Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  The speech didn’t move her even a little because even if she were game, making love was the last thing she wanted to do. What Morgan Atkins had been introduced to was sexual liberation. It was wild and free and passionate … Messiah had pulled an orgasm out of her a dozen different ways, and every single time, Morgan was left weak. She doubted that Bash could follow that act, and she wasn’t in a rush to find out. She had no clue how she was supposed to be his wife if she couldn’t stomach the thought of him inside her. Guilt weighed on her because she knew he wasn’t the man she was supposed to marry. Bash was a great man. His kindness was remarkable. His ability to accept her children as his own. His ability to accept her with all her flaws, but Morgan struggled with love. She loved him, yes, but to fall in love with someone again … to give her mind, body, and soul to a man and trust him to keep it safe … it felt foolish … it felt risky because she knew what was at stake. Her sanity. She was wrong, and she knew it. Dangling intimacy in front of Bash like he were chasing a carrot, stringing him along, when she knew he deserved more. Maybe I should just get it over with. Maybe after the first time with someone else, it’ll get easier. Meek was easier. I let him touch me without thinking twice.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t apologize,” Bash said. “I didn’t know that sex was associated with pain for you. I didn’t know, Mo.”

  Now she felt like an even bigger piece of shit because Bash was being understanding. He was being the good guy. He was being the perfect guy. He was the perfect guy. In every way since the day they had met, he had treated her like she was golden. He was everything a woman could ask for in a man, but her first love had been a gangster. He had been a menace and had helped her develop a taste that a good guy couldn’t satisfy. Morgan craved a bad boy, and Bash didn’t even have a teaspoon’s worth of street in his makeup.

  I’m an asshole.

  “Stop,” she whispered. She walked up to him and placed her hands around his neck as she looked up at him. “You’re right. It’s been two years. I’ve been unfair to you,” she admitted. “Maybe we can take a trip this weekend. Aria wants me to dance with Stiletto Gang in Vegas—”

  “Stiletto Gang,” Bash interrupted. The disdain that dripped off those two words put Morgan on the defensive.

  Tension filled his shoulders, and his brow dipped. “I don’t know if that’s the most tasteful look, Mo. I thought you’d decided to take a step back from that.”

  “No,” Mo shot back. “Your mother decided that I should take a step back for a while, and I never agreed. I’ve just been busy. With the twins, with MAM, and school, but I’m not as busy now. Graduation is in a few weeks. Classes are over. Ethic and Alani will keep the twins. I have no excuse not to do what I love.”

  “Morgan, my family’s name—”

  “Is not my name yet, Bash, and if you ever want it to be, I have to have freedom,” Morgan argued.

  “I don’t like it, Morgan,” Bash pressed.

  Morgan pulled back, frowning as a hand went to her hip. “You act like I’m stripping, Bash. When we met, I was gang. You knew that I danced.”

  “You’re headed to medical school, Mo, and you want to taint your image? You want to have your face all over social media, dancing onstage with hardly any clothes on and then walk into a hospital to apply for an internship? You really think that’s wise?”

  He was making sense … too much sense, and Morgan hated it. “Fine. I won’t do it, but we could still go. We could go to Vegas and support Aria and spend some time together. We could try to…” She paused and shrugged. “We can do it there. Get a dope suite, order some room service, have a few drinks, and let things go where they go.”

  His brow softened, and she could see him considering it.

  “Yeah, Mo, we can go support your friend,” Bash said.

  “Yay!” she screamed in excitement. “I’m so excited!” She jumped up and down like a little girl, clapping her hands together before planting a kiss to his cheek. “But first, I need to go spend time with my babies. I’ve never been without them for that long. Going four days will feel like torture.”

  “So bring them,” Bash said.

  “To Las Vegas?” she asked, frowning. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never been, but that just doesn’t seem like a good place for kids, and the flight is four hours. I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

  “They’ve been flying back and forth to London since they were born. I think they can handle a quick four hours,” Bash said. “We’ve been apart for two weeks. It’ll be nice for the four of us to spend a few days together. We can find something appropriate for them to do. As long as we’re all together, that’s all that matters to me.”

