by Zee Monodee
What had happened to make him cut his beautiful hair and turn him into this sharp-tacked character?
Around her, a hush had descended on the group, everyone now looking towards the door. Until Travis jumped up and rushed to hug Switz.
Zediah, she reminded herself. His real name is Zediah.
“Switz, my man!” Travis released him to then bump fists.
It looked entirely incongruous to see the suit-clad man who seemed so serious and important, humouring a downtrodden teen from one of the worst council estates in North London. Yet, it also seemed perfectly natural, as though Zediah belonged in this world, maybe even more so than the—corporate? Business? Banking?—universe his clothes lent credence to.
He was a music producer. Maybe he’d risen up the ranks to become a music mogul these days.
Was it the reason he was back now? There had always seemed to be something eating at Switz Bagumi in the past, like a point he needed to prove, to have the world validate. Strangely, this appeared to be gone now.
Would his next step be to take her son away from her because he could? Those clothes screamed money. He must be a man with capable means.
Thoughts of Nour flared a red-hot light in her chest. He’d get to her son over her dead body if he ever tried to twist her hand.
“Really?” Clara was exclaiming. “Rio, he’s the one who made the epic track for the gala way back?”
Hearing those last words pinched her heart as it really did seem so far away in the past. A lifetime ago, even.
But dozen-plus pairs of eyes were looking at her, and she better get a grip on herself. “It’s true.”
And those dark eyes were among the lot, yet she felt them, unlike all the others, boring into her, stripping her bare of her armour, peering straight into her soul. Blinking, she looked away. She didn’t need to hold his gaze on top of everything. Not after the way her stomach had spewed out a veritable kaleidoscope of butterflies that had rushed forth to flutter tingles in all parts of her body.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Zediah said in a low, almost silky voice.
Could butterflies grow electric, like eels? She would swear volts upon volts of current discharged throughout her system upon hearing his tone. The very same man, who had made her laugh and then soothed her worst nightmare when he had cared for her so sweetly on that night …
She gulped hard. “It’s okay. Just a lesson going on.”
The sooner she returned to some semblance of being in control, the better it would be for all of them.
“Yeah,” Travis piped up. “Rio’s about to teach us how to tango. I still remember the moves from Switz’s track, Miss.”
Bushy eyebrows rose and fell repeatedly.
Rio could almost see the youth salivating to be allowed into such a tight embrace requiring extreme closeness and sensuality throughout.
“Nice try, Travis. You’re not getting your grubby paws on me,” she quipped.
Collective laughter shook the room, the lad taking it in stride. His original crush on her way back then had become the stuff of gentle ribbing nowadays.
“Bet Switz still remembers the steps,” Travis continued.
Rio pinched her lips hard to stop herself from swearing. “He just made the music. He wasn’t there for the dance.”
“But I bet he knows how to tango. Do you, mate?”
The little shit would just not let up, would he?
“I do,” Zediah replied ever so softly.
Another gulp to force herself to retain her composure. She did not like where this was going.
“So you two could show us how it’s done. You were just telling us any track can be good for a tango, Miss.”
Would all her words and action return to bite her in the arse right then?
“I already have a partner,” she said and looked to Humphrey.
He, however, raised his hands up as if in surrender. “Two left feet, Rio. You don’t want to try your luck.”
Yep, just her luck, indeed. She should regain the upper hand. Trying to escape would not help her achieve that. So she stood straighter and cocked her head to the side, her gaze travelling over Zediah’s suit-clad form to notice the soft leather brogues on his feet. Blast it—he’d even worn shoes he could dance in.
Fine. She’d so do this. “Switz?”
An eyebrow raised on his picture-perfect face. “A tango?”
“Nuevo Tango,” she confirmed with a nod.
“Okay.”
As if in slow motion, he reached for the button on his suit jacket and undid it to then shake the garment off his body. Next, he removed the cufflinks at his wrists and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to his elbows.
Rio’s mouth went utterly dry as she watched him, careful not to let any emotion filter through her non-verbal language. It still looked like he had a fine body underneath the clothes. One she could remember oh-so-clearly if she closed her eyes …
He started in her direction, with a smooth gait and long strides eating the space between them. Finally, he stood before her, and in the heels, she only had to tilt her neck just this slightly to be able to look into his face. With him so up close and a spotlight shining just behind his head, shadows danced on his features.
A lick of apprehension flickered along her lower back. Frankly, she knew nothing about this man. She hadn’t even known his real name twenty-four hours earlier. Who knew what he was capable of? While she could say for certain he wasn’t a monster like Gary had been, there still existed so many depths about him she hadn’t probed or even fathomed.
A gasp hitched in from her parted lips, and his eyes narrowed.
“I would never hurt you.”
She blinked. Had he said that? Or was she imagining the words he had spoken to her in these very premises all those years ago? Then, he’d made her imagine, for just a second too long, what it would really be like if she were his.
