Threefold: Part 1

by Shanicka White

  Chapter 1:

  When I walked into Studio33, God herself could not have prepared me for what I laid my eyes on. Large encaustic paintings of my body were displayed all over the glass walls, the portraits broke me into chunks like I was pieces of a complex puzzle begging to be put back together. My brown thighs set on one end of the studio while the depth of my shoulders were displayed on another. It was astonishing to say the least; to see my friends’ vision of me come to life was a feeling I’d never forget. I felt so...exposed, as I stood there gawking at a water crest painting of my actual ass in corner C3.

  “How does it feel to be a walking piece of art?” a deep baritone vibrated next to me.

  “A little haunting. I’m everywhere”. I answered before looking over.

  “I know firsthand that art can never truly be as beautiful as the life its inspired by.” He spoke. The very handsome man extended his hand to me.

  “I’m Monti”. I shook it.

  “I’m Nia”.

  He turned back towards the portrait, and I stared at his profile for a bit. I could tell he admired what he saw. His strong jaw clenched under his smooth, light brown skin as his eyes danced over the piece of art. Thin, rusty brown dreads laid down the middle of his back and his body donned a tailor made, suede black Canali suite. Classis Rolex timepiece on the right, no wedding band on the left, my entire assessment took all of 7 seconds. He licked his thick lips before taking a sip of his champagne, turning to look at me just as I had looked away.

  “You seem to like what you see so far”. I said to him, grabbing a glass for myself off the passing waiter’s tray.

  “Did you like what you saw?” He asked.

  Before I could hit him back with a sarcastic remark my friend Demitrius came over to us.

  “Nia, baby girl you look impeccable”. We daintily blew air kisses around each other.

  “Thanks babe. Demi, this showcase is breathtaking, but I didn’t know the portraits you painted of me would be so...enormous”. I glanced around the studio that now had a constant traffic of art lovers. Canvas by the artist Sir flowed from the mounted speakers and set the mood.

  “Mmm, yes. It just screams at you, doesn’t it? A woman’s body should invoke many emotions, for it is the tunnel of nature and life, starter of wars and peace. Especially the bawdy you’re serving us tonight hunty. That ass is sitting in this dress!” Demetrius snapped his fingers at me in approval of my olive-green backless dress and then his attention diverted.

  “I see that you admire this piece in particular Mr....”

  “Asante. But you can call me Monti”.

  He extended his hand to Demitrius in which he gladly accepted. “And yes, I’m an admirer of the female anatomy myself”.

  “Only the female anatomy?” Demitrius looked Monti up and down like he’d already came and conquered all over his beautiful face. Monti wasn’t offended, he just glanced back over at me.

  “Yes. Only the female anatomy but I do admire your talent to capture it in such a unique way, congratulations to you both”. Monti grabbed my hand and kissed it while backing away.

  “And Ms. Nia, your presence was my favorite piece of art. Enjoy your night”. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Mm mm mmmm! Lawd in heaven that is a beautiful man.” Demetrius said.

  “He is fine”.

  “I see that you take no time securing the bag Ms. Nia Dupree”.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s the oldest son of the Asante family, you’ve read about them, I’m sure. Darling, they’re practically African royalty, Ghanaian to be exact. You know, they just remodeled a grammar school and high school on Chicago’s Southside”.

  I thought for a moment.

  “Oh yeah, I remember seeing an article about that online or something”.

  “The entire family is filthy rich girl and they’ve been rich. I’m talking old, old money. Monti just became CEO and lead architect at his father’s construction company, Building Asante. Child, the man is dick deep in money honey. Work that”.

