In Covenant with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  “Thanks, Sister Shannon.”

  I felt contentment about my plan coming together. Ms. Remah would leave for her home country the morning after our wedding. This was key to give me the space I needed with Alexis during that first critical month.

  “And the two locations for the reception?” I inquired.

  “First Lady Carmichael said she would personally contact the facilities this morning when we spoke. I haven’t heard back from her since.”

  My mother, the motherzilla-of-groom.

  “Very well. I’ll send you that information within the hour.”

  “Of course, Pastor.”

  When the call ended, the sounds of music being played from a small source caught my attention. I searched to find the equipment. Four men ranging in age were hanging outside of Alexis’ building, drinking, smoking and inquiring about the presence of the vehicle I was in. The stares and quizzical glances didn’t bother me. It was to be expected in this neighborhood. I finally located the radio box and chuckled to myself. That ancient equipment must belong to one of the old heads of the group. I hadn’t seen a boombox in years. Once I was able to recognize the track from The Whispers flowing from it, I thought it had to have been one of the two older gentlemen’s.

  I sniffed the scent of new car leather as I sent Alexis a text.

  Me: What are you up to, beloved?

  Just after, Sister Shannon’s text came through with the information needed for Ms. Remah. As I awaited a response from Alexis, I couldn’t ignore the conversation from the four men outside of her building. One of the older men was the loudest of the group.

  “At first when she hit me with the news, I was mad as fuck! Shit. Then when she said I could stay and she gone pay the rent. I’m like, “Hurry your ass the fuck up outta here!”

  The group of guys laughed, giving the man daps. My phone vibrated.

  Alexis: I’m finishing up lunch with the girls. What’s up with you?

  Me: I’m out running errands. I thought you’d be home packing today.

  “That bitch be on my ass more than my P.O., my nigga. I’m glad I ain’t gotta hear her shit this time. No fucking curfew, no nothing now, my nigga.” The same man seemed to be boasting to his friends. They hung on his every word, laughing on cue and slapping palms after every other sentence. “Now, she better keep some food up in this mothafucka and some money in my pockets while she out there gettin’ fucked. Nah mean?”

  Something about his presence was unsettling to me. He was of average height, wearing a black sweat suit with a hood. It was apparent his hair was thinning with his weathered salt and pepper cornrows well past his shoulders. And why was he using this woman? Were women that clueless to game? I stopped myself there. I was being judgmental. I had no right. What’s more, this man’s situation had no bearing on me.

  My phone vibrated again.

  Alexis: I am. I’m about to leave and go home to finish working on it. I decided to tell Ny and Tasche about us today. It was harder than I thought.

  Me: Sorry to hear that.

  I wasn’t actually, just thought it was the polite thing to say.

  Alexis: It’s all good. Our path to chart. No one else’s. Right?

  That small show of unity made my chest swell. She’d gotten it. This was going to be so good; Alexis and me together.

  Me: Absolutely right. And it pleases me that you believe in us, beloved. I’ll let you finish up lunch with your girlfriends. When you get a chance I need information to book Ms. Remah’s flight. I’ll send it next.

  I didn’t want to prolong her time, so I forwarded Sister Shannon’s text then sat back and tuned into my entertainment in front of her building while I waited.

  Lex

  “Married?” Nyree yelped in the restaurant.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see just how many people were watching me be scolded just as we were wrapping up our meal.

  “Yes. Married.” I went for my soda.

  Tasche’s eyes were big as saucers and Nyree’s perfectly painted pink lips hung agape.

  I read Ezra’s last text about me packing and rolled my eyes. He’s such a damn bossy man!

  “And here I thought you were the responsible one.” Nyree used air quotation marks, her expression was still ghostly.

  “And because of this I’m not? I think I’ve chosen well. He’s a hardworking man with several jobs, like me, and a goddamn preacher for fuck’s sake. How is that not being responsible?” My tone turned defensive, snappy.

  “But you don’t even know him,” Nyree highlighted.

  “Word, Lex. You just told us about dude last month and now, what the fuck? We haven’t even laid eyes on him.”

