by Sophia Henry
I laugh. “He’ll be fine. If he’s one of those guys who’s always looking for a way to get ahead while doing the least amount of work possible, he’ll find a way.”
“True. He’ll find another number two.”
“You weren’t put on this earth to be anyone’s number two, Baby. You’re a leader.” I reach down to stroke his cock as I stroke his ego. “You have everything that you have ever wanted; your own successful business and your father’s respect.”
Harris moans at my touch and draws me closer. “I also have you,” he whispers. “That’s the biggest win.”
With that, he pushes me up unto his chest with his hand grabbing my ass until our faces touch and we are kissing. In no time, he spreads me open with his fingers and slides inside me. The feeling is so intense, I can barely find the words to describe it.
Later that night, as I lie on Harris’ chest, listening to his heartbeat, a million thoughts race through my head.
The success of the store caught all of us off guard—even Harris and I—our biggest cheerleaders. We knew there was a market for affordable fashionable clothes and accessories, but we weren’t prepared for the gusto in which how many people would jump on board with a new store with no name or brand recognition behind it.
We’re about to open our second Charlotte location soon and have plans to for more if that one goes well.
I haven’t heard from Stan since the day he left. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth. Though, his return is always in the back of my head, I don’t let myself dwell on it.
He could be back in prison—or dead.
Or he could be on a flight to the United Stated right now.
I’m nervous because my entire life is a series of lies based on reality. I walk on eggshells, making sure I can recall every detail of this made up existence because I’m always on the cusp of everything blowing up in my face.
My last name isn’t recognizable in banking or tobacco or one of the families who built the city. I’m not the daughter of one of Mrs. Commons’ sorority sisters or Mr. Commons’ associates. While not quite arranged marriage, the wealthy definitely use a parental matchmaking system.
I’m actually impressed he hasn’t succumbed to the pressure and ditched me for another girl.
Impressed, but not surprised. I know Harris loves me enough to fight for me.
If there’s one thing I’ve taught myself is that worrying doesn’t solve a problem, action does. If Harris and I are to be married and be together, I don’t have a choice but to face his family.
No matter what happens.
16
Cookie
1990
My hands shake as Harris and I use a pair of obnoxiously over-sized scissors to cut the ribbon signifying the Grand Opening of the second Commons Department Store. When Rudsons, a chain out of Detroit, went bankrupt and had to close their location at Eastland Mall, we jumped at the opportunity to grab the prime location as an anchor store.
Never in a million lifetimes would I have thought I’d be the owner of a retail store with two locations before I even graduated college.
Yet here we are, smiles plastered on our faces as we shake hands and accept congratulations from the cream of the crop in Charlotte’s business world. Harris keeps a hand on the small of my back, leading me through the crowd, stopping to chat with certain people and groups. He’s a lifesaver. Being regarded in the high-powered business world has always been one of my goals—but it’s still overwhelming.
I take a few seconds to enjoy the moment and reflect on how far I’ve come. Four short years ago, I was the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Today, I own a store in prestigious Eastland Mall. I helped create a business that has become so successful we were able to open a second location within two years of the first.
This weekend has been a bit of a whirlwind for me. Finals are coming up soon, so Harris and I have been studying as much as we can while still working our tails off. We’ve been in Charlotte for every school break and almost every weekend over the last year making sure the current store is running efficiently and everything for the new location was coming along properly.
Looking back on it, it probably would have made sense to take a year off school, but that wasn’t an option—or even a thought—for either of us. We’re both too driven to give up on something.
Despite all those trips, I never felt completely comfortable around Harris’ parents until yesterday, when we got to town for the Grand Opening event. We weren’t able to leave Chapel Hill until four in the afternoon because we both had Thursday classes. We got to his parent’s house just in time for supper.
After a mild, yet intense, interrogation from the Commons’ during dinner, it seemed as if I’d won them over. But as I helped Mrs. Commons clear the table and serve coffee, I heard commotion at the door. Harris’ brother, Beau, and his wife, LuAnn, arrived for dessert.
At that moment, I thought the new life I’d worked so hard to build would blow up in my face. I’m positive Beau knows what I used to do, yet he’s ever said anything—at least, not that I know of. It seems like a lifetime ago, but it’s still raw. And I had no clue if he was going to mention it or not.
But nothing happened. Beau and LuAnn hugged me and said how pleased they were to finally meet me. Not one time during the conversation did it sound like someone who was holding something over on me or wanted to ruin me.
Maybe it’s time to stop being so paranoid and start enjoying my life with Harris.
17
Harris
On the drive to Charlotte, we’ve got the windows down and the music pumping. Cookie and I sing along to “Pour Some Sugar On Me” neither one of us missing a beat. I glance at her and smile, then place my hand on her thigh, inching up her short skirt the slightest bit so my palm touches her bare skin and my fingers come dangerously close to the promise zone.
Her breath gets heavy and she wiggles in her seat moving my fingers closer. I dip one finger into her panties thrilled with how soaked she is. She’s always soaked for me like she can never get enough. She bites her lip and turns her head. I slide my fingers in and out.