All around them, music started thrumming. A mirthless snort erupted from her when she recognized the track, and across from her, Zediah smiled. An electro-pop hit from Dua Lipa. Seriously? Guess they really would challenge her claim that any music could be used for tango.
As the song finally picked up after its synth bassline opening, they started circling each other, gazes locked, their steps tentative but never hesitant. They gauged each other and read their bodies’ energies and vibes along with the feel of the music.
Then the lyrics started, some part of them registering in the back of her head as the rhythm fused with her blood and aligned itself on the tempo her partner set.
Backwards and forward, close and far, shoulders to chest to hips barely touching before moving away, their abrazo—the embrace—tight then in a loose V, fluid, natural, an equalitarian exchange where she could choose to follow rather than have his drive imposed on her.
Her hand in his firm grasp, her other palm solidly holding on to his firm, solid shoulder, the heat of skin and blood wrapping them in a cloud of perception where only they existed. Just like that night, on her sofa, when he had allowed her to take her pleasure from him …
As the singer's voice reached a higher note in the middle eight, building to a crescendo, time seemed to stop. Their bodies touched, her shoulder to his chest as he leaned and tilted to her right, carrying her with him.
Her left foot dragged softly as he pulled her along, and the energy in her left leg urged her to surrender, to stake her claim on him, to let it rise and wrap around his thigh in a natural gancho, pulling his pelvis against her softer belly—
A flare of cold realism burst at the very last second. Rio let her leg keep on dragging before she triggered her footwork, allowing her to skilfully pivot and angle her upper body away, all while he still held her hand in his.
What had she been about to do? If she’d gone along with her base instinct, they would have looked like a couple on the verge of sexual intercourse. This could not happen; there was no future for her and Switz. Zediah.
&nbs
p; The music still blaring, she steeled herself and let her body flow into the moves they’d already performed at the repeating chorus. All the while, she kept a close eye on his feet. Anticipating a sacada whereby he would displace her legs by stepping into her space and thus claim the upper hand, take back control.
But this never happened, and as the song ended and an anti-climactic silence resonated in the hushed studio, Rio tore her gaze from Zediah’s and stepped away from him. As whoops and hollers started, she caught sight of Mila stepping into the room in a frenzied rush.
Great. She’d done her part—now she could run away to her office as the teacher picked things up here.
She didn’t bother with the joyous exclamations, didn’t even stop when she heard someone saying they’d caught the dance on video. What had she done? And in front of Humphrey, no less.
Horror filled her. She reached out and quickly grabbed his hand as she went past him, tugging him with her to her office. She slammed the door shut behind her and stood there facing him with her heart running a mile a minute and tears clouding her eyes. She’d already fucked up her life twice—she couldn’t let this happen again. But she would respect his decision, whatever it turned out to be.
“I—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked hard. “I will understand if you decide to not go to the gala with me now.”
From the get-go, it had been code between them for the relationship they’d build from that point forward.
Humphrey frowned. “Why would I do that?”
So she’d need to spell it out for him. Guess it never would be easy for her. Well, so be it.
She waved towards the studio floor. “The dance … That man …”
Try as she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to say more.
“He’s Nour’s father, isn’t he?”
No point playing coy and asking how he knew. “Yes.”
“Do you want him back into your life?”
“No.”
Not when she had already committed herself to another man. She wasn’t a kind of flighty butterfly who would enjoy nothing more than to flit about in a dangerous love triangle. It exhausted her just to read about such tropes, especially in those YA books.
“Then it’s settled.”
She peered up and glanced into his face, which didn’t look any more worked up than usual. “So you’ll just take me at my word?”
“Isn’t your word good enough?” he asked with a smile, which let her know he was teasing.
“It is! But I don’t want you to think—”
“That you might be unfaithful?”
“I’ll never do that to you,” she muttered, voice thick with unshed tears.
“I know. I saw it.”
She blinked. “What?”
Humphrey chuckled. “I might have two left feet, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t learn how to dance, and ballroom, too. That moment right there, when the music reached a crescendo, everything seemed to indicate when he was dragging you along that your next move would be a gancho. Yet, you didn’t do it because you know what it means.”
A part of her had done so for pure self-preservation, but she’d also recalled she wasn’t a free woman who could just give in to her urges. Humphrey had read it all in her moves.
What about Zediah? Had he picked the same message up?
And speak of the devil—a knock came at her door, his low voice calling out her name just after.
“You should speak to him,” Humphrey told her softly.
“Don’t want to,” she mumbled, petulant.
He laughed as he drew closer and placed his warm palms on her shoulders. “He’s still Nour’s father. Unless he’s a monster, your son should get to know him.”
She could do nothing else but nod at his words.
“Good,” he said. Then, with a soft kiss on her forehead, he let her go and exited the office, leaving the door ajar behind him.
