist as I did it, though I suspected, he didn’t want me to get too friendly with the bar keep in the off-beat chance he wasn’t gay.

  “We have your awesome and amazing future to celebrate!” Adrienne passed one shot to all of us.

  I looked down at the curiously brown liquid with a sharp cinnamon spice. Something tells me this is going to be easier going down than coming back up. Oh well. I will have to deal with the consequences later.

  “To Ian and Dominique!” Adrienne cheered. “Together and forever ever!”

  “Forever ever!” We all said in unison as we knocked back the shot. It immediately burned as it eased down my throat. Now I felt invincible like a superhero.

  “Ian? Domi?”

  We turned to the familiar voice and found Ian’s assistant, Frank. He’s dressed in business casual and he’s holding a Samuel Adams. He really is a man’s man.

  “Frank,” Ian smiled and gave him a bro-hug, “nice to see you! What are you doing here?”

  “Michael’s performing tonight,” Frank gave me a hug as well, “so I wanted to catch him in action. I love it when he performs.”

  “What does he do?” I ask.

  “He transforms into one of the best drag queen performers in all of the world,” Frank nods in a way where he’s lowkey hyping up his husband.

  “Really?” I’m impressed. I’ve never met Michael but he seemed so demure and sweet in the wedding photos in Frank’s office. And apparently he’s a bad-ass drag performer? Now I want to see Michael’s act. “What’s his stage name?”

  Frank rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s not something I’m fond of but it’s a name he’s used before we even met and he was rather well-known by it before,” he takes a pull from his beer, “Ivana Kutchacockoff.”

  Ian’s chuckle morphs into a full-blown laughter as Blake and Adrienne join in. I try to stifle my laughter but to no avail. I mean, that’s a hilariously awful name. “Good for him?” I manage to respond.

  Frank shakes his head, as if it was a long argument he’s had with his husband and loses every time so it was pointless to bring it up. “It works for him and well, I have no say.” The stage light ups behind him and he nods over to it. “He’s getting ready to perform. Let’s get a good spot!”

  We all rushed to the front of the stage and Ian stood behind me as we waited for Michael…erm, Ivana Kutchacockoff to make her arrival. The lights dimmed low and the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! With further adieu, please welcome to the stage, the most exhilarating, entertaining, breathtaking performer since forever…. Ivana Kutchacockoff!”

  The crowd erupts into a thunderous applause as we waited for Ivana’s arrival. The thumping bass line of Madonna’s “Express Yourself” floods our ears as the velvet curtains pull back.

  Dressed as the early 90’s version of Madonna, Ivana makes her way to the stage. Complete with long, blonde ponytail, headset, and pink pointy bra corset. Oh, and she mastered the art of the red lippy.

  I’m rather stunned. Ivana looks so good as Madonna, I would actually think I was looking at the real her. She commands the stage, lip-synching perfectly, and has amazing choreography. This isn’t the same timid Michael I’ve seen in pictures, but a grown woman who embraced her sexuality and made no apologies.

  I just might have to bow down.

  The music changes into “Deeper and Deeper,” and the crowd bounces to the song. I no longer pay attention to Ivana’s spectacular performance as I listen to the lyrics. A woman being unapologetic about falling deeper in love with her mate, not caring who knew, and proud of it.

  I feel Ian’s lips softly kiss my neck as we sway side to side. Warmth filled my body as I relished into his embrace. Here I was, with my undeniably straight as a board fiancée, celebrating our engagement at one of the world’s best-known drag clubs.

  Magical.

  Ivana launches into he
r third and final song, “Material Girl,” and the crowd goes into a frenzy, singing along with the song, with some jumping up and down to it. Despite the content of the song, it doesn’t really relate to me. I’m not playing myself and say I’m still the same Sister from before, but I’m not also so accustomed to the new lifestyle from Ian, I forget where I’ve come from.

  So, maybe I am still the same Sister, just richer.

  The song ends and the crowd erupts into a large cheer. I’m still pressed against Ian’s chest and I really don’t want to move, though we have to. I begin to move and I’m slightly off-step, and Ian tightly holds onto my waist. “You alright there, angel?” He smiles at me.

