by Briana Cole
Good Southern cuisine. Dorian remembered she was from Macon, Georgia. Collard greens and cornbread were a staple. No meat necessary.
“Is she asleep?”
“Yeah,” Dorian said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Rochelle’s fingers moved with precision as she turned the cast iron skillet upside down to transfer the cornbread to a plate before moving to finish washing her greens.
“She told you she had to go to the doctor today?”
“She didn’t tell me. Everything good?”
Rochelle turned around, using a towel to dry her hands. “She wants to stop chemo.”
Dorian dismissed the comment with a shake of his head. “No,” he said simply.
“Dorian—”
“I said no.”
Rochelle paused. “It’s what she wants,” she murmured. “Don’t you think she knows what’s best for her?”
“Hell no. I know what’s best for her.”
“At least listen to her. It’s taking a physical and emotional toll on her—”
“What are you talking about?” Dorian gestured in the direction of his mother’s room. “She looked great today. Better than she has in weeks. Like her old self again.”
Dorian watched Rochelle’s eyes lower briefly before she turned back to the counter. A pregnant pause stretched between them and he couldn’t help but feel like she had more to say. He braced himself for the impending argument. He sure as hell didn’t feel like going back and forth on this issue, especially with Rochelle, of all people. She had always been so sweet and kind-hearted, and he appreciated how well she treated his mother. It was as if the two ladies were more like sisters than nurse and patient. But thankfully, she remained quiet, the intermittent chops of the knife hitting the cutting board filling the silence between them.
Shantae had rose petals to greet him as soon as he walked through the garage. She had sprinkled a trail on the floor through the kitchen that led straight into the dining room. It was dark, the only light coming from strategically placed candles illuminating his path. She had a slow ballad playing through the surround sound speakers, and a mix of exotic herbs and spices infused the air. She had definitely gone all out to set the mood.
Shantae was seated at the dimly lit dining table, dishes already set with a chilled bottle of wine cooling in the center. As soon as he stepped through the arch, she rose to her feet, a gorgeous red wraparound dress hugging her curves and giving just enough sensual subtlety to get a rise out of him. Damn, she looked good. When was the last time he had really looked at his wife?
“Happy anniversary, sweetie.” Shantae rounded the table with two glasses of white wine in hand. She handed one to him before leaning up to plant a delicious kiss on his lips. He moaned into the kiss, drinking in the sweet flavor on her tongue.
“You look amazing,” he said, stepping back to admire her. “Happy anniversary.” He presented the bouquet of roses he had been holding, and Shantae’s smile widened.
“To us.” She clinked her glass with his and they both took healthy swigs. Then, she wrapped her arm through his and steered him toward the table.
It looked like she had brought the five-star restaurant to the house. A white linen tablecloth was draped on the glass tabletop, and she had prepped a plate of salmon over a bed of dirty rice and mixed vegetables for each of them. A bowl of salad and a basket of bread rested between two long-stemmed candles, each with a single flame that had shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling.
Dorian was impressed. “This looks great, babe.”
“Wait until your surprise.” She rested her chin in her hand, her eyes seemingly twinkling with delight.
“Oh, there’s more?” Dorian’s mind flipped to all the kinky sex stunts she was about to pull out in the bedroom. Shit had him nearly salivating in anticipation. “Well, let’s cut right to it, then.”
Shantae giggled, amused. “Are you sure? Our food is going to get cold.”
“Man, whatever, we have a microwave. Come on.”
She tapped a manicured nail on her lip as if she were really contemplating something. Then with a flirtatious smirk, she relented. “Okay, fine.”
Dorian was already climbing to his feet when he stopped short at the blue envelope she slid his way.
“Open it,” she said. She looked as if she were about to all but burst from some pending excitement.
“This can’t wait?”
Shantae smacked her lips. “Babe, come on. Please? I’ve been holding in the surprise already. I promise, you’ll love it.”
