He frowned as he moved to me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted me to know something about the spa.”
That frown of his deepened. “On our honeymoon? I thought she was gonna handle everything.”
I wasn’t sure if it was confusion or annoyance that I heard in his voice.
“She is.” I spoke as fast as I could without a beating heart. “She’s handling everything and she won’t text again and I don’t think she really had a problem and she just wanted to know that we’d arrived safely and I told her that we had and she said she wouldn’t text again.”
He craned his neck to take a look at my cell, but I hit the button to return my phone to the home screen, the whole time keeping it from Damon’s view.
I couldn’t believe how calm my voice was when I said, “I don’t want to think about this. I want to just think about you.” For emphasis, I took a couple of steps back. With my eyes, I took a slow stroll up his body; starting at his size elevens, I crept up (pausing only once) until my eyes were on his.
For a moment, he looked like the emperor who’d just discovered that neither he (nor I) wore any clothes. That fast, he forgot about my cell, forgot about my lie. “You want to think about me?” His voice was thick with lust.
I nodded. But I only gave him a quick kiss before I stepped away from him again. “I want to think about you and this wonderful city. Let’s go out, let’s see the sights.” It was the look of disappointment that made me add, “We have plenty of time for that. Our whole lives. Let’s go out.” Adding a little pout to my voice, I said, “I want to because the world’s biggest mall is here, remember?”
That was enough for him because actually my man loved shopping even more than I did. “Okay, let’s take a shower and then get out of here.”
“Together?” I said, wanting to give him something.
“Is there any other way?” he said. “I’ll race you.” Then he dashed, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
I was in no rush. So, I let my husband win, hoping that my win would come tonight.
* * *
THE WORLD’S LARGEST mall had everything. It felt like we’d walked fifty football fields going through every luxury store that I loved: Christian Louboutin, St. John, Versace . . . those shops were for me. We stopped by a few for Damon, too, though he wasn’t much for buying clothes off the rack. His retail drug of choice had us browsing through Harry Winston, Montblanc, and Cartier.
After an early dinner (though it was really brunch, since our bodies were still on DC time) at P.F. Chang’s (which was better than where Damon wanted to go—California Pizza Kitchen), we continued our exploration through the mall, which even had an indoor skating rink (Really! Even though it was almost ninety degrees outside!). But though we walked like we had no particular destination, I had one last stop in mind.
La Perla.
This was by my design. I’d spotted the store earlier and steered Damon away, already forming a plan. Now, as we walked by, I paused and he did, too.
He grinned. “You want something from in here?”
“The question is, do you want something?” When he frowned, I added, “Pick out something, whatever you want.” Getting closer to him, I added, “And I’ll model it back in our room since you didn’t give me a chance to model on our wedding night.”
I was surprised at his control—he didn’t rush in and pick out the first thing. Rather, we sauntered through, checking out all the merchandise—the bodysuits and the bustiers, the bras and the panties—and settled in the baby-doll section. I was surprised when he picked out a whisper slip with a matching thong.
“This” was all he said before he asked the store attendant if she had that in my size.
I’d expected something a bit more risqué, but I went with it. Because if this was what it took . . .
I was giddy with anticipation as we were driven back to the hotel. The day had been exhausting and I was tired down to my jet-lagged bones, yet I was filled with exhilaration. I couldn’t wait to be in bed with this man that I loved and finally . . .
When we stepped into the hotel, I would have taken the stairs if we weren’t on the twentieth floor, and when we walked into our suite, I told Damon, “Let me change into something more comfortable. You put on some music.”
I couldn’t slide into that slip fast enough, and in my mind, I imagined what I would do. Maybe I’d pretend that I didn’t know Damon, and that I was a stripper. Or maybe I was a young woman who’d just come to the big city and I was lost.
Laughing out loud, I made a note to tell Damon that we needed to buy some stock in La Perla. Because when this worked, I might want to buy the entire company.
Strolling out of the bathroom, I was a little disappointed to find Damon in the bed. As if he didn’t really want a show, as if he just wanted to get right to it.
“Hello, there.” I tried to speak from my throat, though in my ears, I sounded like a frog.
Not that it mattered; the way Damon looked at me, I doubted that his ears were working. I did my supermodel stroll across the room and I was sure I could see Damon’s heart beating.
I said, “My name is . . .” I paused, wanting to think of something really good. “Cyclone. ’Cause you ’bout to get caught up.”
It was a corny line, I knew that. But it was the best I could come up with when my heart was beating with such expectation.
He reached for me, as if that name meant nothing. As if the slip meant nothing. As if my show meant nothing.
“I love you, Tiff,” he said, as he laid me on my back.
“I love you, too,” I told him. “Let’s take this slow.”
He followed my instructions—kind of. His kisses were slow. And his caresses were slower. This time, I was ready . . . and wanting . . . and waiting. When we connected, I was more expectant than I had ever been.
And then . . .
And then . . .
And then . . .
Nothing.