  “Drunk,” I honestly answer. In addition to the cinnamon shot that coincidentally I can’t feel my face anymore, I had three before that. I’m sure tomorrow morning is going to really suck.

  “I got you. I’ll call a car for us when you’re ready to leave.” He mentions as we make our way back to the now-designated VIP section of the club, just for Ivana’s guests.

  We settle back into the velvet plush sofas and I lay my head on his chest as he lazily rubs my shoulders while talking to Frank and Blake. Adrienne is chatting with other friends of hers about how Blac Chyna isn’t that innocent and Rob Kardashian is a simp and a half, but no one is taking sides because we all love it when other people are messy (I actually agree with their assessment).

  The man (?), or maybe I should say woman of the hour arrives and Ivana has completely transformed back into Michael. Wearing a pair of green trousers, a white shirt, and tweed jacket, he almost looks like a leprechaun. I’m almost tempted to ask him where’s my box of Lucky Charms?

  “Baby!” Frank jumps up and greets Michael with two cheek kisses. He moves aside and beckons a server to come to their spot. Within minutes, the server reappears with a fresh round of drinks for everyone and a strawberry daiquiri just for Miss Michael.

  “Hello everyone!” Michael has a slightly effeminate voice complete with a touch lisp. I can already tell he’s a ‘glass half full’ type of guy and we just might become best friends. “I’m so glad you were able to come out! And look who we have here!” He points to me and Ian. “The lovebirds! Congratulations on your new engagement! Girl, let me see that rock.” He lifts up my hand and shake his head. “Let’s see, twenty carat solitaire cushion-cut with ideal all around?” He nods.

  “Close,” Ian chuckles, “Twenty-three carats but everything else was on the money.”

  I’m too shocked to properly understand what just happened. “How would you know all of that?” I ask Michael.

  “I’m a jeweler catering to the Rich and Wish They Were Famous,” he proudly states as he sits down and sips his daiquiri. “You can’t find a better jeweler than me, though people have tried.” The server comes back with plates upon plates of apps and I’m so grateful. Big Girl needs food.

  “You’re getting VIP treatment here!” I state before I manage to steal a carrot stick from the wings platter.

  “I better because I’m the star here,” Michael proudly states, “and being part-owner doesn’t hurt. I’ll be damned if I’m the star in someone else’s home.”

  Michael’s words rang true. Now I appreciate that Ian made me part-owner of Angel more than ever.

  “Besides, I need something with my free time. Between designing jewelry and being Ivana, I’m just so busy.” Michael feigns annoyance as he throws his head back and wipes underneath his eye for dramatic effect.

  “Never too busy for what’s important,” Frank counters.

  “Never too busy for my love,” Michael blows Frank a kiss and I think Frank blushed?

  “Excuse me, everyone. I need to head to the mens’ room,” Ian stands up.

  “I’ll go with you,” Blake follows him.

  “I’ll follow,” Frank also stands, “It’s kinda neat there. It has a disco ball and everything.”

  “I personally decorated it!” Michael calls out to the men as they leave. He grabs a chicken wing, dunks it in ranch, and slowly chews on it as he turns to me. “Congratulations on your engagement, sweetie. I think you and Ian will make a fabulous couple!”

  I smile as I manage to finish off my second wing in just a few seconds. “Thank you,” I quickly swallow and take a drink of water. “We’ll probably be engaged for a while before marriage.”

  “That’s good to hear, very good to hear,” Michael approvingly nods. He then scoots closer to me and briefly looks around before he continues. “One piece of unsolicited advice? Diversify your assets.”

  I blankly stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Never be in a position where someone can tell you to get out of their house. If you’re living with Ian, make sure you’re also on the deed or better yet, he’ll buy you a home that you’re the sole owner of. Always have several pots to piss in.” She briefly glances at Adrienne before turning her attention back to me. “Whatever advice your sister gives to you, listen. It may sound like horrible shit advice but she has your own best interest at heart.”

  I’m drunk AF but somehow my brain has quickly sobered up. “I don’t understand,” I shake my head, “why the warnings?”