  I laughed at Demetrius. I couldn’t lie, my friend had me intrigued about Mr. Asante but the last thing I needed was another man in my life. Besides, dating the rich and powerful wasn’t new for me and in my opinion that dating pool was highly overrated. With money and power came ego and controlment issues, I was over it. At the time I was 23 years old with more than a shoe in the runaway and print modeling industry. My career was going as great as it had ever been and the exposure from this showcase would take me even higher. Demitrius had been my friend of three years, he’s a well-known painter and photographer and he had chosen me to be the model of his controversial Pussy on The Horizon collection. He photographed me completely nude and then painted every piece of my body in abstract ways. Me and Demetrius linked arms as we walked into the crowd of Chicago’s black elite and as the night went on, I networked with all of them. Before the night was done every single portrait had sold and it changed both or lives forever. For me it wasn’t just career wise, despite my reservations me and Monti started dating and before I knew it, I had fallen in love. On my 24th birthday he surprised me with a trip to Antigua, flew out my family and friends and got on bended knee. Monti told me he couldn’t and wouldn’t live without me and if I let him, he would make me the happiest woman in the world. I said yes to his proposal and he’s been keeping his word ever since. That magical moment was only one month ago. Opening my eyes from my trip down memory lane I looked at the colorless, ten carat, floating diamond on my ring finger and then out at the city skyline as my driver navigated downtown Chicago. I was on the way to the first of many engagement dinners courtesy of my future mother in law and for more reasons than one, I was in no rush to get to my destination. I imagine by now Fatima was spewing all of her unwarranted opinions and insults about well everything regarding me and my wedding choices which was only 6 months away, Monti saw no need for a long engagement. Unfortunately, my fiancé would not be in attendance tonight, he was out of town for work and neither would any of my family and friends. I decided to invite them all to the one that I would put together myself. Tonight, it would just be his mother and all her judgmental, rich, pompous ass friends indirectly telling me I wasn’t good enough for Monti.

  “We’re here, Ms. Dupree”, Omar said from the driver’s seat. I reluctantly opened my eyes as he raced around the black Rolls Royce and opened my door.

  “Thank you”.

  I checked my reflection in the tinted windows, fluffing out my wavy jet black curls and adjusting my cleavage in the satin blue, body hugging dress. My makeup was still perfect on my sienna hued skin thanks to my personal makeup artist and my diamond, chandelier earrings glistened in the evening night which pulled my entire look together. I took one last moment to gather myself and walked into the restaurant.

  “Nia, you’re late”, Fatima said to me as soon as I greeted her.

  “Sorry, traffic”. We hugged for appearances and after countless congratulations and many thank you’s were said I finally sat down.

  “You’re dressed so provocatively. I thought I told you this was black tie”. Fatima whispered from her seat which was regretfully right next mines.

  “Are any of you lovely ladies ready to order?” The waiter came to our large table which was seclude in a private area of the upscale restaurant. The area was large enough to comfortably fit the almost 100 guests invading it, none of whom I invited. Hell, I didn’t invite myself.

  “Gin martini, very dirty”. I say to him instead of responding.

  “I’ll have one of those too” Yaya, Fatima’s younger sister said. She sat across from us at the table

  “You may want to hold back on the alcohol Nia, calories honey, an
d it dries out your skin which could already use a day at the spa”. Fatima said to me with a smile.

  “You say that wearing a Mac store on your face. No one needs a drink more than a bride to be with you in their business”, Yaya said, reading my mind. Fatima cut her eyes and started to reply but was interrupted.

  “Soror, how are you!” the woman walked over and spoke. They fell into conversation and walked off.

  “Girl, how do you do it? She’s my sister and even I want to slap her ass”, Yaya leaned in and said.

  “I have more patience than God thanks to her. It takes everything in me, trust, but if I cuss her out she would twist the situation around and influence Monti in a negative way, and you know she can”.

  “I know, she got the boy wrapped around her finger. He’ll do anything she says. The shit is weird”. Yaya was 35 years old and the black sheep of her family. Next to 2 sister and one brother, she was the youngest. Fatima shunned her every chance she got simply because Yaya was an opened lesbian which clashed with their Islamic culture. Her family like to blame her sexuality on the fact that she was so young when they came to America but Yaya was loud and proud about who she was and I admired her for it. She was the only one I was close with in Monti’s family and she hated Fatima almost as much as I did. When I asked her why she simply said, “Because the bitch is evil”. Both Monti and his mom were very general and short about their immediate family history whenever I asked but when I went to Yaya, she filled me in.

