THE GOOD MISTRESS II: The Wedding

by Amarie Avant

  He shook his head, offering his own smile.

  “I love you, Blake,” she said, and then started up the stairs to him.

  “I love you, too, Mila, and fuck, if you feel like telling me what happened, I will always be your ears, even when it involves sisters.”

  She stood before him, a head shorter. Mila breathed him in. Another wave of desire sent Lido’s crazy antics into oblivion. “I won’t force you to endure the foolishness this time.”

  “Then can I fuck you happy?” he asked.

  Mila almost uttered that she already was happy, yet the toll of the day was easy to see. “Here?”

  “Here and there, baby,” he said, pulling her shirt over her head. “Don’t you know that pussy of yours tastes astounding after a good fucking?”

  “Choice words, Blake.”

  Blake

  On his private jet, Blake set aside his proposal as Phan began to doze off in the luxurious reclining chair. He and Mila had offered the man their bedroom, but he had declined. Blake had two legal notepads, which served his purpose of writing some form of chicken scratch ideas. He set one aside, picked up the other, and stood. Blake headed toward the back.

  Moving soundlessly, Blake opened the glossy white door to where Mila softly snored. She’d straightened her hair, and her scarf was falling off. Often, he’d heard her fret about her hair sweating out, which had been a bizarre concept the first time she’d said it. He hadn’t been foolish enough to inquire. Now, he knew exactly what it meant. Although Blake had told her not to bother, Mila had her hair ironed for tomorrow’s meeting. She had argued about not wanting to be too ethnic, but that meant a night of her endeavoring to sleep perfectly. Her attempt to sleep properly when her hair was done always ended up with her throwing elbows. Blake had heard that love was a battlefield, but that had nothing on a woman’s hair. By the end of the night, her curvy, tiny body would be stretched wide.

  Damn, but every time he watched her sleep, Blake fell in love with her again. Hell, he fell in love with her every second of every day, but her asleep . . . wow. He never knew such peace since meeting Mila. Settling down on the chair beside the bed, Blake pulled out a pen and placed the other legal notepad on his lap.

  A year back, when having her engagement ring designed, Blake began writing a letter to his soon to be wife. It was one of the most important things to him. Fleshing out the words on paper drove his emotions in ways that the tech-savvy man couldn’t even begin to explain. He started a passage on how she slept.

  While the letter might’ve seemed scatterbrained from the outside looking in, it was not. It was not only a declaration of his love for her and his promise to always put her first, but there were pages and pages devoted to their perfect life together.

  “Blake,” Mila murmured a while later. Those chocolate brown orbs of hers were barely visible. She licked her lips as she lay on her side.

  Instead of telling her to go back to sleep, Blake slid the notepad to the opposite side of his chair. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

  “I was just thinking,” she began.

  “That’s funny because we both agreed you needed rest.” He stood, walked over, and pulled back the sheets. The moment he lay on the firm mattress Mila snuggled closer. Her soft body perfectly complemented his hardness. Blake kissed her forehead and placed his chin atop of her head. “What were you thinking?”

  “On the way home, can we stop in Beijing, check out the place where we are going to get married? Or will you be too busy preparing the application for Kiyota? Seeing that you’re working hard, and I slept most of the night away.”

  “Blasphemy, woman, I am never too busy for you.”

  MILA

  Tokyo, Japan

  Mila had thought that Blake and Phan, might begin the day with Kiyota and his legal team while they pitched the proposal to him. Though they had queried and provided Kiyota with a shiny brochure of their plan, she knew there would be more to the business aspect of it. She had previously suggested to Lamb that he escort her around the foreign nation to purchase a dress for the night of the rehearsal dinner. At the very least, she wanted to display Eastern customs at least once during their three-night wedding party.

  Alternatively, Mila, Blake, and Phan were escorted to Kiyota’s home. The servant had meekly requested she remove her fur trimmed boots and offered her a pair of bamboo flip-flops. The curved walls of the entryway were made of gold, she’d bet on it. The other walls were made of rice paper and bamboo. While scanning the various pieces of art, Mila was snapped back to attention upon hearing a greeting from Kiyota himself. With rich black hair, a trimmed mustache, and an aura of confidence, he was rather handsome. Next to him, a woman with the same healthy glossy hair stood, though hers went straight down her back like Mila’s had been before she tossed and turned on the plane. Kiyota’s wife, Akari, had milk-white skin, which complemented her twinkling pitch-colored eyes.