It looked like the envelope to a standard greeting card, so he was still confused about what could have this woman on the edge of her seat.
He flipped open the flap and pulled out a piece of cardstock. On one side, she had typed three simple words: Marriage Hall Pass. Dorian held the paper between his fingers, reading and rereading the inscription. Finally, he glanced up. “What does this mean?” he asked. “I’m lost.”
“Read the back,” Shantae urged, impatiently waving her hand to speed up the process.
He thought she was being silly, but he obliged, flipping the paper over to read the back. He skimmed the verbiage and looked up to see Shantae still beaming at him, as if proud of herself.
“Girl, you play too much,” he said after a pause, giving the card a careless toss on the table.
Shantae laughed at his reaction. “I’m not playing, though.”
Dorian fixed his mouth in apparent disbelief. “Yeah, okay. You’re going to let me have a night out to do whatever I want, with whoever I want. No questions asked. Yeah right, Shantae.”
“I’m serious, babe. This is my gift to you.”
Dorian grabbed a piece of bread from the basket. Yeah, he knew she was playing. Or had gone crazy. And since he knew it wasn’t the latter, he had to commend her on her acting skills. Anyone else she would have had fooled.
“My coworker told me about it,” Shantae explained. “She and her husband do it every year for Christmas, but she said you can do it anytime.”
Dorian chewed, still not buying it. “Do what exactly? Like swingers? I need details because this shit is sounding more and more insane. ”
“She said it’s the gift of opportunity. One night only, both of them go do whatever it is they want. Sleep with whoever. Get it out of their system. And then they come home and go back to normal like nothing happened.”
“Uh-huh,” Dorian said absently. “And why do they do this?”
“It’s supposed to bring them closer together.” Shantae ran her fingers up and down her wineglass, keeping her eyes on Dorian to gauge his reaction.
He still wasn’t buying it. “Oh, okay. Whatever works for them, I guess.” Dorian cut into his salmon, the fish falling apart like butter. Warm steam tickled his cheeks as he forked a piece in his mouth.
“You’re not even a little interested in this?” Shantae looked shocked at his reaction. “I thought you would like it.”
“Did you? Why is that?” Dorian narrowed his eyes, already reading the subtle message in the statement. He knew that she thought his past behaviors made him a serial cheater.
Shantae’s eyes ballooned at her mistake, and she shook her head to try and clean it up. “I only meant because, isn’t it like every guy’s fantasy to have a threesome or something? Isn’t this better?”
“Nah, and let me tell you why.” Dorian used the end of his fork to count off on his fingers as he continued. “I can have sex or do whatever I want, right?”
“Yes.”
“With whoever I want, right?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re not going to get mad or ask any questions, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s a damn trap. No thanks.” He resumed eating, his head still shaking at the absurdity.
Dorian heard the clink of silverware on china and he lifted his head from his plate as Shantae rose to her feet. He could all but taste the thick tension that sudden
ly filtered between them.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Her movements were familiarly rigid, and he already knew, even before she spoke, that she was upset. The question was, why? “Babe,” he repeated when she didn’t answer.
“I’m fine.” It was clear she was anything but.
Shocked, Dorian sat back in his chair and watched her begin clearing the table. “You really pissed right now.” It was a statement of disbelief rather than an actual question. “I don’t want to go cheat on you, and you’re mad about that.”
“Whatever. You’re not interested. Fine. Forget I mentioned it.” Shantae carried her plate and glass to the door. “I need to go finish packing. We have an early flight in the morning.” She disappeared into the adjoining kitchen, leaving Dorian sitting there in utter shock.
“Un-be-fucking-lievable,” he muttered under his breath. His boys were going to have a field day when he told them this one.
