by Tia Sirrah
I decided to take my coffee and phone out on the rooftop deck. It was colder than a pimp's heart outside, but the smell of the sea and the miles-wide view of the beach was too alluring to pass up. Tucking my bare legs and feet underneath the robe, I powered on my phone and scrolled through my call log. There were two missed calls from Aunt Helena, timestamped at 11:02 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. She also sent a followup text a few hours later with a picture of two small bundles, lying next to each other in a shared bassinet, swaddled in blue blankets and little knit caps, with their tiny red face faces peeking out.
Aunt Helena, 4:31 a.m.
They're here! Caden, 5lb, 9oz, born at 3:32 a.m. Caleb, 6lbs, born at 3:41 a.m. Both 21 inches. Novalee is doing great but is exhausted after a vaginal birth and an ineffective epidural. Conner was a trooper and, for the most part, kept it together.
I dialed Novalee first, but her phone went straight to voicemail. After leaving her a message and sending a text, I called Aunt Helena, via facetime. We had a lot to discuss—Novalee, the babies, and my engagement. All of which I couldn't wait to talk about.
∞∞∞
QUENTIN
I WOKE UP IN an empty bed. I had no idea what time it was, and for a moment, I didn't even know the day. Fatima's warm and supple body was replaced by way too many covers pulled up to my chin. Sweltering heat, that felt like the pits of hell, blew down directly onto my face from a central heating system that I never used.
After taking a piss, I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face, before slipping on a pair of pajama bottoms and heading downstairs. I went straight to the kitchen, towards the strong smell of coffee. Fatima's culinary skills were lacking, but I doubted she could ruin a cup of coffee. Right? Wrong. As soon as I took a sip, I winced at its bitterness and almost spit it out into my mug. But instead of dumping it down the drain, I swallowed the astringent liquid. If my princess took the time to make me coffee, well damn it, I would drink every drop. So what, if she couldn't operate a stove or coffee maker. I knew how to cook and had all my favorite take out dives on speed dial.
Everything about Fatima was perfect, even her imperfections, and there was only one that I could think of. Her obsession with Lifetime movies was questionable, though it was more of a nuisance than a flaw. But if it made her happy, I would eat her food, drink her coffee, and cuddle on the sofa with her for an entire Saturday afternoon watching a line-up of Lifetime movies. Okay, that's pushing it. Maybe one Lifetime movie per week—tops. All that to say, I would do anything to see her smile. To hear her laugh and snort—which was fucking adorable, by the way. Fatima was my sun. My heartbeat. My best friend. And soon to be my wife—very soon to be, if I had my way.
Her lace thong, the one I tore from her body the night before, caught my eye, folded neatly beside a handwritten note on my kitchen counter: On the rooftop deck. Fisting the thong in my hand, I held it up to my nose and took a long whiff. I was hard instantly and couldn't wait to bury myself inside of her tight cunt again, but now was not the time. First things first. I wanted the whole fucking world to know that I was marrying this woman, and for starters, I decided to call my father.
I skipped all pleasantries when he answered. "I asked Fatima to marry me, and she said yes."
There was silence on the other end of the line before he finally spoke. "With your grandmother's ring, I assume?"
"Yeah. Mom gave it to me before she died."
"Congratulations, son," he said after a beat. "I mean that."
"I appreciate that, dad."
"And…I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything. For not giving you my blessing ten years ago. And most of all, I'm sorry for how I treated Adeline. She didn't deserve it. She was always good to me, and I failed her. I broke her heart time and time again," he sighed. "I don't regret marrying your mother, because she gave me you. And I did love her. It was just that Faye, she was my—"
"I know, dad."
The subject of my father's relationship with Faye and how he treated my mother was a sensitive topic for us, one that we rarely discussed. I'd long accepted his love for Faye. It was evident that her death and the death of their unborn child still gutted him, in a place where even his love for Eleanor couldn't ease. But the way he discarded my mother, after using her and cheating on her, was a touchy subject. We agreed early on that if he needed advice, sympathy, or to be absolved of his sins, he had a priest for that. "All that to say, I'm proud of you, son. You're a better man than me. And I wish you two all the happiness in the world."
"Thanks, dad. I'm a lucky man."
"Indeed, you are." He cleared his throat. "So, when's the wedding?"
"As soon as possible, I hope."
"And Quincy? How do you think he'll take the news?"
I raked a hand through my hair and massaged the back of my neck. "No idea. I plan to reach out to him today and extend the olive branch. But there's nothing he can say to keep me from marrying his daughter."
"His problem is with me. Not you. Maybe it's time that I talk to him."
"That's probably not a good idea, dad."
"We have to face each other sooner or later. We're going to be family soon." He let out a humorless laugh. "Fuck."
"Yeah, fuck is right."
"Language, son," he quipped, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
"On that note, I gotta go, dad. My fiancée is waiting for me."
"Okay, son. Take care."
∞∞∞
FATIMA
"BABYGIRL, DON'T DO THIS," my dad pleaded. "You're making a big mistake."
I swiped my tears away with the palm of my hand and clutched my phone tightly.