  “Konnichi wa,” the men said, as they all took turns completing a formal 30-degree angle bow, and then she followed suit. Next, they were introduced to Akari.

  “We welcome you to our home.” Kiyota addressed them all with another charming smile.

  “We will eat,” Akari said. Her accent was thicker than her husband’s. “And talk of your wedding.”

  “We feel honored for the invitation to the wedding as well,” Kiyota said.

  “Oh, those invitations.” Akari hooked her arm into Mila’s. “I cried. It was . . . what do you say? Romantic?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.” Kiyota’s hand grazed across her cheek before he led the way.

  “You two are very affectionate.” Mila spoke to Akari as the men walked ahead. “How many years?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Oh, wow,” Mila said, as they entered the dining room. A table low to the ground was surrounded by chairs that had stumpy legs, and the thickest, plushest cushions Mila had ever laid eyes on.

  “I am a little, eh, older than I look.” Akari grinned. “But not that old. It was my 16th birthday precisely.”

  The conversation never left the subject of marriage. Akari shared Japanese marriage traditions. They’d had a Shinto-style ceremony, one of the most formal traditions.

  “The most popular tradition is to exchange the nuptial cups—they’re called san san ku do. We drank sake from three different-sized sake cups, three times each.” Akari explained.

  Blake affectionately gestured to Mila. “This one wouldn’t make it.” Mila chuckled along with everyone else.

  Phan nodded. “I attended a wedding once, and they explained what each sip represented.”

  “It is a tradition that involves both families. The parents of the bride and groom are next to—” Akari’s gaze instantly lowered, and she said, “I am sorry.”

  Blake assured her that everything was fine. He did not have any parents to perform the tradition with them. And the way Mila felt recently about her mother becoming so distant since she had begun planning the wedding . . . she wasn’t sure her parents would want to be involved either.

  Later on, Mila and Akari sat in a sitting room. Akari was interested in every aspect of the wedding. She’d asked questions and had Mila spilling every detail. She’d even gotten the details about Mila’s bridal gown from her. Akari had given her the name of a seamstress to have another dress made for one of the other nights.

  “I haven’t told anyone else about the actual wedding designs,” Mila chuckled. “You make me excited and eager for the day. Lord knows I was before, but your enthusiasm is everything.”

  Akari sipped at her tea. “I can’t stop . . . or as I heard while watching a movie, ‘I cannot help myself.’ ” Mila chuckled at that, finding it easy to make every moment in life a reason to smile.

  “I was raised in Ethiopia, originally from Somalia, and I swear, I have forgotten how odd some of the phrases are in the States.”

  Akari smiled.

  “Well, I appreciate the ‘heads up’ about where to obtain a custom dress,
” Mila said, placing the contact information Akari had written down in her pocket.

  By the end of the day, Akari had told Mila about a vast number of traditions and encouraged her that, although her mother had not helped with any of the wedding plans, everything would work out perfectly.

  Mila

  A WEEK AND A HALF LATER

  Preparing to leave for vacation tomorrow, Yasmin stood in the master suite of Mila’s bedroom, talking a mile a minute about a daring bathing suit she had purchased in the JC Penny’s sales rack. As she refolded her items from the bag and placed them into the luggage Mila provided, she called out, “I’m running out of space. Do you have a matching rollaway?”

  “I’ll check. What was there, some sort of BOGO sale going on? Yas, you hardly spend money,” Mila said, peeking out from her walk-in closet. As a stay-at-home mother, Yasmin kept a tight strap on Faaid’s wallet. Besides their expensive Sunday brunch tradition, if there wasn’t a discount, Yasmin wasn’t having it. Faaid had sent Mila a short text this morning saying he didn’t know how he and the kids would survive the day without Yasmin, but he was happy that she was finally taking a girl’s trip. Technically, it had been a long text message. He wasn’t too good with abbreviations.

