Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  “Hey girl!” I gave her a hug. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, you know. I’m just graduating in a few weeks!”

  “Really? That’s great!”

  “Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. I have exams to finish. But the point is there’s only three weeks until the graduation.”

  “Oh my gosh!” I squealed with her.

  “The only problem is the ceremony is in California.”

  “Why is that such a problem?”

  “My parents can’t come.” She frowned. “My sister’s going to her friend’s prom that same week.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It’s my fault. I should have checked the schedule from a long time ago.”

  “Well, I’m sure everyone will be there with you in spirit.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you would consider taking a few days off from the shop to come with me. You’re visa’s still good right?”

  I laughed. My friend was hilarious. “That’s funny.” The expression on her face told me that she was serious. My laughter tapered off. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “My mom and Alexi could watch the store after three o’clock because to be honest, that’s when most people shop in boutiques anyway. We’ll leave on Saturday afternoon and we’ll be back by Monday. The graduation is Sunday evening and I really want you to be there.”

  “Melody, the store is my responsibility. I can’t keep putting that kind of burden on your family.”

  “Are you kidding? My mom loves this stuff. She’s retiring soon and she loves the idea of helping out more at the boutique.”

  I cut my eyes at her. “No way. The answer is no.”

  “At least think about it.”

  “Why should I?” I threw up my hands, “And why would you arrange to be over there for so long?”

  “I have some friends I want to visit before I leave. I haven’t seen them in two years.”

  “Melody, you are crazy.”

  “I know. Promise you’ll think about it?”

  “Maybe. And not that I’m considering this, but is it a ‘Girl’s Only’ trip or are the Boys included?”

  “Spencer’s coming. Peyton’s waiting on you before he gives an answer. He’ll probably follow your lead with this one.”

  “Spencer agreed? Honestly, I don’t know how you always manage to get your way with that man.”

  “It’s called love and he’s not complaining.”

  “Okay, miss thang.” I teased, “Enough about that. Come help me price these blouses since you don’t have a job or commitments like the big kids.”

  “Meanie,” Melody stuck her tongue out at me, but cheerfully did as I asked.

  I shook my head at her and continued re-shelving the maxi skirts. Three days in America? My best friend had supremely lost it.

  To my surprise, Peyton thought the ludicrous proposal was a great idea. Over pizza and soda that night he totally supported the trip.

  “You can’t be serious.” I narrowed my eyes. “It’s Melody. She has this weird brain washing thing she does.”

  “It’s not Melody. This is a good thing. Maybe you can meet my parents.” He muttered before shoving his food into his mouth.

  My eyes widened. “Don’t freak out.” Peyton cautioned.

  “Me? Freak out? Why would I do that?” I gasped, totally on the verge of panicking.

  He put down his pizza slice. “Look. You don’t have to meet them. I just thought… if you were over there…everyone could meet up.”

  “Maybe in America that’s nothing, but in Belize meeting the parents is a huge step. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

  “It was just a suggestion.”

  “Everybody’s got suggestions today.”

  Peyton gave me an amused glance, “You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

  “You can’t charm your way out of this.”

  “It was worth a shot.” I balled my napkin and threw it at him. He caught it easily, “It feels good to chill with you in here. Do you miss your mom, yet?”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Nope. Sometimes, people get under your skin without your consent. Case in point.” He took a huge bite out of his pizza.

  “I’m not sure you used that expression correctly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not ‘case in point.”

  “Well, what is it then.”

  I blinked blankly at him. “I don’t know.”

  Peyton rolled his eyes and munched on his pizza. We were hitting our two month mark and Peyton and I still functioned as kissing best friends. Sometimes, he was too comfortable. A girl wants to be romanced every now and then. I wasn’t complaining, however. I liked the nice slow treadmill pace that we were going. Meeting his parents would be like turning the pace on the treadmill to face-planting speeds.

  “If you’re worried about my mom, she’ll love you. They know so much about you, you’ll fit right in.”