The feel of her wet pussy against my fingers inflames my desire. If it were a little darker, I’d park on the side of the road and let her ride me until we both explode. She looks at me again, her eyes burning with lust. I remove my fingers and bring them to my mouth, loving how she tastes.
Luckily for me, I spot the motel down the road and I know this will be my only chance to sate my craving before we get to my family’s house. Who knows if we will have the chance to have sex over the weekend?
“Sugar?” she says, employing the sultry tone I love.
“Yeah, baby?” I reply. We’re getting closer to the motel and I just really want to fuck this woman.
“I want you, Harris. I want you now,” she says, forcefully.
“I know, Baby, I want you too.” I glance up at the road then smirk devilishly at her before speeding up and turning into the parking lot.
“See why I love you?” she asks playfully.
“Because we think alike,” I answer, leaning forward to kiss her.
We scramble out of the car, and practically run to the entrance.
“Can I rent for the hour?” I ask the receptionist at the motel.
She looks up at me with a bored expression. “No.”
“Oh, well, okay. Give us a room, please,” I say, taking my wallet out of my back pocket.
The room is only twenty nine dollars for a night, and at this particular moment I can’t think of a better way to spend thirty bucks.
About an hour and a half later, we’re headed back to the car disheveled, but satisfied. The quickie—if you call fucking for an hour a quickie—was mind-blowing. When I open the door for Cookie, I notice her swollen lips match mine and her usually perfectly-styled hair is snarled and tangled.
“You’re going to have to fix that,” I tease, as she slides into the front seat.
> “You, too! You can’t walk into your parents’ house with your hair sticking out all over,” she retorts. It reminds me of how my hair got crazy—when she grabbed onto it while my face was between her legs.
We share mischievous looks and random laughs the rest of the way to Charlotte. One of my favorite things about Cookie is how refined she is, yet fun or kinky in the next breath. We literally just pulled off the road to have sex in a seedy motel. Then again, we’ve had sex in the car, on our balcony, even in my parents jacuzzi, so doing it in a motel shouldn’t seem that crazy. We didn’t even bother to take our clothes off because the short dress she had on made things easy.
I look at her now as she dozes, and can’t help but smile. Cookie will probably kill me when she learns what I’ve got planned this weekend, but I’m not worried. Although we say those special three words often, they aren’t enough to express how much I love this stubborn, sexy, intelligent woman. My life changed when I met her and I’m willing to do absolutely anything for her.
Every time we go to my parents’ house, it’s always the same. Everyone fusses over us. Cookie used to be overwhelmed by it, but she’s gotten used to the attention. I’m just thankful my parents finally came around to her.
“I’m so excited,” Mama mouths to me, before whisking Cookie away for a tour of the place. Both of my parents know what’s going on tonight. And they’ve been surprisingly chill since we got here. Normally, Mama can’t keep her mouth shut when she has a secret.
“She’s a smart one, your Katrina,” Daddy says as we share a bottle of scotch in his study. If anyone else offered, I’d decline because I can’t stand the taste of scotch. But I’d never turn Daddy down because that be plain disrespectful. “Reminds me of your mother when we were younger. It’s no wonder why they get along so easily.”
“I’m glad you like her, Daddy,” I begin, looking into his eyes.
Age is beginning to show on Beau Commons Sr., but it does so with grace. It’s also tempered some of his stubborn tendencies, so much so that it’s still weird to hear him compliment Cookie after the fights we’ve had about her.
He sips his scotch, waiting for me to continue. He always knew when to listen and when to talk, a trait I inherited from him.
“As you know, I’m going to propose to her tonight after dinner. I need to be sure that you and mother will accept her,” I say, putting my intentions on the table. This earns me a smirk and a chuckle from him.
“Knowing you, you would go ahead and marry her nonetheless and damn the consequences,” he says.
I’m glad he understands that I didn’t tell him because I’m seeking his approval. I’ve moved past that phase in my life.
“Of course, we’ll accept Cookie. How could you even be worried? Your mother adores her. And with as long as you two have been dating, it’s like she’s already part of the family. I’m happy for you, son, and I’m damned proud of you,” he says, hugging me. I’m pretty sure his eyes are shining with unshed tears, but father would never let anyone see him be anything less than ‘macho’.
“Speaking of children who make their father proud,” I start as we break apart. “Where’s the Captain?”
“He’s in Europe at the moment,” Daddy replies. “He said something about buying a soccer team in England or Spain.” He takes another sip of his scotch. “For what it’s worth, I believe it’s going to be a profitable venture for him. Your brother’s always been a big fan of soccer, right?”
“I believe it’s called football over there, Daddy,” I correct him but as expected he dismisses it.
“Bah! Potato, po-tah-to,” he replies. “Oh, here they come.” He motions to Mama and Cookie who can be seen from the large glass panel on the wall of his study. We put down our drinks and head out of the study to meet them.
