She squealed, giggling as I tickled her.
The door to her parents’ brownstone opened and Lidia Baker was standing with her arms crossed. With her fitted turquois pantsuit, Mrs. Baker looked like Bianca’s older sister. Her bronze skin seemed to glow and even with the strained look on her face, she had an effortless beauty.
“Hello Bianca, Roman, glad you could join us.”
Mrs. Baker’s tone sucked the giddiness out of us both as we straightened up and climbed the stairs. It wasn’t negative, but it certainly wasn’t positive. The closer we got to her, the more Bianca’s demeanor changed. I could feel Bianca’s body stiffen. The tension was even thicker when we walked through the front door.
“Hi, Mrs. Baker. Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” she replied, a hint of disappointment in her tone. She looked at her daughter. “Hello, Bianca.”
Bianca narrowed her eyes at her. “Mother.”
The testy exchange made my skin crawl.
This is going to be bad.
I helped Bianca out of her jacket and then I took mine off. I hung them both on the coat rack by the door. I took my time, dreading the next couple of hours. When I turned back around and saw the way they were looking at one another, it was official.
This is about to be the most uncomfortable dinner ever.
Mrs. Baker looked at us, giving us a firm stare before demanding, “Follow me.”
Bianca and I glanced at each other. She rolled her eyes and I smiled, grabbing her hand. Our fingers intertwined and there was a flutter in my chest when my middle finger grazed the diamond she wore.
Connected.
Thinking about the painting Bianca kept on her side of the bed, I proposed. When you find the person you are connected to the way Bianca and I were connected, you hold on and never let go. I proposed because there was no bigger way to choose someone than to propose marriage. We could get married tomorrow or fifty years from now; it didn’t matter. It didn’t change what it was that we felt for each other, how committed we were to one another, or how connected we were to one another.
“Bianca, Roman! Good to see you,” Mr. Baker bellowed as we entered the living room. His easy nature seemed genuine. “You both look well.”
I stuck my hand out to meet his. “Good to see you, too, Mr. Baker.”
Wrapping an arm around Bianca’s shoulder, he pulled her in for a quick side hug. Mr. Baker smiled down at her. “Thank you for coming.”
Even though her smile was small, the way she squeezed my hand told me she appreciated her father’s effort. “Thank you for the invite.”
He let her go and gestured for us to take a seat. “Lidia, sweetheart, will you get the wine?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Baker dipped out of the room.
As we made our way to the sitting area, my eyes glanced over at my painting still hanging on their wall.
Even while he picked up four wine glasses from a small bar, Mr. Baker noticed. “You’re a talented young man.”
“Yes, he is. Talented and successful,” Bianca snapped, cutting in before I had a chance to reply.
“Thank you, sir.” My fingers flexed against her hand in an attempt to calm her down.
Mr. Baker’s baritone chuckle filled the room as he slowed to a stop. “She loves you. She has that protective look in her eye like her mother. Her grandmother does it too.”
I glanced at Bianca just as her features softened. She briefly cast her eyes downward before she looked at me. A smile played on her lips.
“I love her, too,” I assured him, running my thumb over her hand.
She rocked into me, bumping her shoulder against mine. The way her face lit up made me feel a million times the man I actually was.
Mr. Baker sat two of the four glasses on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Please, be seated,” he insisted as he took a seat in the mahogany wingback chair, sitting the other two glasses on the end table beside him. “Make yourselves at home.”
Still hand-in-hand, we parked ourselves on the leather couch.
Mr. Baker rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “I come in peace. I know the last time the four of us were in a room together, things didn’t go well. I guarantee you that tonight will be much different.”
He had barely gotten the promise out of his mouth when Mrs. Baker stepped into the room.
“We picked up some of your favorites from around the city, Bianca,” Mrs. Baker pointed out as she held up the wine bottle.
I recognized the label of the 2007 Sassicaia.
Bianca’s favorite.
After pouring wine into all of our glasses, Mrs. Baker perched herself on the matching wingback chair. She sipped her wine. No one else touched theirs.
“Before we begin dinner, I just want to apologize for the way I spoke to you both a few weeks ago. It was rude and uncalled for.”
“I agree,” Bianca retorted. “But that’s not uncommon for you. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Oh shit!
I felt my eyes widen and I had to physically force my mouth to stay closed to prevent my jaw from dropping.
“Bianca,” her father warned. He looked like the fighting was getting the better of him.
“No, Stanley. That’s a fair question.” She took another sip before putting the glass on the table. “You’re our daughter. And I don’t like that we’re not talking and we don’t know where you live and…I don’t like being excluded from your life.”
Bianca looked around incredulously. Her hand gripped mine with intensity. “We’ve always had separate lives. What does it matter now?”
“We’ve never had separate lives. We’ve just always worked and instead of leaving you home alone, we knew that boarding school would be the best thing for all of us. But we always took care of you. We made sure you were okay. I won’t say I was the perfect mother because I was far from it, but I made sure you were okay. We worked hard to give you what you wanted and provide you with what you needed,” Mrs. Baker explained frankly. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her face seemed to beg for understanding.