  From my peripheral, I caught the waitress and flagged her for the check.

  “You can meet him. Are you available next week to do it? I can see if he is. We can do it the same day we pick out your bridesmaids gown.” I gulped down my soda at that. A deflective maneuver.

  “Bridesmaids gowns?” They parroted in unity.

  “When the hell is the so called wedding?” Nyree snapped her chin back.

  “July 18th.”

  “Come the fuck on, yo!” Tasche’s deep tenor scolded as she sat back in her seat, her raccoon eyes hard on me. “I know you told me it was going down, but this soon, bruh?”

  I thought she’d take it easier on me than Nyree’s judging ass. She and I had been friends since fifth grade. She was the easiest person to talk to and had always had my back over the years. Catching it from her brought about a feeling of defeat.

  Me: I am. I’m about to leave and go home to finish working on it. I decided to tell Ny and Tasche about us today. It was harder than I thought.

  “I can’t believe this,” Nyree murmured to herself with her forehead resting in her palm over the table. Her eyes met mine dramatically. “You’re clipping my wedding day. I sure hope you don’t think I’m about to shell out a bunch of cash for yours.” She regarded me, astonished.

  “First of all, let’s not act as though you’re paying for your wedding. Your parents and Taylor’s are.” She didn’t even have a job. “Second, all of your expenses are being taking care of for mine. Your dresses, makeup and shoes. All you have to be concerned about is your hair. You can spare that, can’t you, Ny?” I returned her cautious glare.

  After spending two hours on the phone with Ezra’s mother yesterday, it was well understood, that like mine, Tasche and Nyree’s expenses would be taken care of. Goddamn, that lady was all on top of this wedding. Ezra had pegged her correctly. As soon as I made clear my flexibility in letting her take the lead, she wouldn’t stop with asking my take on countless details. All types of shit I would’ve never thought of, even if I could afford it. It made me curious about what type of money Ezra’s family had. When I asked Lillian last night after I broke the news to her—and after she provided a disclaimer about how she doesn’t concern herself with the net worth of her pastor and his family—she provided the insight of how large RSfALC was, how long it’s been their family, how many members they had and how they were a televised ministry on major television networks. That didn’t give a direct answer, but her guess was The Carmichaels could afford this spectacular wedding Mrs. Carmichael was detailing.

  Just when I thought we were about to battle it out, the waitress appeared with the check. I went for my wallet.

  “I’m going to assume you’re paying for this lunch since you clearly assembled us here for your breaking news,” Nyree hissed.

  “Actually, I was going to treat everybody and not because of the announcement of my impending nuptials because that would have been expressed regardless. But that was until you suggested this expensive ass restaurant. So, no. I won’t be treating everybody.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll cover mine and Tasche’s food. You can pay for your own shit.”

  I knew Tasche didn’t do fancy events like random lunches. She was accustomed to popping bottles of Henny at a local BBQ on a Friday night with the O.G.’s from the block a
nd nothing thrilled her more, not to mention she didn’t get paid until the following night. Tasche still stripped at Rusty’s. I slapped a few bills on the table then went back to my phone and saw I had a text from Ezra.

  Ezra: Sorry to hear that.

  “Fine!” Ny returned. “I can afford my own food. I was just stopping to check out this new spot that seems to be trendy in Harlem. Shoot me, why don’t you!” She went about digging in her purse.

  Really? I thought to myself. Ezra didn’t seem incredibly sensitive to my transition. He seemed to have been so damn focused on getting me to go along with some arbitrary agenda. And your stupid ass is riding with him. I didn’t need my friends’ scolding. I’d done enough of it to myself. But his argument seemed even more compelling now in the throes of opposition. Tasche and Nyree’s rejection fueled my resolve.

  Me: It’s all good. Our path to chart. No one else’s. Right?

  The waitress had just left from taking the cash glove when Ezra returned my text.

  Ezra: Absolutely right. And it pleases me that you believe in us, beloved. I’ll let you finish up lunch with your girlfriends. When you get a chance I need information to book Ms. Remah’s flight. I’ll send it next.

