“But I understand that you all have an open marriage, so that means …”
Leena yanked on his pants leg, demanding to be picked up. Devesh complied. Leena put a steady look on Amy that seemed to unsettle his ex.
“No, that was something that she wanted. I never did. And now it is totally off the table. We have a monogamous relationship.” His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “I know that she is the only woman for me. I will not be seeking someone outside of my marriage for any reason.” He settled Leena more comfortably in his arms. “So if you came over here hoping to become the side-piece, outside woman or whatever they’re calling it these days, that’s never going to happen.”
Leena laid her head on his chest, studying Amy as though she was an experiment gone wrong. “Papa, she has a major malfunction?”
Devesh looked down at his little girl, realizing she had picked up the term from her big brother, and said, “Something like that. More like a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, okay,” she said and put her focus back on Amy so the blonde would get that memo.
“If you disrespect my wife like that again,” Devesh warned in the hardest tone he could manage, “I will personally escort you from this house.” He slid over so he had Tiya in his line of sight. “And I won’t care who invited you.”
Reign smiled inwardly. Amy was sad. Pathetic really. Devesh hadn’t shown the least bit of interest, yet she hung on, hoping he’d throw her a bone. But Reign knew his bone belonged only to her, and he would keep it under wraps until the day she was ready to be intimate with him.
“Well that was interesting,” Reign said, plopping down on the sofa next to him in their Maharaj suite.
“Tiya’s only trying to stir up trouble,” Devesh said, taking his eyes from the screenplay in his hands and putting them squarely on Reign. “If we ignore her, she’ll cut it out.”
Reign wasn’t so sure. The woman was cruisin’ for a bruisin’ and Reign was in the market to give her exactly what she wanted.
“Speaking of outside influences,” she began, then she paused, weighing her thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that I need to file a restraining order against Shawn Newsome.”
“Why?” Devesh’s whole body tensed. “Has he—”
“No, he hasn’t come near me, but he’s getting bolder,” she admitted. “I blocked him on all my social media, from my phone and email, but he keeps trying to contact me through different numbers and different email addresses.”
Devesh’s gaze narrowed to slits. “What does he want?
“Me. He wants me to leave you and be with him,” she answered, taking the script from his hands and placing it on the coffee table. “He’s fixated on us becoming a couple again. He’s really bought into the whole pro-Black thing, when it was never supposed to be anti-anything or mean that Black women couldn’t date men who weren’t Black.”
“Do you want me to speak with him?”
“That’ll just make it worse,” she said. “Seems like we both attracted possessive people.”
“How?”
“Amy’s still hanging around giving you those puppy dog looks.”
Devesh shook his head. “I straightened that out.”
“Well, she doesn’t seem like the type who likes to lose.”
And Devesh had to call things as he saw it. Amy wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to be on the losing end.
Dr. Shawn Newsome was a prime example.
“Devesh, may I make a suggestion without you getting ticked off?” Reign asked later when they were in their condo’s master bedroom with the twins sound asleep in their own rooms.
He looked up from the schedule that Jay sent him earlier and raised an eyebrow. “Well, when you ask it like that …”
“Never mind.”
His hand snaked out to latch onto her arm, holding her in place. “No, you don’t get off that easy. Talk to me, honey.”
She settled back onto the Palladian steel and wood bed. “I’d like to sign you up for salsa and stepping lessons.”
“Dance?”
“Yes.”
“Why?
Her focus shifted to the Junge floral artwork that she brought with her from Chicago. “You might want to think about putting together a music tour to promote yourself as a recording artist, and you’ll need to captivate the audience with your moves, as well as with your good looks and sexy voice.”
Devesh studied her for a long while, and when she wouldn’t look at him, he asked, “Are you saying I’m stiff?”
She put her focus everywhere except him. “You might be a little stiff in the places you don’t need to be.”
Devesh frowned, unable to get her meaning.
“Your walk is smooth,” she said, stroking a hand along his thighs. “Panther-like. You move like you own the joint. That’s the first thing that caught my attention.”
Then another thought hit him. “Are you saying that I’m also stiff in—”
“Oh no! Baby, you let loose when you made love to me that night.” Her body trembled with the memories. “Good Lord.”
She took a long, slow breath, pressed her thighs together and he tried not to laugh because he realized that memories were hitting her just as hard as they hit him. “What I’m saying is that with everything else, you tend to hold yourself tightly coiled. I just need you to flex and flow. It’ll impact your stance, your movements, and your delivery. You already have a heady confidence, and that is more attractive than your handsome face and gorgeous body.”
The concern he heard in her voice belied how serious she felt this issue was. “I’ll take the lessons, honey.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Is there anything else you suggest?”
She grimaced and quickly shook her head. Too quickly.
“No lies between us,” he edged, using an index finger to tip her chin so their eyes met.
“Acting lessons.”
Devesh closed his eyes, absorbing that idea and trying—although not so successfully—not to be insulted. But he was a little. He’d been acting for years. Acting was his thing.
