by Malone, Nana
London Bound
by Nana Malone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
London Bound
Copyright © 2014 by Nana Malone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Digital Edition published by Nana Malone
Cover Art by Kimberly Killion
Edited by Val Hatfield
Copy Edited by Marcie Gately
Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Dedication
To Jasper Van Der Hurd, you are remembered for your talent, your laugh and your wit. May you ever rest in peace.
To Tricia, Sefa and Reggie, you three changed the whole course of my life without knowing it. Without you, London would not have been the experience it was. You truly made it a home away from home.
To my wonderful writer, sister, friend, Misty Evans, thank you for always pushing me to be the best writer I can be. As I wrap I my 11th book, I can’t help but remember how we met and how you’ve shaped me not just as a writer but as a person. Thank you for putting up with me. I love you.
To my twinkie, Marcie Gately. Thursday is coming! One step closer, start thinking up names for our Huyras. You know I have not enough words, so I won’t put them all here, but you know how I feel.
Acknowledgments
To my Sassy Street Team, we are small, but mighty and I adore you. I’m am eternally grateful that you rallied behind me with this book. When I needed Betas, you stepped in. When I needed reviewers, you volunteers your friends, I cannot say thank you enough, except to put it out for the world to see how awesome you are.
Kim Thomas
Tina Young
Patricia Gunn
Kinberly Golden Malmgren
Tiffany Alexander
Fanny Mateo
Michelle Alerte
Madelina Rivera
Alexandrea Ward
Tara Dunham Davis
Tricia Warren
Rebecca Hollingsworth
Tanya Mayes
Pauline Glaser
Chapter 1
Where the hell was it?
Abena Nartey frantically checked the pile of mail. Bill, bill, advertisement. Nothing from University of West London. Worry knotted her stomach. All her other graduate school acceptance and rejection letters had come by now. She’d expected to hear word from them over three weeks ago.
“Hey, Evan, was this all the mail? Was there anything with the packages?” A part of her held on to that last thread of hope.
“Sorry, sweetheart. This is all of it.” Her boyfriend, Evan Peters, leaned against the doorjamb between the hallway and the dining room, still dripping from his run, creating little puddles of sweat on the floor. “You have some perfectly good schools to choose from. I don’t know why this one is so important to you.”
Abbie clenched her teeth and tried not to focus on the fact that, as usual, he didn’t support her choices. She also tried not to focus on the tiny puddles. Puddles she’d be expected to clean.
Instead, she focused on his face. Even covered in a sheen of sweat, he was still handsome—creamy café au lait skin, strong jaw, whiskey-brown eyes. His family was also wealthy enough to sway political turnouts. Her friends liked to remind her how lucky she was to have him.
If only they knew.
“Look, I know. I need to make a decision, especially if I want to start in January, but I really wanted this program.” She inhaled sharply the moment she caught the look of displeasure in his eyes. “But you’re right.” No he’s not. “I’ll pick one. If London comes through, I can always pull my acceptance or something.”
He frowned, and Abbie braced herself. Stupid.
“Abena, it’s bad form to rescind an acceptance. Especially if it’s at a school where I pulled strings for you, like Georgetown or George Washington. Some dreams aren’t meant to come true. I mean, let’s face it, your photos are okay, but you’re not exactly doing gallery openings, are you?”
Abbie bit her tongue. As if she wouldn’t have been able to get into those schools on her own. As if his talking to a couple of professors had been the thing that made the admissions boards sit up and take notice. He’d only just graduated himself and was an associate with Walters and Logan, a big law firm in town. His family name might have pull, but he, himself, did not. She’d gotten in on her own merit.
But with practiced ease, she kept her thoughts to herself. “I know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to do that. I’ll think about it carefully.”
He snatched up the hem of his sweat-sodden T-shirt and used the material to wipe his brow. The view of his six-pack and strong chest muscles should have had her salivating, should have had her begging to join him in the shower. Too bad she knew what was under the perfect façade. And it wasn’t pretty.
She wanted him to be supportive. She wanted him to believe in her. She wanted him to be who he pretended to be. But right now, mostly, she wanted him to get into the shower so he would stop dripping on her floor.
“I’m getting in the shower. What’s for lunch?”
Abbie swallowed. “I’m making chicken salad.”
He sighed, clearly unenthused, but headed off toward the shower anyway.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was pushing the dates for accepting an offer. Letters of acceptance into law programs from Georgetown, George Washington, John’s Hopkins, American University, and University of Maryland all beckoned to her in a neat stack. But she didn’t want to have to think about them. Evan had left them there purposefully, so that every time she walked through their dining room she’d have to see them. The spiteful part of her yearned to disorder the tiny pile. But she restrained herself. Petty isn’t a good look.