  “I don’t need any change. I’m ready to go,” Nyree grated.

  I rolled my eyes at her and Ezra. Everything pissed me off in that moment.

  On our way to the car, Ezra texted me back with information he needed to book Ms. Remah’s flight to Jamaica. I couldn’t believe he was doing this for her. For me. But when I recalled we’d all rode together in Tasche’s car and that Nyree left her car at my place where we’d met up, all elation flew out the window. My place wasn’t that far and I would’ve even walked the few blocks in the draining heat just to get away from Nyree if not for that reason.

  I’d just finished copying and pasting Ms. Remah’s response to the information Ezra needed into a text to him when Tasche shrilled, “Damn! That bitch shiny and clean!”

  “I wonder whose sugar daddy’s visiting on the block,” Nyree wittily applied a jab at my neighborhood.

  I rolled my eyes just before looking for the attraction that had my friends talking. It was clear as day. A gray metallic F-Type was parked near my building with nineteen-inch orbit wheels glistening their newness. I’d known the car and type because I was familiar with its family.

  “I bet you know that baby, Lex. You’ve only been dreaming about it since I’ve known you,” Nyree noted.

  “Oh! Is that a Jaguar?” Tasche asked, staring at the car as we neared it.

  “Yup. Bet your preacher boy friend—I mean, fiancé won’t be making that dream come true,” Nyree assured as I chewed on her boy friend remark, realizing she didn’t mean boyfriend.

  Just as soon as I was about to hit her with a fuck you, the driver side door opened on the coupe and out came a thick, lengthy, and bearded creature, an assured stature I’d been rubbing off to daily for months now. It seemed as Tasche pulled into a parking space across the street he’d noticed me and made his presence known. As soon as the car had stopped, I was out and making my way to him.

  “I already agreed to marrying you,” I murmured to Ezra with my eyes stapled to the car, simultaneously being consumed by his delectable scent and the weight of his overall presence. This shit is pretty. I mused, observing the metallic sparkle and sheen. “You didn’t need to cop yourself my favorite car to impress me, Pastor.”

  “Pastor?” I heard chirped from just behind me.

  It was Nyree, and Tasche was on her heels.

  Noncommittally, I did the honors. “Yeah. Ezra, these are my girls, Nyree and Tasche. Ny, Tasch, this is Ezra Carmichael.”

  “Oh, my!” Nyree’s gushing tore my attention away from the car. “This is…” She couldn’t finish her question.

  And when I finally paid a full regard to Ezra I could see why. Ezra was always urbane in suit, but today, in the sun with a white dress shirt rolled up his muscular arms, exposing a titanium bracelet on one wrist that on any other man would have seemed suspect, striped tie, a fastened red vest with a chain descending from the top to its pocket, light grey dress pants and Burberry oxfords—those, I knew. His beard and connecting mustache was neatly trimmed as always and his hair cut, framing his face with precision.

  Fuck! The man was sexy as shit.

  He smirked his observation of me being taken by his appearance.

  And to confirm it, he leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “I am quite fond of your presence today as well, beloved.”

  The bastard knew he held virile allure and flaunted it, too.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Pastor Carmichael.” I saw Nyree’s peach shaded nails before I caught the purr in her tenor as she extended her hand to Ezra.

  He accepted it. “I hope all good things, Nyree.”

  “Oh, of course. You seem to have made quite an impression on my friend here. And now, finally meeting you, I can see why.”

  Was Nyree flirting with Ezra? Yes, she was. Pathetically, biting her distended tongue while exposing her teeth. Her lids fluttered with femininity and her voice rose an octave or two. I fought my annoyance of it, deciding to just be grateful that she could see the appeal. And Ezra was damn sure appealing to the eyes.

  “Hey. How you doin’,” Tasche stated rather than ask.

  It was clear she was affected, too; just not thirsty like our friend, Nyree.

  “Oh, shit!” I heard from over Ezra’s shoulder. “What the fuck we got going on over here, baby girl?” My father stepped toward the curb, his eyes bristling with surprise and curiosity…and something else.