Chapter Six
Jamaica was like Atlanta’s Freaknik, the scorching heat evidenced with damp foreheads and glistening tanned bodies exposed by cutoff shorts, bikini tops, and flip-flops. Cabs packed the streets in front of Montego Bay’s Sangster International, windows down to allow the various reggae beats to intermingle with the airport crowd and city locals. The stifling temperature could have been considered suffocating to some, but to Dorian, it was more than welcome. The arched rooftops and the billowing palm trees accenting the large glass windows coupled with the gorgeous weather were already promising an inviting few days.
Shantae hadn’t said too much that morning as they headed to the airport, and she had started dozing shortly after they took off, which was fine with him. It gave him the opportunity to absorb the trip through his first-class window seat, sip his complimentary champagne, assess his current feelings over Shantae’s proposal. As he watched her sleep, relaxing in the buzz as the bubbly liquid slid down his throat, he had to admit one thing. He was intrigued. He had tried to put the whole thing out of his mind but after their anniversary dinner went left. But once he realized she had been completely serious about her little Marriage Hall Pass, his thoughts had run rampant.
Part of him also wanted to be angry. Was she just using this as an excuse to sleep with some other man? His mind antagonized him, putting images of his wife in the bed and arms of faceless men. Shit was infuriating the longer he allowed himself to dwell on it.
As they disembarked and grabbed their luggage from baggage claim, she seemed in better spirits. Whether it was the tropical air or the liquor in the Club Mobay Delight drink they’d been given at the gate, Dorian was glad to see she had come up off her little attitude, so it didn’t ruin their vacation.
Dorian had called ahead for a car to greet them. As they emerged into the blazing heat, he gestured toward the stocky chauffeur, a polished Jamaican dreadhead with fuzzy locs and a multicolored dashiki, gripping a Dorian Graham sign. “Welcome to Montego Bay, Mr. Graham,” he greeted, his words thick with his accent. “Mrs. Graham.” He nodded to her and she smiled in response. The man took their bags from Dorian and placed them into the trunk of a black Suburban idling among the vehicles that lined the curb.
Dorian opened the car door to let Shantae in first before he followed behind to slide onto the plush leather seats. He tossed his arm around her shoulders as they sped down the island streets, observing the vast array of tropical foliage, listening to some reggae mix blaring through the radio speakers. He could even smell the beach, the scent of saltwater wafting through the open windows. For a moment, all of his problems felt like they were miles away, back in Atlanta, and he planned to enjoy the peace. He sent a quick text to Rochelle to make sure his mom was okay. Satisfied, he gave Shantae’s thigh a squeeze.
“You good?” he asked.
She nodded and turned back to the window.
Pulling under the canopy of a gorgeous beachfront hotel, Dorian could see the scene at the entrance was intense, to say the least. There were groups of five here, six there. Eight here, two there. Taxis were pulling up, emptying, loading and pulling off. Bellmen were tossing baggage on carts, handing out tickets, and scurrying inside. Folk were hollering at people they knew and people they wanted to get to know. Guests breezed in and out the sliding glass doors, the hushed lobby music wafting through the breezeway to mingle with the outside activity.
Inside, the check-in line swooped like a snake around the room, tangling with idle guests waiting for elevators or just passing through to the bar. Bodies were piled on cushioned lobby couches and armchairs, the furniture color hidden underneath oversized purses, straw hats, and sun-streaked skin. Laughter and raised voices hung in the air, along with sweat and entirely too much perfume.
Dorian checked in, and as high-paying patrons, they were quickly ushered to one of the expensive villas. Cushioned area rugs were scattered across the gleaming mahogany hardwood floor. Two queen-size beds adorned with red and beige pillows and patchwork linens dominated the airy room. Someone had taken the time to spell out WELCOME in carefully arranged rose petals on the bed. Two large, dark wood shutter doors were slid open, revealing the furnished patio overlooking a manicured lawn with hammocks and palm trees. A little farther, but still walking distance, was the white sand and crystal blue water of the beach.
“This place is like heaven,” Shantae said after the butler had wheeled their bags in the room and left them alone. “I needed this so much.”