“Your acting style is dated and one-dimensional, love,” she admitted, and her expression spoke to the fact that it pained her to admit it because she knew it would sting. “I know you admire Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone. That kind of macho imagery might work in Bollywood action films, but you’re trying to break into an American market. American women have moved away from that whole” — she changed the timbre of her voice to a lower range— “Manly-man persona.” She shook her shoulders and straightened them to illustrate her point. “What makes them women want to spread ‘em wide and hang ‘em high is a man who shows them love and makes them feel safe and desired.” She gestured sharply toward the kitchen. “And Lord knows, when I see you stirring a pot on the stove, or putting in the laundry, or maybe even making the bed.” She shivered playfully. “Now, that’s some sexy stuff right there.” She nodded, giving him a playful smile.
Devesh laughed, and it lightened the mood. “So I need to be softer?”
“Not soft, love. Sensual. Attentive. Compassionate. Caring. Loving. The way you are with me.” She looked away for a moment. When she focused on him again, she said, “It’s almost like you’re trying to right every wrong that was done to me.”
“For every man who didn’t see your beauty—I will.” He stroked a finger across her cheek. “For every man who didn’t value the most wonderful parts of who you are—I will.”
“It’s not your responsibility to make up for the choices that I made,” she whispered, but her voice wavered a little.
Devesh had broken down her defenses once, and he hoped that her feeling free enough to talk with him like this meant he was making progress in doing it again.
“I wasn’t there to protect you when all those other men hurt you, but I’m here now. And I hope that with me in your life, God blesses you with years of jubilee for every year of famine you experienced.”
She nodded,
and within seconds he had her in his arms. “You deserve this.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And I deserve you.”
Chapter 19
Devesh sat next to Whoopi, who was in the lead chair for The View. The interview segment was going well. He bantered with Joy, Paula, Sara, Jedediah, and Sunny about his new movie projects for a short while. Then he saw Whoopi pull up an index card. “You know, I wasn’t going here, but this seems to trend quite often.”
Devesh took a deep breath, bracing himself for a subject which, though well outside of the talking points sent in by Reign, was bound to come up. He silently thanked his wife for prepping him to be ready for anything when it came to live interviews.
“It seems that Twitter—especially something called Black Twitter—is all up in their feelings about you.”
“I can’t see why that would be,” he said smoothly, though he realized exactly what she was getting at: His wife. His music. His success. All three were intertwined, and he didn’t care who had a problem with it, and evidently, a lot of people did.
“The brothers, especially one of your wife’s exes, are gunning for you, the Bollywood actor who got the Black woman, career, and achievements they feel was rightfully theirs.”
Bingo.
“Dr. Newsome is doing a speaking tour, blogs, magazine articles, and supposedly writing about the phenomenon that is Devesh and Reign,” she said, pursing her lips as she read from the notes. “He has the Black community up in arms.”
Devesh chuckled a little. “The Brothers can be upset with me all they want. Especially the ones who refuse to live up to even half of what is expected of a real man, yet they look for someone that fits their misguided ideal of a perfect woman. They don’t know a good woman when they see one.”
Devesh held off, waiting for the applause to die down.
“A good woman isn’t defined by dress size, skin color, hair texture, or education level. She’s defined by her heart, her devotion, her willingness to bring out the greatness in everyone around her.”
The roar of approval from the studio audience took a while to die down.
“The Brothers are leaving all that good love on the table,” Devesh said, then gave a five-star smile. “And I’m smart enough to pull up a chair, pick the most beautiful, ripest and intelligent fruit. And I let that love drip on me until I hunger no more.”
“Well damn. Shut the front door and climb out the window,” Whoopi said, causing Devesh and everyone else to chuckle.
Devesh could name one person he’d like to push out said window. Shawn Newsome, the ex Reign had put in the hospital all those years ago, had crawled out whatever slime pit he lived in. Now the good doctor was coming at her like she’d done him wrong. Well, the fact that the hospital had to give him a shot of muscle relaxant right into his groin might have something to do with it, but shouldn’t he be over her by now?
“They might be right that Reign’s wealth of knowledge could’ve been applied to a Black man to gain the same kind of success that I have achieved.” Devesh put his gaze on Joy, then Paula. “But none of them recognized her value. None of them came into her life telling her how important she is; how beautiful she is; what an amazing woman she is. Not a single one.
“Black men had their chance, and they let a diamond slip through their fingers,” Devesh said to Whoopi and scanned the women on the panel. Then he looked directly at the front camera and said, “There have been plenty of opportunities for a brother to slide up to her and make his wishes known. Instead of partnering up with a woman who is gorgeous, intelligent, and has a good head on her shoulders, they’ve been too busy chasing after the easy lays, trusting a big butt and smile.” He winked, hoping that his sister Anaya was watching and caught the hint at his play on her favorite song. “But Reign is mine now. And I’m not giving her up.”
“Those are fighting words,” Whoopi joked.
Devesh nodded, then added, “And any man who decides he wants to test me on that—don’t.”