  When my fiancé was three years old, Fatima met and married his stepdad, Nathan. Nathan is a very successful man with a lineage of generational wealth. His grandfather migrated from the deep south to Chicago and fell into the construction business, eventually starting his own. That business was handed down to his son and eventually to Nathan who expanded the company into architect and international dealings and now he was grooming Monti to inherit the almost billion-dollar empire. Fatima is very hush, hush about how she came to know Nathan but Yaya told me they both first spotted him in their homeland together.

  “In our city, that man looked like a goldmine walking through the street market and he had a beautiful woman on his arm, they were clinging to each other like they had been together for years. Kissing and carrying on. Everything about Nathan and that woman looked like money and Fatima couldn’t stop staring. At the time she was a single mother, Monti’s father had gotten killed a year prior during a robbery and left nothing behind so she had to move back into the small, dirt floor home with our parents and our other two siblings. Like me, she was tired of being piss poor but that day in the market she was fed up. I remember her sneaking in late at night for a week straight after that, when I kept asking about it she only told me she was doing what needed to be done to get a better life. After that week, Fatima come tell our father she was engaged and Nathan wanted to move all of us to America. He hadn’t even laid eyes on Monti yet”.

  Yaya believes Fatima put some type of root on Nathan and frankly who wouldn’t? Either that or Fatima had the illest Na Na in the world. A week?

  “I hope you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into by marrying into this family”. Yaya voice brought me back to reality. She had a look of concern for me on her face.

  “Trust me, I can handle your sister. I’ll play nice until I say I do and after that, she better hope she’s even invited into me and Monti’s home”, I said. The waiter came back with our drinks and we clinked glasses. When I looked across the room, Fatima was staring a hole into me.

  Two hours in and I was finishing up my third gin martini. By that point, the crowd had shrunken and Fatima wasn’t paying me any mind, this party was more for her than me anyway, Yaya kept me entertained but she had just stumbled out of here and the dinner party was set to go another two hours.

  “Oh Nia, I just know your wedding gown is going to be absolutely stunning. Have you started looking for a seamstress?” a friend of Fatima’s came over and started conversation.

  “Not yet”.

  “Don’t worry, I know someone, my soror. Her work is one of a kind, I have her card right here, give me a second”, the random woman started searching through her Birken bag.

  “I’d love that information but excuse me, I have to run to the ladies room”. I got out my seat and exited before she could say one more thing. When I closed the double doors to the private dining area my lungs exhaled in relief. I tried to compose myself while I made my way to the lower level where another bathroom was located because I didn’t want to risk running into a future wedding guest in the one near us. The gin had me off my ass, I can’t lie. I didn’t plan to get drunk but whenever I hung with Yaya, which wasn’t often because she was never around, we always had a good time and the dinner party was boring as shit. A few feet away from the heavy oak door to the restroom, like magnets my eyes connected to his. He was sitting at the bar talking to a woman in a red dress and it looked like the words he spoke caught in his throat. His gaze had me frozen and I eventually had to force myself to turn away and continue into the three-stall restroom. I took my time squatting over the toilet.

  What the fuck is he doing back in Chicago?

  As I stood in the mirror and washed my hands I jumped as Free walked through the restroom door and locked it behind him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I turned around, almost frantic.

  “Damn, life is funny as hell”, he said but not a hint of laughter was on his face.

  “Are you stalking me?” I asked

  “No, this was just a very convenient coincidence”. He slowly walked over and stood over me, his familiar scent invaded my senses.

  “Where’s my money, Nia?”

  I swallowed hard then turned back towards the mirror to check my appearance, “All this time and you risk your life for that piece of change?”