  Morgan softened. He really was such a good guy. “Okay,” she agreed. “They can come.”

  Bash kissed the side of her head. “And promise me you won’t dance. I’m cool with you supporting your friend and all, but you onstage is a no go.”

  A tightlipped smile was all the agreement she could muster. At least she was going. At least she wouldn’t miss the experience completely. She would be there rooting Aria on. That would just have to be good enough.

  Her phone buzzed, and Morgan opened her notifications. She unlocked her phone, and a snicker of amusement fell from her lips at first glance.

  MORGANSKING810

  Better?

  She smirked, shaking her head. Men were so good at flirting behind the veil of anonymity. She would bet her bottom dollar that this man wasn’t so confident in person.

  SHORTYDOOWOP

  Cute. Real cute. You’re still corny.

  Morgan smiled and shook her head, surprised that she felt the unsettling in her gut that told her she was flattered.

  A stranger online makes me feel more excited than the man I’m about to marry.

  She had no idea that the stranger wasn’t so strange at all. He was better acquainted with her than anyone else had ever been before.

  16

  The hustle and bustle of the ARIA hotel and casino was pure chaos as Morgan stood holding on to her twins’ hands. She sat off to the side, waiting for Bash to check in to their room, but after a long flight, the twins were bursting with energy.

  “Ssari, come here, baby,” she said while simultaneously fumbling with Yara in her arms. Yara was crying; her snotty nose and watery eyes had made a handkerchief of Morgan’s Versace silk shirt.

  “Yara, baby,” she said to herself as Yara twisted and turned in her arm, throwing a temper tantrum. Morgan looked around for a place to sit. “Messari, come, baby.” She headed for the seating area and sat Yara down. She got on her knees in front of her daughter as Messari slid next to his sister.

  “Yolly Pop, what’s wrong?” she signed. “Is it your ears? Do they hurt?”

  “What’s wrong, Yolly Pop?” Messari signed too. Messari leaned in and kissed Yara’s ear, and Morgan smiled. She loved how he loved on his sister.

  Yara continued to cry, yelling so loud that people stopped to stare as they passed by.

  “Yolly,” Morgan moaned. She knew the pressure from flying was worse for Yara, and she hoped this didn’t last all day. Morgan turned for a split second, checking Bash’s place in line. There were still ten or so people in front of him. When she turned back to her twins, only one sat there. “Yara!” she shouted as she turned, her heart dropping. She panicked instantly. “Yolly Pop!” She was calling out of instinct because it would do no good. Yara couldn’t hear her. When she saw Ahmeek stroll through the crowd, carrying her daughter, Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, but a different type of anxiety settled into her heart.

  “I think I have something that belongs to you,” he said. Isa and Aria came through the door next, and they all huddled in a small crowd. “What’s up, homie?” Meek greeted, bending down to extend his hand to Messari.

  “Sup!” Messari shouted back. Isa scooped him. Her babies in the arms of the crew made her stress lessen some. She now had eight arms. Help. She now ha
d help to manage them while Bash checked in.

  Morgan tried to retrieve Yara from Ahmeek’s arms, but Yara pulled away and rested her head against Ahmeek’s chest. His shirt became the next victim to her runny nose.

  “Ahmeek, she’s ruining your shirt,” Morgan said.

  “A little snot never hurt nobody,” he said. He leaned back and swiped her nose with his thumb. “Or a lot of snot.” He chuckled. Yara shook her head, protesting as he tried to clean her face, rubbing the snot across his chest as she turned to the other side. “Yup. Yolly Pop, fuck it all up,” he said. Morgan smiled and then leaned to grab baby wipes from her bag. She gripped the sides of Yolly’s cheeks with one hand, then cleared her nose with the other. She grabbed another wipe and lifted his free hand to clean that as well. The coarseness of his skin, the way he gave her fingers a discreet squeeze, Morgan’s insides liquefied. Her entire face turned red.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he answered. They took a few steps away from Aria and Isa.

  “What are you doing here, Ahmeek?” she asked.

