I wasn’t going to tell D’Angelo that I knew the real deal. I’d overheard my ex and my sister talking as they hid away in our old bedroom. Really, I guess it was more like I was eavesdropping, but whatever, Anthony had not been happy that Sabrina had contacted D’Angelo and invited him to our dinner. Anthony hated his brother; for some reason, he blamed D’Angelo for their parents’ deaths, and Anthony told Sabrina that he would never sit down and break any kind of bread with him. So, they’d left, and to be honest, that made my Christmas better—with just me, my dad, and D’Angelo.
He said, “We come from quite a dysfunctional family. My brother hates me for something I didn’t do and you hate my brother and your sister for something they did do.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got it all wrong,” I said. “I don’t hate them at all. In fact”—I paused and thought about what I was going to say—“I’ve forgiven them.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Well, then I guess you’re ready to move on,” he said.
“Yup, already have,” I said as I scrubbed one of the pans.
“Good, then that must mean that you’re free to go to the movies tonight.” When I tilted my head and looked at him like I didn’t understand what he was saying, he explained: “You know there are a couple of movies that opened today; we can catch any one that you want to see.”
When I’d given D’Angelo that look, it wasn’t because I didn’t know what he meant. It was just that I could not remember the last time that someone had asked me to go anywhere. And I told him what I would’ve told anyone who asked me out. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.
D’Angelo leaned back like he was shocked. I guess my answer was probably a surprise. How many women ever said no to this man who looked like Denzel, if he’d been a jock. I had no doubt women were lined up, ready and willing to do D’Angelo’s bidding. “Whoa,” he said. “I guess my brother and your sister did some job on you.”
Why did it have to be all that? Why couldn’t it just be that I didn’t want to go out with him? I guess for a man like D’Angelo, who wore his bad-boy-sexy like it was a cologne, the concept that a woman didn’t want to be with him was difficult to grasp.
But I wasn’t going to go there with him, so I just shook my head. “It’s not Sabrina and Anthony. I told you, I’ve forgiven them. Plus, if the truth is told, Sabrina is much better for Anthony than I ever was.”
“Ah . . . you’re a progressive woman.” He chuckled a bit. “But that still doesn’t explain you saying no to me. You know, that doesn’t happen much.”
I twisted my lips trying to hold back my smile, though that didn’t work. “I can imagine. But I said no because I was never meant to be a wife.”
“Did I ask you to marry me?”
I laughed. “No, but . . .”
“Oh! I see what you’re saying. Once a man goes out with you, he’ll be so enthralled that he’ll rush you to City Hall and by morning you’ll be a wife.”
I snatched the dish towel from his hand, swatted his arm with it, then handed it back to him. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just know that a date could lead to dating could lead to something more.”
“And you don’t want the something more?”
“Exactly!” I said. “As much as Anthony and Sabrina were dirty for what they did, I should’ve never married your brother. He was in love with me, and I loved his business acumen. He wanted romantic dinners, and I wanted long planning meetings. He wanted a family and a future with me, and I wanted to open five spas and build an empire with him.” I shook my head. “To be honest, he wanted it to work, and I didn’t.”
“Wow. It takes a grown-up to admit that.”
I shrugged. “But don’t get it twisted, they were still foul! They should’ve at least waited for me to figure all of this out.”
He laughed. “So what happened to the house?”
“In Malibu? Anthony got it in the divorce, but I just heard today that they sold it.”
“Man! I know how much you loved that place.”
“I did. You found us the perfect home,” I said, thinking back to that time. Anthony and I had just married and D’Angelo had his hand in all kinds of ventures, including real estate. The house had been a surprise after Anthony had told him in passing that my fantasy home was anywhere in Malibu.
“Well, maybe I can do that for you again,” he said.
“Really?” I chuckled.
He nodded. “And if I do, will you go out with me then . . . ?”
The whistle from my teapot brought me back from Christmas, brought me back to the present and the beach cottage that D’Angelo had found for me just a few weeks ago. I jumped up, but now that the water was boiling, I didn’t need any tea. I was ready to go back to bed.
This time, when I walked through my home that I loved, I turned out all the lights, and then I climbed back into my bed. It wouldn’t take me long to fall asleep. Sleeping wasn’t the problem. It was what went on in my subconscious after I was asleep.
But that was okay. It was only a dream. A dream that meant absolutely nothing to me.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
I stared out the window of my office, though, trust me, this wasn’t the same as looking at the view when I was home. Here, there wasn’t much to see except for the parking lot that served the office buildings in the business park. But I wasn’t looking out for the view. I was just staring out the window. Staring because I couldn’t concentrate.
This morning, I’d arrived at the Woman’s Place, my spa business in Redondo Beach, even earlier than my normal seven o’clock time. Today, I walked in at just before six and did my regular workout: an hour jog around the track and thirty minutes in the weight room. I’d skipped the sauna; I was afraid that I might fall asleep in there.
But here I was, almost four hours from when I’d first arrived, and I hadn’t accomplished a thing. All because my dream had followed me from the night right into this day.