  I shoved my dark arm in his face. “See this? This means I never fit right in, especially around Caucasians.”

  Peyton sighed, “Why is race such an issue to you? Spencer and Melody get along just fine and you see how different they are.”

  “We are not Spencer and Melody.” I pointed out, getting a little irritated because he wasn’t getting the point. “And race is a big issue to me because it’s a big issue to everyone.”

  “Mia, anyone worth knowing won’t care about how dark you are. They’ll love you for what’s inside. The way I do. My mom and dad are going to see that.” He soothed.

  “I don’t want to meet your parents, Peyton!” I snapped and then raced to my bedroom and shut the door. My chest rose and fell as I took huge breaths and tried to quell my shaking hands. I had overreacted. I knew that as solidly as I knew that my door was stained a red-brown. I was too proud to go back out there and face Peyton after showing an incredible amount of immaturity. He knocked on the door,

  “Mia, open up. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Go away, Peyton!” I yelled, hoping that he took my advice and left me in the puddle of embarrassment I’d created for myself. His footsteps faded and I sank down into the carpeted floor. I had a serious problem. Getting over Peyton’s pale skin didn’t mean I was ready to take on all of America. I doubted that when Mrs. Lowry envisioned the perfect woman for her son, she pictured one with skin the color of a dark chocolate bar. I knew my parents had a problem with Peyton because he was white. I couldn’t imagine what Peyton’s parents would think of me as a black woman. I hated that I cared, but I did. A lot.

  My door knob jiggled and I gasped as the door swung open and revealed Peyton on the other side. His chest heaved and a lock of dark auburn hair hung low over his forehead.

  “Mia Elizabeth Johnson. I made you a promise that I would never enter your bedroom, but I am going to break that promise and come in there for you if you don’t get your butt outside right now.”

  Peyton had never spoken to me like that and a part of me wanted to lash out at his tone, but I held my head high and crossed my bedroom threshold. As soon as I was out of the forbidden territory, Peyton grasped my shoulders, propelled me against the wall and kissed me thoroughly. I could feel his frustration in this caress, but surrendered to it anyway.

  He pulled back, eyes blazing and said, “I need you to understand that I love you. That was only a taste of the way you make me feel every time I look at you. You could be yellow, orange, purple, blue, or glitter-”

  “Glitter’s not technically a color.” I pointed out hesitantly.

  Peyton silenced me with a look and I zipped my mouth shut. “Wherever these insecurities are coming from,” he continued, “you remember how I feel when I look at you. How much I want you. How much I love you, no matter what you look like; no matter what color you are.”

  Having said his piece, Peyton grabbed his phone and keys from the sofa and left. I sagged against the place where the man had just branded me w
ith his lips and sighed. It took a lot for Peyton to get angry. He was normally such an upbeat guy. I hadn’t meant for my issues with race and love and life to rile him up like that. Pushing off of the wall, I stood upright. I knew I needed to deal with those problems, but not tonight. I wanted to sleep off this horrible argument and hopefully things looked better in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Peyton gave me “space” once more. If he gave me any more space, I’d be landing on the moon soon. I wanted my best friend back. Unfortunately, I knew that I had some issues to overcome first, starting with my insane obsession with race and ending with the burden that I’d been feeling to associate with my neighbors. I decided to tackle the latter first. The former was engraved into my mindset and would not be as easily rectified. Wednesday night, I started my ‘love quest’, as Peyton so intelligently dubbed it, with Mrs. Bethel. I’m not a baker or a cook, so I ordered a lemon pie from the Sugar Fix bakery and trekked across the hall to knock on the old lady’s room door.

  “Hello?” Mrs. Bethel peered through the crack in the slim opening.

  “Hi Mrs. Bethel,” I held up the pie in my hands, “Can I come in.”

  She looked surprised but allowed my entrance. I handed her the pie and smiled,

  “I thought I’d come bring this by.”