  “I’ve got business. Isa and I … out here. Aria said you weren’t coming, Mo. I heard you. I’ll keep my distance,” he said.

  She nodded. “Thank you.” It came out in a whisper because it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever shown gratitude for. Distance from him was torture. Even standing here with him holding her daughter, at his side with bags at their feet like they had traveled here together, made her knees go weak. She was wound so tightly that Ahmeek could see it.

  “Hey,” he said. “Relax, love. We’re good. I understand your position, Mo. I hold no resentments.”

  Bash’s timing couldn’t have been worse. He walked up carrying their room key.

  “Meek, right?” he asked. He held out his hand. “Good to see you again, man.”

  Morgan tensed because Ahmeek’s eyes held some animosity. His entire body stiffened, and Yara popped her little head up because Morgan was sure his chest had turned to steel. He was staring at the man who had the girl he wanted. His eyes said so much.

  Clown-ass nigga.

  The audacity that it was Bash stopping him from having her. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting hard, before meeting Morgan’s worried stare. To act anything but cordial would raise questions. He didn’t give a fuck, but it was clear that Morgan did. For a second time, he took the high road. No handshakes this time, however, just a nod of acknowledgment. Barely a greeting at all.

  “You ready?” Bash asked, slapping the key card against the palm of his hand.

  Morgan nodded and then forced a protesting Yara from Ahmeek’s hands. Her skin touched his briefly, and Morgan’s mind went numb. He felt it too. She knew he did because he looked at her like he was in shock as he passed Yara off to her. A look of envy creased his brow when she passed Yara to Bash before grabbing Messari from Isa.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said to Aria.

  “Don’t be late. We go on at ten,” Aria said.

  “About that,” Mo said. “I can’t perform. I’m just coming to support.”

  “Mo!” Aria protested.

  “Aria, I can’t,” she whispered. Quick feet carried her to Bash’s side as they headed for the elevator bank. She glanced over her shoulder because she couldn’t help but to look back, but Ahmeek was gone, and Morgan felt a churning in her soul that told her she was walking next to the wrong man.

  * * *

  Morgan walked into the arena carrying Messari on one hip. Bash trailed her with Yara.

  “We’re late,” she said. “Aria’s going to kill me. First, I bail on her, now I’m not even here on time.”

  “You didn’t bail on her, Mo. You’re in a different place in your life than she is. Dancing isn’t your priority,” Bash said, trying to soothe the guilt Morgan had been expressing all day about backing out of the show. “The twins shouldn’t even be out this late.”

  “They wouldn’t have to be if you didn’t insist on coming. You don’t have to babysit me. I told you I wouldn’t go onstage,” Morgan said as they maneuvered through the back entrance with the passes Aria had left at the front desk.

  “I’m not babysitting. I’m just showing love,” he said.

  Morgan rolled her eyes as she made her way toward Stiletto Gang’s dressing room. As soon as she pushed through the metal doors, she heard Aria yelling.

  “I don’t care what the contract says! You can’t make someone perform!” Aria shouted. “She didn’t sign it. I did!”

  “We only paid top dollar because we thought we would have both principal dancers of Stiletto Gang. We need you both. Our crowd is expecting Mo Money onstage tonight,” the promoter said.

  Morgan frowned as she stepped up to the conversation.

  “What’s going on?” she asked White Boy Nick, who leaned against the wall.

  “Your ass is what’s going on,” he shot back.

  “Is this about me?” Morgan stepped up next to Aria.

  “We booked you both; we need you both. The rest of Stiletto Gang is good, but they’re just backup.”

  “Who’s backup, baby? Your mama’s backup. I’m a motherfucking star,” White Boy Nick interjected.

  The promoter swiped a hand of frustration over his face. “Look, no shade, but I need the two of you onstage. The artist paid for the both of you, and on top of that, we promised the fans an encore performance with just Gang,” the promoter explained.

  “I have my kids with me. I can’t go onstage. Do you see what I have on?” Morgan defended.

  “I’ll let y’all work it out, but either honor the contract or don’t perform at all. You’ve got about a half hour to decide.”