  “I work with a lot of rich and wealthy clients. Women who have been with their husbands for years. They signed a prenup that wasn’t favorable to them and when the marriage was over, they literally left with the clothing on their backs and that’s it.” Michael shook his head. “They often come in and sell the jewelry because they can’t afford the lifestyle anymore while their exes are already on wife number three.” Michael placed his hand on top of mine. “Diversify your accounts. If you’re going to sign a prenup, make sure it’s favorable to you, no matter who’s at fault. But please, dahling, make sure you have your own so no matter what happens between you and Freak of Fucking Hotness, you can say, ‘I Can Do Bad All By Myself.’”

  It was the first time someone called Ian something I’ve silently coined him since the day I saw him at Caffeinated and lusted over him from a not-so far. However, Michael’s advice was more important and she was looking at for my best interest. “Okay.” I nod.

  “And one more thing,” Michael caught the men heading back to us, “don’t confuse material gifts with love. If he loves you, he’ll do something for you that has no monetary attachment to it. Keep that in mind.”

  I immediately thought about the garden in my mother’s honor. “He’s already done that,” I reply.

  “Good,” Michael smiles at me, “now let’s hope he’ll act that way forever.”

  ~~~~~

  “Are you okay?”

  Ian carried all slim-thick-wit-it me to the penthouse with some help from the doorman and security guards. After we got inside, Ian helped removed my clothing and put me straight to bed. For preventative measures, he also placed a trash can and a bottled water near me. I love my smart bae.

  He crawled into bed with me and I immediately turned to him. The room was spinning. “Stop moving the bed, baby.” I chide.

  “I’m not; you’re drunk.” He placed a kiss on my forehead and turned on the TV. “You rest now.”

  “What are you going to watch?” I murmured.

  “Maybe a documentary or something semi-interesting to pass the time as I make sure you’re okay,” he replies, “I’ll think of things to watch.”

  “There’s always Twilight,” I reply.

  “And there’s always a root canal I can have without anesthesia,” he chided.

  “Smart-ass,” I folded my legs over his.

  “That’s why you love me,” he replies as he flips through Netflix to see what they have to offer. “Oh, there’s Friday. I think I’ll watch that.”

  “Oh?” I’m honestly shocked. “I didn’t think that’ll be something you’d like.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” he gets more comfortable on the bed, “You keep saying ‘Bye, Felicia!’ to me, I might as well know the reference firsthand.”

  Four

  It’s a little di
fferent being at the Ferguson compound this time around.

  The inside of the Ferguson compound emanates old money. Not the type where people got lucky and bought nice things. It’s the type where you keep your hands firmly by your side because you’re too damn scared you’re going to bump into a priceless artifact and you’re going have to sell your kidney to pay it off.

  It’s a museum within its own.

  As Ian’s niece and nephews play out on the spiraling front yawn with their cousins, I’m making my first guest appearance at their Thanksgiving. Adrienne and Emma are helping Ian’s stepmother, Elise, set the table, while Ian completely took over the kitchen. The rest of the Ferguson men are sitting around watching cricket in the theater. The servants have the entire holiday off to spend with their families.

  I’m trying to find something to do and be a little useful so I casually wonder around the eclectic home. Lots of expensive furniture, priceless artwork, and state of the art equipment greets me from room to room. It’s a museum, library, and a bit of London charm with the sunny disposition of Los Angeles rolled into one. It sounds funny but it strangely works.

  As I walk through the palatial estate, I see the silent but huge impact of Lula Jean. She’s on almost every wall throughout the home. I feel her presence in every room and I only guess she had a heavy hand in decorating it. The lighting is warm and inviting, not clinical. It feels like a home.

  It reminds me of Ian.

  Seeing how his mother decorated the family compound reminds me of why he decorated his home the way he did. He has a few eclectic and super-expensive items, but the home feels more like a lived-in one complete with a housewife, kids, and pets. I would’ve never guessed one of the world’s most eligible bachelors (well, used to be) lived there.

  The sofas in one of the family rooms (since there are several) look comfortable and lived-in, though I’m sure they cost a small fortune. They’re not the typical leather sofas every person with new money buys. They’re covered with suede and I immediately know they’re the sofas that people purchase to look at, and not for anyone to actually sit in them.