Only problem was, she didn’t want to be a lawyer. Sure, it was the natural choice in a family full of them. Both her parents were. Even her oldest sister Akosua was. Her middle sister, Ama, had broken the mold to go to medical school, but still it was a profession the whole family approved of. Not like Abbie’s passion, photography.
The University of West London had the best Masters of Photography program in the world. There, she’d have a chance to work with Xander Chase, one of the youngest, most renowned photographers in the world. He’d even exhibited at Hamilton’s in London.
Some dreams aren’t meant to come true.
Maybe Evan was right. Maybe London was just a pipe dream.
Unless you went on your own.
As quickly as the betraying, insidious thought popped into her head, she shuddered and quashed it. Going on her own wasn’t an option. She’d once tried to interview for a job in Los Angeles right out of college. The bruises he’d left on her body had made it very clear that she wasn’t going anywhere without him.
She’d been with him since she was sixteen, and he’d come to her school to talk about the benefits of NYU as a college. Even then, everyone had pointed out how lucky she was that a college guy was interested in her. That a Peters was interested in her. Then why don’t I feel lucky?
Nobody saw what she saw. She’d made her bed and picked the wrong guy. He had his moments when he could be sweet, and she could forget what he was really like. But his temper was always at the forefront of her mind. Although that didn’t stop her from wanting some freedom and wanting to do something oth
er than what was expected.
Her phone rang in the kitchen, pulling her out of her reverie, and she raced to grab it, a smile tugging at her lips when she saw who it was on the caller ID. “Hey, Dad.”
“Abena, how are you?” Her father’s baritone voice with its accented English never failed to calm her down.
“Oh, I’m good. Just making some lunch.” She stalled, wondering what he was calling about. Neither of them was particularly skilled at small talk. A call from him was not the norm. They always relayed messages through her mother or via text. Nevertheless, she was happy to hear from him. “What’s up, Dad?”
He expelled a breath, as if happy to be able to cut to the chase and forego the social niceties of asking what she was making for lunch.
“I need the valuation papers for the condo. I’m trying to up the insurance, given the renovation we just did to the bathroom.”
“Sure, I’ll grab them.” She jogged into the study that Evan had taken over upon moving in and kept an ear out for the sound of the shower turning off. Once Evan was finished, he’d want to eat, so she needed to hurry up with lunch. “One sec, I have no idea what Evan’s filing process is.”
Quickly, she searched the stack of folders on the desk and found what her father was looking for. As she relayed the information, her gaze landed on the corner of an envelope peeking out from the desk drawer. A Queen Elizabeth stamp affixed on the thick paper.
“Thank you, Abena.” Her father hesitated. “Are you well? You sound off.”
Abbie sighed. His way of asking if she still thought she’d made the right choice by moving in with Evan. Her parents had been so against it. After all, in Ghanaian culture, it just wasn’t done. You only moved in with someone after you’d done a traditional engagement ceremony.
The mere thought of marriage made Abbie’s stomach clench. Not that Evan hadn’t hinted it was the next logical step. But every time she thought about it, it felt like someone was tying a noose around her neck.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said as she tried to pull the drawer open. It didn’t budge.
“Have you selected a school yet?”
“Uhm…” Her voice trailed as she grabbed the letter opener and tried to slide it into the drawer to pop the latch. “I need to. I was hoping to hear from University of West London.”
Her father harrumphed. “A photography course does not qualify as school.”
Abbie could almost see him grumbling and pacing in his office. “Dad, actually, it does. The program is prestigious, and it’s at an accredited university.”
Her father’s accented voice pitched lower. “Abena, what do you think you’re going to do with a Masters in Photography? You’re supposed to go to law school.” Of course, to Ghanaian parents, the only appropriate professions and worthwhile educational pursuits included law, medicine, and engineering. He ignored the prick of pain his disappointment caused. She was used to it by now.
“Dad. You already have one daughter who’s a lawyer. Besides, with the photography, there’s a lot I’m planning to do. With a recommendation from my professor, opportunities in production would open for places like National Geographic and a career in documentary films.”
And she was sure a recommendation from Xander Chase would open those kinds of doors. But she didn’t care about those doors. What she was after was the apprentice position offered to his top student.
“Abena, you can’t put all your eggs into one basket. You have to have a backup plan.”
“I know. I know. I’ll be looking at all the offers tonight, and I’ll make a decision by the weekend.” She could only hope and pray that the acceptance came before then. She really only had two more days to stall.
The drawer opened with a splintering pop, and for a second, she was worried she’d broken it, but it slid smoothly on its grooves. Her father mentioned something about her sister, but Abbie had already tuned him out. She pulled out the envelope with its maroon stamp of the Queen, and her breath caught. With her blood rushing in her ears, she carefully scanned the return address.
University of West London.