It would be up to her to take the next step now. So, fortifying herself with a deep breath, Rio stepped towards the doorway and pulled the panel wide open.
“Zediah,” she clipped out. “Come on in.”
When he got in, and she closed the door behind her, she didn’t bother to look up before firing her first question.
“What are you doing here?”
She’d been dreading this, she now reckoned, ever since he’d left this same space the previous day. Hence the headaches and the need for so much paracetamol, not to mention the sleepless night she’d tried to sweep away under layers of concealer. He knew how to reach her, whereas she had no clue. Once again. Would it be the tone of their relationship every time?
“Rio, I … I came to say I’m sorry.”
That was rich.
“And these words change what, exactly?” The tart retort had flown out of her lips before she’d even thought it through.
He remained silent for long seconds, then those strong, solid shoulders encased once again in shirt and suit jacket rose and fell in a shrug.
“Nothing, I know,” he murmured.
It suddenly dawned on her that if they were to keep up with this blame game—well, if she were—they’d be at it for hours. Time she didn’t have to lose, and especially not to invest in a battle which would do nothing but bring her down and cast her heart in pain and her soul in darkness. Were it just her? It would’ve posed no problem to go down this route. Nothing a few pints of Häagen-Dazs couldn’t cure. But she was a mother, with a son to think about, to prioritize.
“Zediah,” she started.
“I really am sorry, Rio. For the way I acted yesterday. And also for … for leaving like I did.”
She didn’t say a word in reply. Too busy trying to stave off the hurt, every time she allowed herself to recall how he had let her down after showing her the world could be a safe, beautiful place again.
“I was going to come back, you know. That’s why I didn’t leave a note.” He sighed. “I was going back home to Bagumi to speak to my parents about us.”
A little throb started in her heart, gaining momentum with every millisecond passing. “Us?”
He nodded. “Yes. I was supposed to leave for LA a week later anyway. I was going to ask you to come with me. If you’d said no, I would’ve stayed in London. As long as I had you.”
She bit her lip hard as the swell of tears grew in her throat. You had me, Switz. All of me.
But not anymore. She shouldn’t ever forget it.
“So that’s where you’ve been all this time. In LA.”
“Bagumi,” he corrected. “My father had a heart attack when I … told him I wouldn’t be moving back home.”
“When you told him about me, you mean.” She wasn’t African, Black, or of the same religion as he—interracial couples almost never got a happy ending in Bollywood or real life.
“I didn’t tell them about you. I didn’t get a chance to. Trust me, Rio, I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to let you know what had happened.”
“And they don’t have international phone lines in Bagumi?”
He could’ve called—he’d always known how and where to find her. Instead, he had just slunk away in the night.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m here asking for a second chance.”
She frowned. “At what?”
“Everything,” he added so softly, she again felt she’d imagined the word.
He couldn’t be serious. Eighteen months too late, offering too little now. She was turning her life around for good this time.
Their time had come and gone. Yet, it had also left an indelible trace, something phenomenal they’d created together.
Taking a deep breath even as her heart sawed itself in two. Everything inside her remembered loving this man only to have it all burn to cinders. She drew strength from the fact that Humphrey waited for her somewhere in the building. And he trusted her without fail. She should—and would—be building on this kind of feeling instead of fleetin
g love, which came with a lot of sorry.
“I can’t, Switz.”
His nostrils flared as he took in her response. His jaw worked as if words wanted to come out but couldn’t, then he looked up and caught her eyes with his.
“Can I at least get to know our son?”
“I’ll never deny you that.” She gulped down hard. “But you’re never, ever taking him from me.”
“I wouldn’t even dream of it. He’s yours first, Rio.”
At this, she nodded, glad they’d made it clear. His tone had rung with certainty, and her gut, which she’d started to trust on a more visceral level ever since she’d become a mother, told her he wasn’t lying.
Good. She’d introduce him to Nour. No time like the present, right?
“Got anywhere you need to be?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Then come with me.”
Chapter Six
Zediah couldn’t quite believe it as he watched the scenery change at a plodding, traffic-laden pace when they left Camden to draw closer to the heart of London. Rio was taking him to see his son!
He’d been stunned speechless when she’d replied, “To see Nour,” after he’d questioned her request to come along with her. Stupefaction had made him numb at the same time a flurry of explosive fireworks had started all through his gut to spark relentlessly around his heart at the prospect.
He had indeed followed behind her, dogging her steps as she went to grab her coat and then on a search for her PA, Martha. They found her at a table in the Mess room having a cup of tea with the pasty-faced bloke who had been hovering over Rio all along.
Something had been happening there, especially how the blond woman’s laughter had died, and her face had scrunched up upon seeing her boss. A woman plus a man alone in a room—it had looked dodgy.
A pointed glance at the man had, however, alleviated any desire to slam his fist in the guy’s face if he were doing wrong by Rio. He’d been courteous and considerate with her, nothing in his behaviour appearing shady.