  “It was over a million dollars and who said my life was at risk?”

  “Last time I checked you were leaving like a thief in the night so you wouldn’t catch a bullet in the ass. You told me you would never come back”.

  “That situation is handled”, he paused. “Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever see you again”.

  “When you left, I was hoping you never did” I said. He met my eyes in the mirror. It was hard to deny the tug on my heart even in my drunken haze. I hadn’t seen Free in almost two years and the last time I looked into his eyes I was expressing how much I hated him. He smirked.

  “You look good”, his eyes roamed down my body and then he walked closer, until his body pressed into mine. I had to grip the marble bathroom countertop from the sudden contact.

  Why am I reacting like this?”

  “Get the fuck off me Free, you really think everything between us is cool? Niggah, mo—”. My protest was instantly shut off from the sensation of Free’s moist lips kissing down the side of my face, towards my neck where he placed his hand and sucked on it aggressively. “Wait, stop it. We can’t. I’m enga—-“.

  “If it ain’t me and you, that shit don’t matter” words he had said to me so many times before. I still tried to push myself out of his grasp.

  “You’re so full of shit. Let me go Fr--” He stuck his tongue down my throat shutting me right up. Fuck. Why did he do that? Old habits die hard so I kissed him back. The more intense our kiss got, the more I felt the liquor kick in and the further my inhibitions slip away. I didn’t protest when he slid my dress up or when he moved my thong to the side and when his fingers grazed my clit, I moaned out loud even though I didn’t want to.

  “See, look at that, it’s dripping wet for me, just like I want it to”, he breathed into my ear while his fingers did magic. My legs spread open like a vault and he pushed the head of his dick inside of me. When did he even pull his pants down? The thought of protection didn’t cross my mind because he was right. We belonged to each other and our bodies were home to each other so my pussy denied all logic and hungrily accepted every inch of him. With his hand still around my neck he gave me dee
p and consistent strokes, by instinct I arched my back for him and when I couldn’t control my moans Free put his hand over my mouth.

  “I missed this” he breathed out as he slapped me on the ass. The background noise of the restaurant faded out and the only thing I could hear were Free’s balls slapping against my body and the gushi music he created with it.

  He finally removed his hand from around my mouth and grabbed a handful of my hair, gently pulling my head back so I could see us committing sin in the mirror. His face looked so sexy as he made expressions letting me know that he was truly enjoying the feel of me, my muscles started to contract, gripping him every time he pulled out to the tip then pushed all the way back in.

  “Oh fuuck”, I felt the pressure building up, it never took long with him and he never missed.

  He leaned in and so he could kiss on my neck again and drill even deeper, his eyes never leaving mine. “You gone cum for me the way I like?” Free asked, pulling the straps to my dress down and grabbing my titties. My legs started to shake as he showed no mercy and pounded into me relentlessly, there was no space between our bodies and when his fingers started to massage my clit again with the same rhythm as his back shots, I gave Free what he wanted.

  “Damn, look at all that cream on my dick. Yea, this still my pussy”. He said with confidence. He held my body as I damn near convulsed from the intense orgasm and he kept stroking the entire time.

  “I can’t take it”, I moaned out.

  “You know how to take this dick. Throw that shit back”. He smacked both of my ass cheeks until I obliged, throwing it back and matching him pound for pound. “Fuck. There you go, get you another one before I buss”. My pussy and Free’s dick were a match made in heaven, whatever he wanted it to do, it obeyed and whenever he was around, it was his and he knew this. Not letting up, we fucked each other with aggression and unresolved emotion, it almost felt like deja’vu if it weren’t for the bathroom stalls. Suddenly I could feel him starting to jump and pulsate inside of my walls.

  “Fuck” he growled louder than he should have, the pressure was building back up for me as he literally dug out my release and his. I prayed I didn’t scream this man’s name out loud as he made me come for a second time.