  Ezra turned to find my father and I saw his eyes grow with a revelation I couldn’t identify. Perhaps he’s seeing where I got my eyes from…or long messy hair?

  “Come, daddy,” I invited, sounding like Ms. Remah. “I want you to meet Ezra.”

  My father stopped in his tracks, his eyes slanted then cut back to his friends near the stoop, and then to the car.

  What the fuck is that about?

  When he finally arrived, I nervously introduced the two alpha men. “Daddy, this is Ezra, my fiancé.” I gripped my father at the arm, holding it affectionately into my chest. This was unusual, but I was inexplicably anxious, not exactly planning how I’d introduce the two. I turned to Ezra. “Ezra, this is my dad, Rasul Grier.”

  There was a pregnant pause before either man moved. I didn’t understand what the tension was all about, but was certain of it floating around us. It was thick enough to choke on.

  Ezra’s hand extended to my father. “Rasul, interesting to meet you.”

  My father warily accepted Ezra’s hand and the men shook them firmly. I could see the tensing of their necks as my eyes bounced back and forth between the two energies. When they were done, my father backed away, a glower clear on his face until he glanced toward me. A hesitant smile eclipsed.

  “You hear dat, Lex?” my father asked excitedly.

  Hunh? My brows wrinkled.

  “It’s our song.” Roughly, he took me into his arms and began to sing The Whispers’ “Chocolate Girl.” The song rang faintly from the little ass boom box I’d bought him over ten years ago. It was one of our ‘affection’ songs coming up and as I grew older he used it as a weapon of intimacy with me. Whenever he wanted something I wasn’t inclined to give, he’d sing this song to me. It worked like a charm to hear my dad’s talented vocals pouring for my approval. He actually had a voice.

  “There you go with that damn voice again, Mr. Rasul,” Tasche appraised.

  My father was the big man on campus in his day. Everyone knew Rasul Grier could fight, hustle, and sing his ass off. Tasche’s reaction to his awkward display of affection wasn’t unusual.

  When I saw the perceptive disapproval in Ezra’s eyes, it dawned on me that my father had no words for my future husband. No warnings or questions. A part of me was relieved that he didn’t embarrass me with the possessiveness he expressed of me the morning he came home from
prison, but another logical part of me found that disconcerting. It felt revealing of his lack of accountability of me—the miserable fact that I’d had no real source of accountable love or protection in life for occasions like this where any man could just come and claim me. My father’s formidability that had always shielded me, even in his extended absences, had shrunk in that moment.

  I pulled from his embrace.

  “So,” I mustered an amused giggle as I fastened my attention to Ezra. “You come to show off?” I gestured to his car, attempting to move this along. I needed to think about this recent revelation alone.

  Then I saw the flash of change of mood in his eyes. The shifting was quick, but palpable to the knowing eye. Ezra smiled, charmingly…fucking predatorily, causing my pulse to race.

  “Not in the way you think. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be home and certainly not with company,” he referred to my father and friends then moved to open the car door. “Nonetheless, this isn’t my vehicle. It is yours.”

  Those last two words were received like a D.J. Screw record. The world seemed to have slowed.

  I could barely hear the shouts and gasps from the girls behind me, but hearing them was the confirmation that caused me to realize this man was giving me a fucking F-Type!

  For moments long, I was dazed.

  “I don’t know what to say…” I uttered breathily.

  Ezra kissed me sweetly on the forehead. “A simple thank you would suit me, beloved.”

  My eyes raked up to find his. “Thank you?” I shrieked.

  “Yup.” He kissed me again. “Now, I have to go. Thanks for sending me that information. I will forward you her ticketing information,” his words breezed. Ezra was preparing to go.

  I could vaguely process Tasche and Nyree approaching the car, opening both doors respectively as they ooh’ed and ahh’ed. I couldn’t fully process my father swearing underneath his breath in sheer amazement. But what I could clearly perceive was Ezra’s full-on self-composed saunter to a waiting black sedan. He was leaving me. He’d arrived unexpectedly and left even more unpredictably.

  Why did I feel tragically lonely in spite of the $75,000 car he’d just left me with?