Having vivid dreams and remembering every moment wasn’t something that was new for me. At night, I dreamed, and in the morning, I remembered. That’s just how it’d always been with me.
In the recent past, though, say the last six years, my dreams could best be defined as nightmares. A couple of times a week, I relived the horror of the final moments of my marriage. When I’d returned from a business trip early, to make up for the argument I’d had with my husband before I’d left, I was sure Anthony would be thrilled to see me, but as it turned out, he was not.
The nightmares I had were always the same, and always so true to what happened. In my dreams, I walked into the room, over to my bed, and then screamed. Then Anthony and Sabrina appeared. And they screamed. Anthony, my husband. Sabrina, my sister. The three of us screaming, though I was the only one screaming while fully clothed.
Then Anthony stopped screaming, and started shouting, “I’m sorry, it was just this one time.”
Every time, I woke up at that moment. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because what came after didn’t matter. Even though Anthony had uttered that exact apology to me, it didn’t matter what he said. My marriage was over right at that moment in that bedroom.
I lived those minutes over and over in my head, and I sometimes wondered if maybe that was why I couldn’t let go of that betrayal in my heart. But what could I do about it? You couldn’t stop your dreams, could you?
Though it seemed like I didn’t have to worry about those nightmares anymore. Because since Christmas, my old nightmares had been kicked aside for this new dream with that divine-fine D’Angelo.
I couldn’t stop dreaming about him and I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t like there was anything going on between us. I meant what I said when I told him no on Christmas, though that hadn’t stopped him from trying that night . . .
I’d paused at the entrance to the living room and watched D’Angelo as h
e studied the pictures on the mantel. The photos, mostly of me and Sabrina growing up, were in chronological order, and when D’Angelo picked up the frame with my high school graduation picture, I cleared my throat and stepped all the way into the living room.
He turned around with my photo still in his hand. “Your dad’s okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s sleeping. I woke him up for a moment, told him that we had cleaned up everything. But it was a long day, filled with lots of excitement for him, so I told him to just rest and I’d see him tomorrow.”
“Cool. So where’re you headed?” D’Angelo asked me.
“Home.”
He paused as if he was waiting for me to say more. But I said nothing as I put on my bomber jacket and slipped my purse strap onto my shoulder.
He said, “Well, let me give you a ride.”
“No thanks, I have my car.”
He shrugged as if that made no difference. “I’ll have your car towed to your house.”
I laughed. “Now, that’s funny. Why would I do that?”
“Because . . .” he began, stepping so close to me that we were almost one. But I wasn’t about to let him intimidate me. So, I stood my ground and looked straight up into his eyes as he looked down into mine. He continued, “Because you don’t want this night to end. You don’t want to let me out of your sight, and you want to spend just a little more time with me.”
Okay, this man right here . . . he was trying to take my breath away. But I guess he didn’t realize that I was not the one. I was gonna keep my breath and everything else. I did take two steps back, though, before I said, “You can just walk me to my car . . .”
And that’s what D’Angelo did. Just walked me the twenty feet from my dad’s front door to my car. He opened the door for me, watched as I slipped inside, made sure the doors were locked, and then he walked away.
But while I was driving home my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number when I answered, but I knew the voice.
“Just wanted to see if you changed you mind about going out with me,” he’d said.
I laughed. “In ten minutes? I left you ten minutes ago and you think I’ve changed my mind?”
“It only takes a second to change your mind. Especially when you’re switching to what’s right.”
I was still laughing, but then I frowned. “Hey, how did you get my number?”
He laughed. “You must’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m D’Angelo Stewart. Act like you know!” The next thing I heard was a click; the call had been ended.
I’d taken a deep, deep breath and released it, just like I was doing now.
I was so glad when my intercom buzzed, taking me away and bringing me back at the same time. I pressed the button on my phone, and my assistant announced, “There’s someone here to see you.”
I frowned and waited for Sarah to complete her sentence. She was beyond competent; it wasn’t like her to just give me part of the information. But when she said nothing more, I asked, “Who is it?”
“Well . . .” She lowered her voice. “He asked me not to say . . .”
I was about to go off. Sarah worked for me, not for some stranger who showed up at my door. And, I didn’t play games like this, especially not at my place of business. But then it hit me. It was D’Angelo. And that made me smile.
“Okay, go ahead and let him come in.” I did my best to wipe away my smile. I didn’t want D’Angelo walking in here and seeing me grinning like a fool.
But then the door opened and I didn’t have to worry about smiling at all. Because it wasn’t D’Angelo. It was his brother.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked my ex-husband.
Anthony said, “Wow, that’s some greeting.”
If he expected me to go back and amend what I’d said, he would be standing for a long time. I raised my eyebrows, like I just wanted him to answer the question.
He got the message. “I was just in the neighborhood,” he said. “And I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.” He pointed to the chair. “Mind if I sit down?”
I didn’t respond at first. Not that I was being totally rude, but I wanted to study Anthony for just a little while longer and it was easier to do that if he were standing.