27
Damon
There wasn’t a lot that I could see in the dark, but the dim light from the digital clock gave me enough light to see that smile on my wife’s face. A smile that was, even in her sleep, wider and brighter than her smiles had been since we arrived in Dubai.
Pushing myself up, I leaned against the bed’s headboard and, with my eyes still on Tiffanie, I took myself on a trip over the last days. It had been a whirlwind of a honeymoon, exactly the way I’d wanted and expected it to be. Every day we explored the city. From the mall on Sunday to the walk through the village of Dubai on Monday, and then hanging out at the beach on Tuesday. Wednesday we’d toured the desert in dune buggies and then yesterday we’d gone to the Miracle Garden, which had been my idea. I’d been sure that would have been one of Tiffanie’s favorite stops. What woman wouldn’t want to see over one hundred million blooming flowers? If someone had asked me that question, I would’ve said, my wife, who just loved flowers.
But she was unimpressed and had rushed us out of there and back here to the hotel, where we’d made love the way we’d done every single day.
That was the best part of this honeymoon. Making love to my wife.
At least it was—until tonight.
Our last day.
Over the last few years of traveling together, it had become our vacation custom to separate on our last day. She did the spa thing in preparation for going home and I did what relaxed me—I played golf.
At first, I hadn’t really wanted to do it. I mean, this was our honeymoon, and would be the first time I was away from my Tiffanie since we’d said, “I do.” But she’d insisted and since I’d brought my clubs . . .
Being out on those links at the Emirates Golf Club was all that the brochures said it would be. I’d played golf in a couple of wonderful places around the world—in Kauai, Cabo, London; bu
t I’d never played anyplace where the skyline was right there in front of us . . . that view was the truth and I could have just stayed on the driving range all day. But I’d put my name in and ended up one of a foursome. I’d been partnered up with a couple of guys from the UK and one from Germany. All were here on business, mostly real estate development, and the talk was as beneficial for me as the game had been. I’d told them what I did back in DC, exchanged cards with all, and promised that if their business ever brought them to America, I would roll out a golden carpet for them.
But even though the day had turned out great, tonight would be greater. Tiffanie and I were going to have a celebration of our last night, our one-week anniversary. We wouldn’t have a full night since we had to be at the airport at midnight for our 2 a.m. flight back, but we’d get in a few hours of room service . . . and so much more. It was the so-much-more that I’d been looking forward to.
But when I got back from the course, I found her in bed. My guess was that all those spa treatments had lulled my baby to sleep, although I was sure some of it was that her body clock was still jacked up, like mine.
I should have left her alone. I should have just waited until she awakened. But she’d looked so beautiful, sleeping. And so happy, with that smile.
At first, I’d touched her kinda tentatively, not really sure that I wanted to wake her. But my fingers had hardly made contact when she rolled over and grabbed me!
From there it was on. With a force that I’d never seen, she pushed me down, straddled my lap, and she rode me like she was a jockey on a championship stallion. It was a little shocking—the way she’d taken over . . . and the way she never opened her eyes. It seemed to me like she may have kinda still been asleep, kinda still been dreaming. I’d heard of sleepwalking, but I’d never heard of . . . this. She just kept going and going and it was because of the surprise of it all that I guess I held on a little longer. In fact, I held on so long that she released first—something else that had never happened before.
She screamed a scream that filled every inch of the suite, upstairs and down. The way she shuddered and trembled made me wonder if she was having a seizure. She convulsed so much, I couldn’t even move.
Then in the middle of all of that, she opened her eyes. And looked at me. And looked as if she were confused. As if it wasn’t me that she’d expected to see beneath her. As if I hadn’t been the one in her dream.
Bringing myself back from that moment, I shook my head because that couldn’t have been true. But it seemed, just for a moment, that Tiffanie thought I was another man. It had only been a second, because she was still mid-scream, still mid-shudder. But then she fell back and off me. She lay there for just another moment before she closed her eyes . . . and went right back to sleep. With that smile.
And I wondered again . . . had she ever really been awake?
I blew out a long breath. That was some good sex right there . . . so why did I feel confused?
In my mind, I heard her screams again. In my soul, I felt her tremors again.
That was what every man wanted to do to his woman. It was what I did to my wife every night.
Except tonight was really different.
My eyes drifted down once again to Tiffanie and, as if on cue, she snuggled deeper into her pillow. With that smile. Was she dreaming? About me?
My ego told me that she was. But then, there was this thing that my father had taught me:
Many a man has fallen because of ego, Son. Never listen to your ego. Trust only your gut. Ego will have you emotional, but your gut is your intelligence. Trust only your gut.
My father had been right. All these years, my gut had been my life raft. It was the number-one tool in my survival kit. It was how I’d endured the streets, and endured with lots of paper stacked.
So right now, I listened to that part that never lied to me—and my gut said something was going on.
All kinds of questions shot through my head. Then all kinds of memories came to me with answers.