Though they both had polished off the complimentary champagne served during check-in in the lobby, Dorian gently tapped his empty glass against hers anyway. “We both did,” he said. “So how about we get started enjoying each other?”
Shantae lifted a brow, glanced toward the bed and back at him.
Dorian grinned. “That’s not what I meant. But the thought has crossed my mind a few times seeing you in that outfit.”
Shantae glanced down at the baby blue bohemian dress, the soft island breeze tickling her exposed back. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. Dorian opened his mouth to speak, shutting it again when the muffled ring tone of a cell broke the air. Her phone, not his. He stifled a groan when she turned to make her way across the floor to her purse hanging on the door.
“We just got here, Shantae,” he said, but she was already digging to retrieve the device.
She glanced at the screen and tossed an apologetic look in his direction. “I’m sorry. One second. It’s work.”
Dorian could only shake his head as he watched her step out onto the balcony and slide the door shut behind her for privacy.
One thing was becoming clear.
Dorian sat on the side of the pool with his legs thrown over the edge to cool off in the water. He stared at his wife lounging on a nearby lounge chair, the sun kissing the bits of her skin revealed by the skimpy red bikini, her face hidden behind the shields of her big-frame sunglasses. Something was different between them.
On the surface, it seemed like everything was fine because they were going through the motions of a couple having fun with each other. Jet Skiing that morning with Shantae holding on to his tightened body as the boat pierced the water and the wind slapped his face. They had walked hand in hand toward the boardwalk for a while and when she’d complained her legs were aching, he’d merely scooped her up and carried her on his back until they’d come to one of the many resort pools. Now, as she stretched out letting the sun dry her body, she had claimed to need a nap, popped some earbuds in her ears, and retreated to her own private world.
He figured she had messed around and let work stress her out. That negative energy was contagious, and he hated it was beginning to kill his vibe. He hadn’t traveled over a thousand miles to wade through the same tension he lived with every day back in Atlanta, that’s for damn sure.
“Leo, stop!”
Dorian glanced over his shoulder at an approaching group. The voice had come from a woman who giggled as a man picked up her slender frame and carried her over his shoulder. Walking alongside them were t
wo other women, one noticeably pregnant in an ivory sundress that flowed to her ankles, the other one with a short pixie cut in a navy-blue halter swimsuit with cutouts at the waist.
The woman now being carried had on a cheetah print bikini and heels, of all things. The man’s locs shielded her face from view, but by the subsequent laugh when he slapped her ass, she was enjoying their little friendly engagement.
They stopped at the edge of the pool, and when the man sat the woman down, Dorian saw all three were beautiful in their own individual styles. Cheetah Print looked more glamorous than anything and way too flashy for a day at the pool with her weave ponytail, makeup, and jewelry. But that curvaceous body was definitely her best asset, and she had no problems letting it be known with the string bikini. The pregnant one had a shy aura about her, and with the book she toted, she appeared she would have rather stayed in the hotel room. Ms. Pixie Cut was the youngest-looking, and when she took off her sunglasses to place them on top of her head, her expression carried more boredom and irritation than anything. The man looked like he could have been one of the locals with his chiseled physique, dark complexion, and locs. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder what their connection was. Friends? They seemed to have a disjointed relationship, nor did they appear to mesh.
“Hey,” he greeted the man and the cheetah print woman as they took their time entering the pool. The other two women had seated themselves at a table under the shade of an umbrella.
“Hey.” Only the man responded. The woman just smiled before turning to swim off toward the other end of the pool. Like Dorian, the man lifted himself out of the water to sit on the edge and let his feet dangle in.
As if on cue, a waitress strolled over in a uniform T-shirt and some white shorts. “Mr. Owusu,” she said, handing the man a drink from the tray she carried. “Can I get you anything else?” The man reached up to toy with one of the woman’s braids, and her smile widened.
“Maybe later, my love,” he answered. Then as if remembering, he turned to Dorian. “You want anything?”