  An exasperated Aria turned to Morgan. “Mo, I know you aren’t going to make me beg. Shit like this gets out. I signed a contract. If I don’t fulfill my end of this, we won’t be able to secure a show for months. My name is all I have. I promised them you.”

  “They can’t make you dance, Mo,” Bash said over her shoulder.

  “And you can’t tell her not to dance. Only reason she even canceling is because of you, Bash!” Aria snapped.

  “I don’t have clothes, Aria,” Morgan said.

  “Bitch, it’s a dressing room full of shit to choose from,” Aria countered.

  Morgan handed Messari to Bash.

  “I thought we talked about this, Mo.”

  “Do I really have a choice at this point?” she asked, shrugging. “It’s just one performance.”

  She followed Aria into the dressing room, and before Bash could follow, Aria stopped him, putting her arm across the door to stop him from entering. “You and the twins can wait backstage to watch the show,” she said, pointing down the hallway. “She’s performing. Live with it.”

  She slammed the door, and Morgan smiled at her through the reflection of the mirror she stood in front of.

  “Gang, gang, bitch.” Aria smirked.

  “Gang, gang,” Mo replied.

  “Kumbaya, motherfuckers. Hurry up, Power Puff Girls. We get it, you defeated the lame-ass, overbearing, insecure fiancé.” Nick clapped his hands together. “Chop! Chop! We’ve got a stage to burn down.”

  * * *

  “Gang! Gang! Gang! Gang!”

  Morgan’s heart was like a drum. She heard it in her ears, beating, creating a cadence, building an anxiety inside her as she looked out over the crowd in front of her. There were so many people … too many people … never had it been this many people … watching her. She felt like she would pass out. Two years ago, she would have eaten this stage alive. She would have anticipated the beat drop and waited arrogantly for the music to feed her soul. Two years ago, she had Messiah in the crowd watching, and whenever he was there, no one else existed. She danced for him, pictured him, only him, and her nerves faded. Now all she saw was a roomful of strangers … and they terrified her. The lights above the stage blinded her, and the crowd was cloaked in darkness. Flashes from cell phone cameras
went off one after another. Morgan stood, frozen, paralyzed, unarmed as her insecurities ate away at her. She slipped a finger in the nude one-piece bodysuit, snapping it against her thighs. She might as well have been naked. The color of the bodysuit matched her skin perfectly, and the cut was so seductive she was serving side boob and high thigh. She wished she had shorts to cover her weight gain. Her thighs were thick and busting through the nude fabric of her fishnet stockings. She wasn’t little Morgan anymore. Twin babies had put twenty-five pounds on her frame. A dancer’s frame was now a stripper’s dream. Shorty Doo Wop was stacked, but she was so insecure, she didn’t even feel like she belonged on a stage anymore. She hadn’t stepped into Mo Money’s dancing stilettos in two years. The little club performances didn’t count. That was for fun. This was big business, and if she missed one count, she would ruin Stiletto Gang’s reputation. Most days, she wore sneakers and leggings with toddler puke accenting a matching sweatshirt. No way did she belong on this stage. She had her hands full. How Aria had talked her into this performance, she had no idea. A moment of temporary insanity.

  “Ayo!”

  Morgan heard the call through the crowd. Her neck snapped to the side, and her eyes found him instantly. Ahmeek stood backstage, next to Isa, and when their eyes met, he put two fingers to his forehead in salute. It was like he could read her body language … like he knew that she was nervous, despite her most valiant efforts to pretend otherwise. His acknowledgment erased her insecurities. That hollow feeling in her belly hardened some. Ahmeek, behind her, watching, encouraging put a bit of moxie in her spine. She hadn’t known he would be there, but she was glad he had decided to come. She put her hands on her hips.

  The beat dropped, and Morgan turned the fuck on.

  Broke up with that nigga he had me stressing, I was taught to turn my losses into lessons

  Morgan’s sixteen count was so dope that Aria went crazy beside her. She jumped up and down, waving the Moschino scarf in her hand like a helicopter above her head. Morgan Atkins was gone. Mo Money was in the building.