I looked at Bianca to see if she noticed it.
With less bite in her voice, she replied, “You held your money over my head and threatened me with it. It felt more like blackmail than motherly love.”
She gave Bianca a perplexed look. “I’m not warm and cuddly, Bianca. But I love you and I like knowing that you’re safe and taken care of. I only know that for sure when your father and I are providing for you.”
“What your mother is trying to say is that we are sorry about what happened and we support your choices. So don’t cut us out. We want you to move back into the apartment. We will reinstate the allowance, no strings attached,” Mr. Baker added. “You are our one and only child and we want to give you the best.”
“Yes, we support you and all of your choices. Which brings me to you...” Mrs. Baker turned her head and looked at me. “I apologize for speaking to you disrespectfully the last time you were a guest in my home. It was completely uncalled for and incredibly inappropriate. I was out of line. Please accept my apology.”
I mean, she looks sincere. I think. She’s hard to read.
I nodded. “Yeah. Apology accepted.”
She looked between us for a second before she added softly, “I see the way you two look at each other and it reminds me of Stanley and me when we were young. I should be focused on how you treat her and less on your finances. But I want the best for Bianca. And that includes financial stabil—”
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Bianca spat, glaring defensively. “Is this seriously your idea of an apology?”
“No, let her finish,” I uttered, squeezing her hand gently. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”
Bianca grumbled obscenities under her breath.
Mrs. Baker looked at her husband and then back at us. “You’ve never had to struggle, Bianca. You’ve had it easy. We’ve always provided for you. Now you ar
e a strong woman. You get it from me. I get it from my mom. And so on and so forth. We are strong women so I know you can take care of yourself. But you’ve never had to struggle so you’re not equipped to struggle. And the idea of you struggling eats at me because you’re my legacy. Does that make sense to you?”
Bianca inhaled deeply and let it out noisily. Even though she appeared calm, her nails were digging into the back of my hand. “Who says I’m going to struggle? Who says I’m not going to be successful?”
Mr. Baker took his glass of wine and gulped it down. “Let’s not—”
“Bianca, you are brilliant and creative. I do believe you can be successful.”
“But?” Bianca led.
“But I don’t think the art world is stable enough for a lasting career. It has nothing to do with your talent. Or yours either for that matter, Roman. Do I think you two will be successful in the prime of your lives? Yes, absolutely. But what next? What do you have to fall back on?”
“Teaching,” Bianca and I said in unison.
We looked at each other and laughed. Mr. Baker joined in.
Mrs. Baker shook her head at the three of us. “But—”
“But nothing,” Mr. Baker cut in, setting his glass down harder than necessary. “Except let us help you. With this long distance relationship, I know it’s a strain on your finances.”
“Yes, let’s focus on the here and now. Let’s toast.” She looked at the three of us and stood up, glass in hand. “You two are young and spirited and artistic.” She flashed a genuine smile that made her look exactly like her daughter. Tilting her head to the side, she stared at Bianca. “You are clearly happy and for that, I am thankful. So let us help you enjoy your time together while you’re dating and having fun. I mean, it’s not like you’re getting married or anything.” She looked a little more relaxed as she laughed lightly.
Ha!
Bianca and I looked at each other and when I saw her struggling not to laugh, a chuckle lodged itself in my chest. I looked away from her as soon I felt like I was going to lose it. Bianca’s parents were looking at us suspiciously.
“What?” Bianca’s mother asked, looking less amused that we were laughing.
“What if we did decide to get married?” Bianca asked in a tone that was almost musical.
Mr. Baker gave me a look. “Roman seems like a standup young man. I’d like to see you settled down with someone who put that kind of smile on your face.”
Thank you, I thought, giving a nod of appreciation to Mr. Baker. I always felt like he wasn’t that bad.
Bianca questioned, “Mother?”
Mrs. Baker didn’t reply at first, but after a beat of silence she cleared her throat. “I would have to trust your judgement. But I would like a prenuptial agreement in place.”
I fought back a smile. Of course that would be the wealthy lawyer’s primary concern.
There was a stillness as the Bakers looked as though they were waiting to see my reaction. Even though Mr. Baker didn’t bring it up, he seemed curious about my response as well as he poured more wine into his glass.
Running my free hand down my face, I chuckled. “I’d sign whatever I’d need to sign to spend my life with Bianca. I’m not interested in your money. I guarantee you that.”
Seemingly satisfied with my response, Mrs. Baker concluded, “But this is all hypothetical so let’s not dwell on this. Let’s toast.”
Bianca let my hand go for the first time since we entered The Brownstone. “Yes, let’s toast,” Bianca said, standing up and grabbing her wine glass.
Mr. Baker and I clamored to our feet as well.
“To new beginnings,” Mrs. Baker said in a rare moment of unpretentious contentment. “And the future.”
Everyone was silent for a beat.
Switching her wine glass from her right hand to her left, Bianca raised her glass with a proud smile. “To new beginnings. And the future…Mr. and Mrs. Harper.”