  “Girl, let me find the receipt. I will tell you exactly how much I saved!” Yasmin began to fish around the bag.

  Mila exited the closet with an extra name-brand rollaway since her sister also wanted to go in style. “On second thought, Yas, I might need to give you all my luggage, since—”

  “Here it is! Here it is!” Yasmin’s accent quickened, and she reverted to Somali, asking, “What do you think? “Maxaad u maleyneysaa?”

  Mila’s eyebrows kneaded together. Her sister was acting like a spaz. Yasmin had taken pride in wanting to explain exactly how much she saved, but now, Yasmin was holding up a bathing suit. The bright yellow one piece had the sides cut out. If it had been Lido, the darn thing would’ve had ninety percent more material than necessary. Though Mila had never crossed the line from grace to trashy—outside of her bedroom with Blake—she’d seen more than enough with her middle sister. Lido’s ass and tits were always on display. But in Yasmin’s case, this was as revealing as it was going to get.

  Happy for her sister, Mila held it up, making a big deal about it. “Damn, heifa, did Faaid see this?”

  This sent Yasmin leaning back, giggling and squealing. Something Mila could see Lido rolling her eyes about.

  “I have never sent Faaid a selfie. I plan to when we’re at the spa in the jacuzzi!” They began to fold the rest of the new attire she had bought and placed them into the borrowed luggage.

  “Have you heard from Lido?” Yasmin asked. Mila hadn’t stopped thinking about her since Lido was kicked out of The People’s Love. Lido hadn’t called to apologize either.

  “No. I haven’t . . .”

  “Mila, the wedding festivities start at the end of the week. Lido hasn’t called you?” Yasmin began to worry. “Tomorrow, we’re all supposed to drive up to Napa.”

  “Hello?” Mila’s gaze swept over the few discarded pieces they hadn’t yet folded. “How could I forget, Yasmin? Lido hasn’t made an effort to so much as apologize, hell, to call and cuss me out. If she weren’t always in the limelight, I’d worry that she’d pissed off someone enough to be lying dead in a ditch somewhere!”

  “Humph! Who you telling?”

  “And I honestly haven’t tried to call her since she played the pimp to Nkem.” Mila bit her lip. “Sheesh, same game, different day, I suppose. We don’t talk until I forget the reason that heifa needs to apologize.”

  Pausing from refolding a pair of navy blue linen pants, Yasmin chewed on her top lip for a moment. “Well, there’s no time for a standoff. I’ll call her, Mila. You have enough to worry about.”

  “No, I’ll do it. I’m sure you talked her ear off when I initially explained what she’d done.”

  “And what are you going to ask her?”

  Mila’s shoulders sagged for a moment, then she gave a pathetic little shrug. She took her cellphone from her faded gray jeans. Mila made the call and pressed the speaker button. The phone rang, rang, and mid-third ring, the call cut straight to voicemail. The youngest and oldest sister side-eyed each other.

  “I know that bitch didn’t,” Yasmin said.

  “She had to have pressed the away button. She put me straight to voicemail.” Mila hung up before the automated speaker could finish offering instructions. She dialed again. This time the call cut straight to voicemail. Angry as she was, it took Mila just a second to figure out the exact words she wanted to say. She wanted the words to hurt, to cut, to make her sister feel something besides numbness. But by the time the beep came, Mila was a mess. “The least you could do is answer the fucking phone, Lido, damn! Only you can make me cuss like that. I swear if this were a voicemail stating that Blake and I broke up, you’d be all over me like flies on shit. You were there when Warren died because I was a hot mess. Why can’t sisters be there for each other during the good times? And it makes it worse that we are fucking sisters, blood!” Finished with screaming, Mila made one last command, “Don’t come,” before pressing the off button.

  Yasmin opened her mouth, stunned at Mila’s words. Blake entered the room at that exact instant. The silence between the women was so awkward that he pointed to the nightstand table.