It’s showtime.
18
Cookie
If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when you have a dirty past, life lures you into having a false sense of security. The feeling that everything is alright will always overpower whatever doubts you might have.
If his parents hadn’t been present, I would’ve thought Harris was pulling a prank on me. I understand that he was bringing me to see his parents because it was a way to show how committed but a proposal is just something else and
Even the best actress couldn’t replicate the shock that envelops when Harris proposes.
“Well, say something, Katrina,” Mrs. Commons urges me, snapping me out of my reverie.
The woman is an absolute sweetheart, and I see where Harris gets his kindness and blue eyes. She’s kind and warm and an amazing cook. I look forward to spending more time with her in the future and observing how to be a proper Southern woman. Lord knows I didn’t get that from my own Mama.
During our tour of the house, she’d told me a little bit about herself. She wasn’t born into a wealthy family, but she and Harris’s father fell madly in love and he refused to back down, even when his father protested.
“You have nothing to fear, darling,” she said as if she could tell that deep down, I’m not the rich girl I pretend to be.
“Katrina? Will you marry me?” Harris asks again. He’s still on one knee, presenting me with the largest diamond I’ve ever seen. It’s a solitaire on a simple gold band. Everyone’s eyes are on me and the tension is palpable, maybe my silence set everyone on edge.
“Yes. Yes, of course, I will, Harris.” I say, sounding breathless.
I’m elated and overwhelmed as Harris slides the ring onto my finger. As he pulls me into his arms, his parents clap and they come around to hug us.
My life is a true rags-to-riches story. Somehow, I have managed to escape a childhood, finish at the university, build my own business, and marry a rich man like Mama had always wanted.
If only she could me now. I think amidst the celebration.
Perhaps I should pay her a visit before we leave Charlotte to let her know I escaped my pitiful upbringing, and I did it without her help.
And that’s where I made my mistake.
* * *
A few days after our engagement, the Commons were on the front page of the Charlotte newspaper. Thankfully for me, I wasn’t in any of the photos. I’m still not used to, or comfortable with, attention. Harris and I haven’t taken engagement photos yet. Once we do, we’ll be announced formally.
I fold the newspaper and set it on my lap, turning my gaze out the window. As the cab weaves through the familiar streets, I’m reminded of countless bus rides. This time, I have a pocketbook full of money that I earned on my own.
After the cab drops me off, I pay the driver, and make my way to the door with my head lowered, making sure that my face is mostly hidden. I’m not in the mood to be recognized.
When I knock on the door of my former apartment, a petite pretty Latino woman with doe eyes and an alert expression opens the door. I can’t blame her for the paranoia, this neighborhood was never safe, and see how bad it has gotten I don’t want to imagine how bad it has gotten.
“Hi there. I'm looking for my Miss. McIntyre,” I say. “Is she available?” I look over her shoulder into the apartment.
She eyes me wearily and closes the door, so all I can see is her face. “She don’t live here anymore. I move in a few months ago,” she replies. “Lo siento.”
Damn,” I mutter trying to think of where Mama could be. Could she have moved in with Aunt Polly after I left?
The woman must sense my distress because she continues, “I don’t know if she’s the same person but I hear that the last person was old lady who die of cancer,” she offers. “Neighbors say something about how she couldn’t pay for treatment and her daughter was missing,” she offers then begins to eye me warily.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. It’s actually her daughter that I’m looking for. We were close childhood friends.” The lie rolls off my tongue but inside guilt rolls through me. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
> “Buenas tardes,” she calls as I shuffle down the hallway.
Once I’m outside, I lean against the door and take a deep breath.
I hated my mother. I hated what she put us through. I hated what she made me do.
I should feel sadness or guilt or regret, but I don’t. I feel free. I feel like today is the first day of the rest of my life.
Rolling my shoulders back, I smooth out my blouse and head back to the convenience store to use the pay phone. My head is down, watching my steps to make sure my heels don’t get caught in a crack or on the uneven concrete. When I glance up, I see a ghost—and it isn’t my mother’s.
19
Cookie
“Get in the car,” the Russian accent hits me like a concrete slab. I could ignore him and keep walking, but he’s pointing a gun at me and it doesn’t look like he’s in a playful mood.
“Stan?” I whisper incredulously.
“Get in the car, Katrina. Don’t waste my time,” he says again, his voice sounding even edgier now so I oblige and climb into the sedan quietly.
“When I see the announcement of wedding. I think no. Cannot be my Katrina. But I know you will come to gloat to your mother, so I wait here every day waiting for you to show.”
Every day? For how long? How long has he been in the United States? Why didn’t he contact me?
“Your ego makes you predictable, Katrina,” he snarls. “You stole my money.” Stan accuses me.
“You told me to use it for what I needed,” I fire back, barely able to contain the rage inside me. He’s the one who had to talk me into taking his stupid checkbook before he left. The gun pointed at me doesn’t scare me at this point though I have a feeling that Stan wouldn’t hesitate to empty his bullets into me.