Those statements trended immediately across Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Memes—images created based on a powerful statement—were being retweeted, shared and distributed all over social media. An image of a plus-size beauty with the text: Black Men are leaving all this good love on the table. Another one with Devesh styled in the same manner as the original Dos Equis Beer spokesman which said, “I’m smart enough to pull up a chair, pick the ripest and most intelligent fruit.” And an even coarser one that had an image of Devesh with Reign photoshopped on his lap and the text: “I let that love drip on me until I hunger no more.”
The women were loving it.
The men were coming at Devesh with both barrels, guns blazing.
Either way, his album sales had rolled upwards to get him to double-platinum status, nearing triple if it kept going. And the people trolling his Twitter account and Facebook artist page were being taken down by women who totally understood that his relationship with Reign was about more than just the physical.
Life was good. And he would let nothing come between them.
Chapter 20
Anaya watched as Kamran and Leena taught their older cousins how to play Checkers. She wondered what kind of life had Reign led that had compelled her to drive the children to be so advanced. The children knew how to play several games of chance—could identify every item in a deck of cards, all in preparation for their mother to teach them how to play Spades—a game she only recently learned to play and Pranav already knew so well. They also knew all of the chess pieces and the moves they made but did not play chess—but it was obvious what Reign intended, even though she didn’t play the game herself. But Papa did, and her father was teaching them a little at a time. The twins were soaking up all of that love and attention.
She had to admit she was a little jealous that her parents now spent so much time with Devesh’s children, and equally so because they were amazed at the little geniuses—who weren’t even aware that they were so much further along than their cousins. She was also concerned that her own children were patterning themselves after Leena and Kamran when it should have been the other way around. Now her children were reading more, asking her questions about everything, and also wanting her to read to them every night, when her busy life didn’t always allow for the type of attention they were demanding.
The twins were setting the bar so high that Anaya realized a lot of her shortcomings as a parent; she felt … inferior. Another reason she resented Reign. The woman seemed to be able to do everything with ease—a career, children, husband, and manage his career to the point that Devesh was becoming a household name.
And now Reign was seeking out a dojo for them to continue martial arts classes. Karate? At four years old? Who does that?
These children hadn’t been allowed to just be children. It’s one of the reasons Anaya insisted on having them spend so much time with her own son and daughter on the weekends. But it seemed the twins had a leadership quality that mirrored their mother’s in a way that not only did they learn quickly, were extremely observant, but they also ended up taking over when it came to anything where the other children were involved or at any time the others seemed indecisive. Those two were going to be something to be reckoned with when they came of age.
Her children were already mimicking Leena and Kamran when it came to school and studies; so were Bhavin’s, children, and Neerav’s, too. Actually, all of the parents who had children that spent time at the Maharaj house were taking notice of Reign’s children. Only Tiya’s children seemed to be poised to bully their new cousins. Gratefully, the twins knew how to put them on notice that they weren’t having it. Several times the adults had to pull Tiya out of the children’s squabbles when the twins and her children were involved. Almost ninety-nine percent of the time the twins were in the right to call out Tiya’s children for some infraction or mean-spirited thing they had done. The other children would side with the twins, which angered Tiya to no end.
“Oh no,” Mumma
said, her voice so filled with alarm that it made Anaya shift from her thoughts of the children and to her mother at the stove.
The children were filing around the breakfast table holding their own animated conversation as they awaited lunch. Anaya’s two were sitting on either side of Devesh’s twins, almost like a protective barrier between them and Tiya’s little bullies.
“What’s wrong?” Anaya asked.
“I accidentally mixed all of the wieners in the same pot. They look so similar that I don’t know which ones are for Devesh’s children.” She shrugged, switched off the fire and instructed the aunts to serve the other children before she began pulling out the makings for vegetable biryani. “I will have to make them something else.”
“Oh just give it to them,” Tiya said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What does it matter? They won’t know the difference.”
“She doesn’t allow them to eat pork,” Mumma replied in a harsh tone frustrated by Tiya’s indifference. “It must be a religious thing.”
“What religion is that,” Tiya asked, frowning. “She doesn’t have any religion that we know of. That woman is just being particular and difficult.”
Uncle Mitul glared at Leena who seemed well aware of the hatred being directed her way. “A little pork will not hurt them. It has not hurt us.”
“Devesh doesn’t eat it, and I don’t either,” Anaya countered, watching as Tiya stabbed a fork into the pot and dropped the offensive food onto a plate. “Mumma and Papa don’t touch it, and that goes for the majority of the people who eat with us. We know it’s not healthy. Evidently, Reign does too.”
Tiya slid a plate in front of Leena and Kamran. They looked down at what had been served to them—minus the vegetables and rice that all the other children were given—but didn’t make a move to eat them. Instead, they glanced at each other and Anaya saw the moment that Leena gave a slight shake of her head. Her brother nodded, and both of them pushed the plates back to the center of the table, untouched. “No, thank you,” he said. “We will wait for Mumma. She will feed us.”
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