  “Don’t mind me, ladies, grabbing my phone, and I will be out of the way.” He smiled, picked up the iPhone from his side of the bed, then turned, noticing the rattled look on Mila’s face. She’d gone from frowning a moment ago to looking like she was on the verge of tears. “Baby, should I lend an ear or . . .?”

  “Lido is being a bitch,” Yasmin said. “Mila told her not to come to the wedding.”

  “But she’s my sister.” Tears streamed down Mila’s face. “Why can’t she act like a sane person? She doesn’t have anything to be angry about! Damn, I just want to walk down the damn aisle with my two sisters standing up there. Why can’t I have that?”

  “Aw, baby.” Blake kissed her forehead. “What can I do?”

  “Aside from altering the chemical imbalance in her brain?” Yasmin asked. Blake’s eyebrows kneaded together in confusion since Mila hadn’t made him aware of Lido’s latest fiasco. The last issue Blake was aware of regarding Lido, included him losing his woman for one night.

  “Chemical imbalance?” he asked.

  “Yup. Probably. I should have been a doctor and followed in the footsteps of my father. I’m rambling,” Yasmin stopped speaking and gave her baby sister a sympathetic look.

  “Well, it’s rubbing off on me.” Mila sniffled and smiled. “How many times did I just say damn?”

  Blake kissed Mila’s forehead, taking that as his cue to leave as Mila and her sister laughed.

  “Girl, I swear your fiancé is too cute when it comes to our craziness. I can see he wants no parts of the cray!” Yasmin chuckled.

  “Yeah, but he tries for me.” Mila wiped her face. She picked up her phone.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Calling Lido again.”

  She called like before. Mila had to leave a voicemail. This time, she was more composed. “Look this is my first and last marriage for all I’m concerned. You and Yasmin are the closest family to me. Besides our parents. Would it hurt for you to give me a few hours?”

  ***

  The answer, Mila soon found out, to her question was apparently a hard no. Upon arriving at the new winery and hotel, Tres Chic, Mila discovered the next set of crazy ass antics that Lido Ali had been up to.

  “What do you mean there’s no reservation for Lido Ali or Mila Ali?” Yasmin asked.

  Mila stood quietly to the side, thinking. If Lido had canceled their bachelorette weekend then offering her baby sister a few hours of her time at a wedding had to be a no go, right?

  “I’m sorry—” The Hispanic man smiled at them with a perfect row of teeth. Under other circumstances, his charm might have ma
de what he said permissible—like if it turned out to be a joke—a cute, funny story where Lido paid the man to trick Mila into thinking the reservation was canceled. But this wasn’t a joke.

  Mila fumed. This wasn’t allowed! Treating your siblings like crap wasn’t allowed! With her eyes blinking, Mia was unable to form a coherent sentence, so Yasmin continued to speak.

  “Yasmin Ali. Try that, please. Maybe she booked the suite under my name?”

  He took a moment to deepen his smile then said, “Actually, our grand suite is booked by someone under another name. We do not have any other rooms of a similar size available this weekend.”

  “Mila, Yas!” Veronica called out.

  The women turned around to see her in a hot pink furry top with cotton pants and a rollaway.

  “Hey, we didn’t know you were coming.” Yasmin slid in the statement, implying that Veronica wasn’t really invited.

  “Lido, she begged me to come. Said something about you girls haven’t talked since . . .” Veronica glanced at the receptionist and then lowered her voice. “You know that thing, with Nkem. Lido believes that since I got her to leave after that, I can play the buffer. She mentioned all the Housewives of Atlanta, and how they go on vacay and someone plays the mediator role.”

  The blond seemed happy to be of assistance. Yet intuition was starting to sink into Mila’s psyche. She gestured for them to get out of line. Yasmin didn’t seem ready to let the next set of tourists to the front of the line, though. She asked a few more questions as Veronica and Mila stepped aside.

  “A buffer seems like a good idea. But when was this because I honestly haven’t spoken with Lido since the incident.”

  “No?” Veronica asked.

  “Not even a text message.”

  “Oh . . . well, it was yesterday.” Veronica responded as Yasmin joined them, which prompted both sisters to breathe easier. “Did you guys get the key?” Veronica asked.

  “No,” Mila said.