  She beamed at me, “Tank yuh, Mia. That’s very kind.”

  She invited me in and led me to the sofa. Mrs. Bethel’s apartment was exactly what I expected it to be. It was cluttered with antiques. Her flower designed paisley sofa set was covered in plastic. The place smelled like Pledge. I sat down, the plastic covering squished as I settled my bum.

  “So,” Mrs. Bethel asked, setting the pie on the coffee table before her, “Weh di go aan? Yuh need something?

  I shrugged lightly, “Can I be frank with you, Mrs. Bethel.”

  She readjusted her glasses, “Go deh strang.”

  I nodded, “I’m doing a terrible job of loving my neighbors and I wanted to make up for that.”

  Her eyebrows arched, “Well, ah mi neva expect yuh fi seh that.”

  I slipped off of the couch a little and propelled myself upright once more, “I feel like I’m supposed to be doing more. I mean, I have the store and it’s good but I want to connect with people. I want to give back.”

  Mrs. Bethel nodded sagely, “Well, why yuh noh do something then?”

  My eyebrows arched, “I thought I was doing that.”

  Twittering lightly, Mrs. Bethel got up and trekked to her kitchen to brew some tea, “Though ah do love mi pie, I don’t think going door to door is the most reliable strategy for what you have in mind.”

  I got up and followed her to the kitchen. It was painted a cheery yellow with white Formica countertops and butterfly tiles on the wall near the toaster.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  She tapped her chin in thought, “Why you noh host a neighborhood clothing drive. You cuh get the neighborhood involved, use yuh store as like wan drop-off center and get fi know everyone while you help those in need.”

  My eyes lit up as ideas flooded my brain.

  “That’s genius, Mrs. Bethel.”

  “Well, I might be old, but I still have some good lef in me. If you need any help, I’d be glad to organize with you.”

  “Really?” I gazed at her with new eyes. I’d always seen Mrs. Bethel as an old gossip, a busybody that interfered way beyond the ties of friendship that she had with my mother. Her eagerness to help had me rethinking that assumption. I’m beginning to suspect that her gossiping was a cry for attention. Maybe Mrs. Bethel was just lonely and eager for the kind of validation that comes from human interaction.

  “We can start now if you like.”

  “Sure!”I enthused and Mrs. Bethel shuffled off to retrieve pen and paper to begin our strategy session.

  As the night wore on, I found Mrs. Bethel to be incredibly bright and intuitive. We dubbed the drive “Designs For Humanity”. Mrs. Bethel and I tossed around the ideas of handing out flyers, putting up posters and announcing our drive on the radio. We debated the organization that we could pair with to meet this need and then set the date for three weeks later. By the time I made the trek to my apartment, I felt that I was working with a completely different woman than the annoying old lady that usually prompted me to run the other way when I saw her coming down the hall.

  I got the Reyes’ involved as well. Mr. Reyes loved music and so I begged him to come up with a little jingle for me. Alexi was amazing at art, so she got the fun job of designing the flyers and posters. Melody offered me friendly support while I pursued this clothing drive. I was really excited about it and couldn’t wait for Mia’s Designs to give back the way I really wanted to. On Friday night, I decided to hang with Mr. Reyes. Though we argued often, Mr. Reyes was the wisest man I knew, apart from Pastor Stanley. He knew a lot about the Kingdom, its laws, and its benefits. Though I was reading the Manual on my own, I wanted to see if Mr. Reyes had any insight on issues like prejudice and racism based on the Kingdom.

  The house was very quiet as we settled into the hall and I shared some of the thoughts and experiences that had been haunting me lately. Melody was out with Spencer; Eryn was playing on her tablet in her room, and Alexi was upstairs on her laptop. Basically, it was just me and Mr. and Mrs. Reyes having a heavy discussion in the living room. When I shared all that I felt they needed to know, Mr. Reyes clasped his hands and peered at me.