The first thing—that text Tiffanie received our first morning here. I’d be a fool to think it was Sonia texting her about the spa. Not on the first day of our honeymoon and not at four in the morning. Yeah, it was noon in Dubai, but Tiffanie had forgotten about the time change. Sonia wasn’t up in the middle of the night asking her any kinds of questions.
So, of course I’d known that she was lying, but I gave her a pass because, with the way she’d tried to hide her phone, I was thinking she was working some kind of surprise for me, but now I wasn’t for sure.
And then Trey. Looking back, he’d been giving me little hints, especially when he said that he hoped Tiffanie didn’t hurt me. I’d never gotten the chance to ask him why he’d say something like that just a couple of hours before I was getting married. Did he know something? Had he seen something?
I shook my head. First of all, it was just a text and I was sure it was just like I surmised. Tiffanie was planning some kind of surprise for me, probably back in DC. As for Trey, he’d always been pretentious like that, pretending that he knew something that other people didn’t. And if he did know something about Tiffanie, he would definitely tell me. He would never let some female take me down.
“Whoa!” I whispered. I couldn’t believe I’d had that thought. Tiffanie wasn’t some female. She was my wife, and what I was thinking about her was just ridiculous; we were on our honeymoon.
This was nothing but the devil. Trying to put his foot in my good thing.
I needed to get all this out of my mind and just accept what happened tonight—I’d just hit it with Tiffanie like that.
But my gut: Something’s going on.
Slowly, I inhaled a lot of air, and then released it. Just like I always did when I needed to calm myself so that my mind was clear—something else that my father had taught me.
The thing was, whatever situation I was in, I always figured it out, I always got it right. Because I never rushed. I always watched, always waited. The truth always ended up shining bright when you watched and waited.
It was already seven. I set the alarm for ten, giving us time to dress before heading to the airport. Then I slipped back down in the bed and pulled the covers over me. My stomach growled, but I didn’t want anything to eat; I’d lost my appetite.
It was probably best that Tiffanie and I rested anyway, because when we got back home, that time change was gonna be a beast.
Turning toward Tiffanie, I stared at her smiling face. She did another one of those snuggle things into the pillow, and I didn’t think it was possible, but her smile widened. I kept my eyes on her for just a little longer.
Then I rolled over. And slept with my back to my wife.
28
Tiffanie
We were back, there was no doubt about that. Damon and I sat in the back of the car, both of us, tapping the screens of our phones, reading emails and returning messages. Damon had a lot more to catch up on than I did; he’d hardly taken his phone with him anywhere or checked it while we were in Dubai.
I, on the other hand, took my phone everywhere, even when I went into the bathroom. Not only because I checked it every fifteen minutes, wanting/not wanting another text from Trey, but because I couldn’t take the chance of Trey’s text coming in and Damon being on the receiving end.
And there was a chance of that, because the first text was not Trey’s last. He’d sent six, one each day since Sunday. I should’ve just sent him a text back telling him to lose my number. But I’d said nothing, thinking ignoring him was best.
“So, do you want to go home or over to the spa?”
I looked up and tilted my head. It had taken one hour longer flying home than going—fourteen hours instead of thirteen. That was the only difference with the flight. But with my husband, everything seemed different.
He wasn’t himself, not laughing, hardly chatting. Whe
n I’d asked him on the plane if he was all right, he said that he was and I believed him, because we’d done a lot on our honeymoon; we were both exhausted. Plus, he had that red-carpet event for Jaleesa Stone coming up. With over five hundred guests expected, plus all the celebrity looky-loos, that had to be what was filling every space in his mind right now.
I said, “Would you mind if I went to check in at the spa?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I know you have to get over there. To take care of that problem, right?”
I frowned. “What problem?”
Now he tilted his head. “You know, the problem that Sonia had on Sunday. When she texted you?”
I didn’t blink when I said, “Oh, we handled that right away. There’re no problems now. I just wanna check out things and get myself acclimated to hit the ground on Monday.”
He nodded and I did everything that I could not to break eye contact, the sure sign of a liar. When he leaned over and kissed my forehead, I exhaled, though I didn’t feel relief. I didn’t think that would come until I had this thing with Trey truly worked out in my mind.
“Okay.” He gave instructions to Magic (who he called his number one boy Friday) to take me to the spa first. Then to me he said, “I’m gonna run by my office, too. So, we’ll meet up at home. You want me to send Magic back for you?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll Uber home.”
“Just don’t be too late, okay?”
His mood was still somber when we stopped in front of the spa and I kissed him. “I’m going to miss you.”
I expected Damon to come back with one of his make-me-swoon lines, but all he did was kiss me. Grabbing my purse, I stood on the curb and waved until the car rolled away, then turned to the spa. Thank God it was Saturday. If it had been a weekday and Sonia had been here, Damon would have wanted to come in and talk to Sonia himself. I was going to have to come up with a lie, to cover up the lie. I sighed—that was the problem with lying.
I walked up the steps, but before I could get the key in the door, it swung open.
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