----------
Playlist
Be Here Raphael Saadiq featuring D’Angelo
Collide Howie Day
Cannonball Damien Rice
Cherry Wine Hozier
Lay Me Down Sam Smith featuring John Legend
Home Blake Shelton
Madonna Drake
The Boogie Man Song Mos Def
Looking Too Closely Fink
Worry Jack Garratt
Let It Go James Bay
Tenerife Sea Ed Sheeran
Teach U a Lesson Robin Thicke
Bad Habits Maxwell
Iris Goo Goo Dolls
Part II Jay Z featuring Beyoncé
Music inspires me. The artists mentioned above wrote songs and lyrics that I feel accurately depict the thoughts, feelings, and mood of Roman Harper during his journey in Heartfelt (Heartache Volume Two). If you haven’t had a chance to listen to any of these songs, you should purchase them immediately and listen on repeat.
Heartless (Heartache Volume Three)
Bradley “Easy” Simon
“Screw you, Easy!” Hannah yelled as she stormed out of my apartment.
I didn’t go after her. I listened to her heels as they clicked across the hardwood floor and waited for the slam of the door. Even though I expected it, I flinched at the sound.
The bed squeaked as I pulled myself into a sitting position. “Well that was an overreaction,” I muttered slowly.
Running my hands through my hair, I sighed.
Five. Four. Three. Two. O—
The front door crashed against the wall with bang. “And another thing!” Hannah screamed as she reentered my apartment. I heard her quick footsteps as she moved through my place and rounded the corner into my bedroom. “You don’t end things with me. I end things with you. Asshole!”
I looked at her with her messy, just fucked hair and her angry, sapphire eyes and I wavered.
Why can’t I shake this girl? Tonight was a mistake. A one-drink-too-many mistake. A my-dick-is-still-hard-thinking-about-how-flexible-she-is mistake.
Hannah Webb was a crazy, over-the-top, dramatic princess. But she was sexy as hell. She was spoiled, entitled and didn’t seem to understand the word no. But in the bedroom, she was gifted and outside of the bedroom she was pretty funny.
“Hannah, listen…”
“No, you listen! I could have any man I want and I chose to slum it with you. You should feel honored,” she spat at me.
I nodded, placating her.
Her eyes narrowed. “Screw you.”
“You did,” I muttered under my breath. “And it was an honor.”
Hannah’s face was red and her body was shaking. “I hate you!”
I stood up slowly.
With her eyes trained on mine, her head tilted backward as I rose to my full six feet..
“I hate you,” she repeated through clinched teeth.
“I know you do,” I replied calmly. “And that’s one of the many reasons why this needs to stop.”
“It’ll stop when I say it stops, Easy!”
I ran my hand through my hair and smirked. “That’s not the way hookups work. When one person ends it, it typically means that it’s over. And this…” I gestured between the two of us. “Is over.”
“Do you seriously think you are going to be able to walk away from me?” Hannah licked her lips and then smiled cunningly. “Do you seriously think you can resist me? How many times have we said that? If tonight proved anything, it’s that whatever I want, I get. And that this…” She gestured between the two of us. “Isn’t going away.”
“But it needs to.”
It has to.
Hannah’s laugh was dry as her eyes bore into mine. “If I walk out of this door tonight, it’s over.”
That’s the hope.
I nodded. “Understood.”
“I’m serious this time, Easy. I won’t be back. I won’t call you. I won’t speak to you. I won’t fuck you. We are done. If I leave tonight, I won’t ever be back.”
“Understood.”
Hannah backed up a fraction of an inch and eyed me. “At the bar, you were all over me. We came back here and fucked all over the place and now, you’re just done? Just like that?”
“It’s because I realized that this isn’t going to—”
“Bullshit,” she snapped, interrupting me. “Who texted you?”
Shit, she saw that?
I froze. “What?”
“You went to go get a bottle of water with your phone in your hand and then you came back to bed with these excuses. All I know is that something happened and I didn’t hear you on the phone so it had to have been a text message.”
When did she become a fucking detective?
I felt my eyebrows come together. My jaw hardened in an attempt to not give anything away. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I’m not playing dumb with you, Hannah. I just don’t have to answer your dumbass questions because the bottom line is: we are done.”
Hannah took a step back and eyed me. “We are done, Easy. We are so done.” She paused, glaring at me menacingly. “But you’ve just made an enemy out of me. And believe me, you don’t want me as your enemy.”
A smile pulled at the corners of my lips.
Did she just threaten me? Straight up gangsta movie threaten me?
I shook my head slowly and shrugged. “I don’t even know what to say to that, Hannah.”
She put her hands on her hips and her lip curled sexily. “You don’t have to say anything. Your regret will speak for itself when you’re begging me to take you back.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the front door.
I followed her out, stopping a few feet away from her.
“Oh!” She called over her shoulder, tossing her long, blonde hair behind her. “And screw you.”
The door slammed and the sound echoed through the quietness. A soft chuckle escaped me as I locked the door.
Well, that went as expected.
I pulled my low hanging sweatpants up before plopping down onto the couch. I let out a sigh as I ran my hands through my hair.
Heartfelt Page 31