  “Let me see if I understood you.” I nodded as he continued, “You feel that some of your father’s opinions on foreigners and white people in general have rubbed off on you and you want to fix it?”

  I frowned, “I gave a lot more information than that, Mr. Rey, but yeah. Basically, that’s it.”

  Mrs. Reyes smiled at my tone, “Don’t worry, Mia. We heard you.”

  I cocked my head to the side and sighed, “I always thought that I was pretty open-minded. I’ve done crazy things in my life and so I know that sometimes we make decisions in one moment that we deeply regret in the next. I try so hard not to judge because I’ve been through some harsh judgments from other people myself. I like Peyton. And he’s white. And I’m black. And I don’t want people to think that I’m with him because I hate myself or my ethnicity because I’m very proud of who I am.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Reyes said, “That’s where the problem lies, Mia. Perhaps you are prejudiced. We all are to some extent. Have you thought that maybe you are more defensive about how your relationship with the young man will be perceived rather than your own bias?”

  “I don’t know?” I internalized Mr. Rey’s words, “I’ve always thought that I didn’t really care what people thought of me.”

  “Maybe that’s true.” Mr. Reyes’s brown eyes regarded me kindly, “As citizens of the Kingdom, our most important law is to function in love. Not eros or phileo, but in agape, which is unconditional love. This is the kind of love that would die for another, no matter how flawed that person is. Mia… your father was wounded by a white man. He harbored that wound until the symptoms of racism and hate and pride leaked through. Those symptoms affected every one of you in that house.”

  I leaned forward, listening intently because the words my surrogate dad spoke were true.

  “So my father needs to forgive?”

  Mr. Reyes pursed his lips, “Forgiveness is good. It’s a start. But wounds like your father’s need to be healed through counseling or therapy. Not because he’s crazy, but because those hurts need more attention to mend.”

  “What does knowing all that about my dad have to do with me?” I asked, seriously.

  “I’m hoping you understand that you’re father’s wounds don’t have to be your own. His prejudice and pride are the symptoms. They grow from a bigger issue, which is his hurt. Have you been injured in that way?”

  I thought back to my life. I’d been more injured by gossiping church members and lustful men, than any particular race.

  “No,”


  “Then where are your symptoms coming from?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do, Mia.” Mr. Reyes pushed, “you know.”

  I felt conviction in my spirit and nodded slowly as realization dawned, “I guess … I’m insecure.”

  Mr. Reyes tipped his head, allowing me to continue on my own time. As I spoke, I knew that I was releasing my heart and hammering away the walls to get to the root of my problem.

  “I may be a little prejudiced but it was more out of ignorance than pride.” I licked my dry lips, “I’m afraid that Peyton is too good to be true. I’m afraid that one day he’ll wake up and realize that he was supposed to choose the nice, pure, white girl who was born and raised in the Kingdom. Someone who will fit right in with his family and understand all of his American traits and be the perfect partner.”

  I fisted my hands, “I’m afraid I don’t measure up. That I won’t ever measure up.”

  Geez, now that the truth is out I sound so pathetic.

  Mr. Reyes got up from his seat next to his wife and sat down in the couch beside me. The gruff man nudged me with his shoulders,

  “Look here, Mia Elizabeth Johnson. I’ve known you since you were a little kid running around naked on Crenshaw Lane,” I cringed at the picture. “I saw you grow up in Living Waters Church. You were strong and independent. You thought outside of the box and no one could fit you into one. And when you got older and started losing your way I almost gave up on you.”

  I looked down, “Not because I didn’t think you could find your way back,” Mr. Reyes urged, “But because I knew that when you put your mind to something, no one can change it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, feeling like dirt because of who I used to be, “I would have given up on me too.”

  “Well I didn’t.” Mrs. Reyes piped up and put her arms around me, “I never gave up on you. I told him that even though you couldn’t see who you were, I could.” She grasped my hand, “I saw a beautiful, talented woman that was going to touch a lot of lives for the Kingdom and I still see that in you.”