Both of the Stewart boys were fine, there was no doubt about that. They just wore their sexiness in different ways. While D’Angelo had swag, Anthony was more refined. I always said Anthony was like a tall glass of chocolate decadence with his mocha-colored skin and his light brown eyes. The lines on his face were strong and defined—high cheeks and his square jaw. And then there were his muscles, though Anthony couldn’t rival his brother. D’Angelo was a football player, straight ripped like Terrell Owens. Anthony was more of a basketball player—what LeBron James might look like in twenty years. Still in shape, but you know what I’m sayin’.
“Have a seat,” I finally said.
He nodded and glanced around my office. “I didn’t get a chance to walk around outside, but this place looks great,” he said. “I’m really proud of what you’ve done with your business.”
“Our business,” I said. “I wouldn’t have ever gotten started without you.”
That made Anthony smile. I guess because he didn’t expect me to say something so kind. But I wasn’t being polite; I was telling the truth and giving due credit.
“So . . .” he said.
“So,” I said. That was all he was going to get out of me. I hadn’t come by his office.
“Well, first, I wanted to thank you for the bassinet that you sent for the baby. That was really generous.”
I nodded, thinking that their baby was two weeks old now. “How are Sabrina and my”—I paused and corrected myself—“the baby?”
A shadow passed over Anthony’s eyes as if he was disappointed that I hadn’t said “my niece.” But still he nodded, and he grinned and he beamed just like a new father. “They’re good. Sabrina’s a little run-down, but I know that’s just her being a new mom.” He shook his head. “But Ciara . . . she’s just gorgeous.”
“Ciara.” I paused and placed my hand over my heart that had just skipped a beat. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t the first time that I’d heard their baby’s name. My father had told me the day she was born. But for some reason, it got to me today. I said, “Ciara. That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thanks. We’re so happy that she’s here. I hope you’ll come by to see her.”
His words were exactly the same as my sister’s. Not that I’d spoken to Sabrina, but every day since Ciara was born, Sabrina called, left a message, and asked me to come by to see the baby. The truth was that’s why I’d sent the gift; I thought that would be enough to stop the calls. But it wasn’t.
He added, “And Sabrina would love to see you, too.”
I didn’t know what he expected me to say, so I just nodded. Anthony let a few more seconds pass, and then he nodded, too, as if he knew that subject was closed.
He said, “Sabrina and I know you’ve been doing all the heavy lifting with Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re the one who’s been with him during his chemo treatments.”
“I’m cool with that. He’s my dad and Sabrina was pregnant. And now, with the baby . . .” I waved my hand. “I’m fine and Dad’s good, too.”
“Well, thanks for saying that. But we want to start helping now, too. So, if you take him for the treatments, I’ll be there when he gets home. This way, you can get back to the office, or do whatever you have to do.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but we really want to be more involved. We want to help out, that’s all.”
I nodded because there was really no way to tell them no. How could I keep them away from my father? Just because I didn’t want to be around Anthony, Sabr
ina, and their baby didn’t mean that I would ever deprive my dad. “Okay. His next treatment is a week from today, so if you want to come over after that, I usually get him home around two.”
“I’ll be there,” Anthony said. “When we saw him the other day, he told us that the chemo was taking a lot out of him.”
“Yeah, but he’s good, you know. He’s filled with faith, and hope, and I love that.”
“I’ve always loved your father,” my ex said. “I’ve learned a lot from him.”
Okay, this was starting to sound like friendly chitchat, and we weren’t friends and I didn’t do chitchat.
“Well,” I said. That was my hint that this little meeting was over.
“Well,” he said. But he sat like he had more to say.
I didn’t have time for this; didn’t have time to sit and wait for him to come up with more words that meant nothing to me. “Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”
“Yeah, there is.”
A beat. Another beat. And I waited. I was just about to tell him to get out when he finally started talking.
He said, “My brother, D’Angelo, have you talked to him?”
“Yeah, why?” I asked, wondering if there was something wrong. Had something happened to D’Angelo? Maybe that’s why I’d been dreaming about him, maybe it was some kind of prophecy. A warning. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t spoken to him in about a week.
Anthony pressed his lips together and frowned. His glance moved from me to the floor, then back to me. Then, finally, he said, “Kendall, I really don’t think you should be involved with my brother.”
Now my eyes narrowed. “By ‘involved,’ you mean?”
“I mean anything. I don’t think you should go out with him, I don’t think you should talk to him. Nothing.”
Ain’t this a blip! For a moment I saw myself jumping up, leaping over my desk, and wrapping my hands around Anthony’s throat. But that would’ve been some mess if my assistant came into my office and saw me beating down my ex-husband.
So, I just pressed my back into the chair to stop myself from doing that. “I already told you,” I began, referring to the moment when he’d said this same crap to me on Christmas. “I told you that you didn’t have any right to tell me what to do. So which part of you-gave-that-up-when-you-slept-with-my-sister don’t you understand?”
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