Twice, her brain tried to make her lips cooperate. Twice it failed. On the third attempt, she managed with a shaky breath, “Listen, Dad, I have to go. Evan’s going to want his lunch soon.”
She bid a quick goodbye to her father. Unable to swallow and unable to breathe, she slowly reached into the already opened envelope and pulled out the papers contained inside.
Her brain short-circuited as her eyes flitted over the cover sheet. …Great happiness that we offer you a spot…our students…we look forward to hearing…
Numb with shock, the only coherent thought her brain managed was, Get lunch ready, otherwise it’s going to get ugly.
In the kitchen, her body worked on automatic pilot. Chicken salad would not have been her choice of lunch, but Evan hated any Ghanaian food she cooked. She added the mayonnaise and the additional spices she knew Evan liked. She always saved the scallions for last because he liked them fresh but not too big and not too fine like the food processor would have done.
“God, I needed that shower. That run was brutal.” Evan’s voice was jovial.
She was too numb to answer, rage battled for dominance with disbelief and sadness. Instead, she just continued chopping. Her mind was unable to form coherent thoughts anyway.
He continued without waiting for a response. “I went down by the library then up Independence. It was pretty. Still spring but with a touch of summer heat in the air.”
Abbie smoothed the scallions off the knife into the chicken salad with her finger. While she worked, the bitter scent burned her nostrils. She still didn’t speak.
“What’s with you?” His tone was cold and held little note of concern.
She knew the moment his eyes landed on the envelope from the school. The air around him shifted subtly, and she braced herself.
His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “Where the hell did you get that?”
Stupid move or not, she wasn’t going to let this one go. If there was ever a time to stand up for herself, it was now. She was not the pathetic girl he thought she was. She had been strong once and she reached deep into the depths of a long forgotten girl to find a sliver of that strength. “Where the hell you hid it.”
She’d braced for shouting, but nothing happened. Instead, when Evan spoke, his voice was pleading. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but you have to realize that London isn’t going to happen. We won’t survive if we don’t go together. Law is a more stable profession than photography. I mean, what are you going to do with that anyway? I had your best interest at heart.”
Her best interest? Her best fucking interest?
Her fingers curled around the knife handle as her anger bubbled to the surface. She forced a deep breath, then another, and peeled her fingers off. “You lied to me. Every day I asked you, and every day you hid it from me.” She searched his handsome face. How had she become this? What had become of the real her?
He waved a dismissive hand. “Look. I did it for you. You needed to make a decision. The right decision. And you wouldn’t have been able to make it if you’d seen that envelope. Besides, you and I both know that you wouldn’t be happy in London.”
“Don’t!” Her body vibrated with fury. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You did it for yourself because you wanted me to make the choice that you wanted. You’re dispica—”
The stinging crack across her cheek snapped her head to the side. A pinball of pain ricocheted in her skull. The burning pain spread from her face to her neck and well into her hairline. She knew from experience now would be a good time to shut the hell up.
But it was as if the stronger woman inside her finally refused to be silenced. “I will not shut up. You lied to me. You hid this from me. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to make this dream happ—”
The next crack was enough to knock her over, and she tasted blood on the tip of he
r tongue. Desperate to steady herself, she reached up to the counter for purchase, but only managed to bring the diced chicken, mayonnaise, and chopping board down with her.
Evan kneeled in front of her. His tight face registered a barely concealed mask of rage. This was it, she’d done it now. There would be no concealer good enough to hide the bruises he would give her. And she didn’t give a damn. She was tired of cowering.
But instead of lying there, she probed for the cutting board to use as a shield. Her fingers wrapped around the knife handle instead. Shaking, she gripped it tight.
Over the years, she’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit her. Once, she’d even tried to run home. Her mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Evan was the kind of man Abbie needed in her life. And she had better learn how to please him because she wasn’t going to do much better than a Peters.
Her mother had also pointed out that Even would be powerful someday and Abbie would benefit from that. Abbie had learned that day not to go running home with her problems. Once, she considered telling her father, but that would end in bloodshed, either with her father dead or in jail for murder. Neither outcome was acceptable. So, as always, she suffered alone.
When Evan spoke, his voiced sounded controlled, but Abbie didn’t buy it.
“You know better than to provoke me. I don’t want to hurt you, but Abena, you cannot speak to me like that. Are we clear?”
Decision time. She could nod her head and say yes. Or for once, she could stand up to the person who’d hurt her over and over again. The person who’d deliberately tried to keep her dream from her.
With the taste of blood in her mouth and her heart hammering in her chest, she tilted her head to meet his gaze as fury chased away the fear. Slipping the knife between their bodies, she glared at him. “No. Not clear. You have two minutes to get the hell out of my house, or I swear before God, I will not be the only one bleeding in this kitchen today.”