Aunt Helena took the news of my engagement surprisingly well. I don't know why I ever doubted her. She'd always supported my decisions, and only wanted to see her girls—me and Novalee—happy and loved. After conversing about Novalee's delivery, Conner's near-meltdown at the sight of her in pain, and the two most beautiful babies in the world that the media was already trying to get pictures of, I surprised her by flashing my ring on camera. We laughed, cried, and squealed in excitement over the news of my engagement. Aunt Helena was over-the-moon excited that her girls had found men who loved and cherished them fiercely.
The call to my dad didn't go quite as smoothly. "I won't be at the wedding," dad said bluntly after I relayed the news of my engagement.
I squeezed my eyes shut and sunk my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from crying. I knew this would be a possibility—him not walking me down the aisle and giving me away—but to hear him say it was more painful than I ever could have imagined. "Wow. Umm…," I let out a shaky breath and fanned my face as tears welled in my eyes. "I hope you reconsider."
The anguish in his voice nearly wrecked me. "Please don't do this. Don't marry this man. Hasn't his family taken enough?"
His words felt like a thousand knives to the chest, and it hurt like hell. "I love you, daddy— with all my heart— and I always will. But if you make me choose, you're going to lose me. And that'll break my heart, because I need you, dad."
"Babygirl," he said, the thickness and gravel in his voice told me that he was crying too. "I can't lose you, too."
"Then say you'll try. Give him a chance."
"I'll try. For you, Babygirl. I'll try."
I released a breath that I didn't even know I was holding. "Thank you, daddy. I love you."
"I love you, too, Babygirl."
∞∞∞
QUENTIN FOUND ME ON the deck, with my knees drawn up to my chest and my face buried into the soft fabric of his robe. As soon as I lifted my head and turned my eyes up to him, his smile fell. "You talked to your dad?" he asked, concern and sympathy etched on his face.
"Yeah." I made room for him beside me. When he sat down, he pulled me onto his lap, and I buried my face into the crook of his neck.
"How'd it go?"
"Not bad, actually. He said he'll try."
"I'll take it. Is he in t
own?"
"He gets back next week."
"Maybe we can invite him over for dinner."
"Sounds good. You know my dad has a girlfriend now, and it's getting pretty serious."
"You like her?"
"Meh, she aight." We both laughed at that. "I'm playing. She's cool, and he seems happy."
"How about I hire a chef, and we invite them both up to the penthouse?"
"Sounds perfect. And speaking of the penthouse, where are we going to live once we get married?"
"Where do you want to live?"
I pulled back and wrapped my arms around his neck. "I love my house, but your penthouse is everything."
"So, we'll live in our penthouse."
"Our penthouse," I repeated, liking the sound of that.
Quentin planted a kiss to my forehead, and I felt his lips curve into a smile. "By the way, it feels like a sauna inside. Maybe we can compromise on the temperature."
"My bad. I forgot you're weird like that; hence you coming outside shirtless in the middle of winter. Not that I'm complaining, but still."
"What? It feels great out here."
"Fucking white boys," I muttered mockingly.
Quentin arched a brow. "You love this white boy."
"Hell yeah, I do." I threaded my hands through his hair and leaned in to kiss him. Then I snuggled back against his chest.
"I told my dad. He's cool, too."
"Yeah?" I yawned and closed my eyes.
"Yep." He yawned.
"Maybe one day we can all have dinner together."
"Baby steps," he said, yawning once more.
"I love you, Q."
"Love you too, Princess."
∞∞∞
THE SOUND OF BOOMING thunder and icy raindrops against our skin startled us awake. We hurried inside, shedding our wet clothes and stepping into the large mosaic-tiled shower in Quentin's master bath. Multi jets sprayed from all directions, thawing our freezing bodies, as we held each other close. Quentin's hands roamed freely over every curve and dip of my body, and I lathered my hands with shower gel and massaged every carve of his hard flesh. With our mouths connected in a searing kiss, we washed each other's bodies, paying extra attention to our most sensitive areas. And when he lifted me off the ground by the backs of my thighs and backed me up against the tiled wall, I instinctively wrapped my legs around him. Quentin took extra care in washing my breasts as I shampooed the slippery locks of his hair. And when he lowered me onto his cock, we both moaned in pure ecstasy as the steam enveloped us, and the water slicked our skin.
Sex in the shower turned into more sex in bed. And after we were completely out of orgasms, we cuddled on the couch in the upstairs loft, with my back against his chest—but only after I agreed to turn off the heat and settle for a fire.
Novalee called, via facetime. She and Conner were both sitting up in a double-sized hospital bed, both with a sleeping baby in their arms. It was such an intimate moment between the new family of four, as Conner kissed the foreheads of his sleeping angels before kissing Novalee on the mouth. Pure unbridled joy radiated from Conner, as he angled the phone so that Quentin and I could get a full view of their picture-perfect family.
Novalee looked radiant, even through her exhaustion, and still managed to squeal in delight when she caught a glimpse of my engagement ring. One of the babies—Caleb, I think—began to cry, which roused Caden awake, causing both parents to focus their attention back on their wailing sons. Before we hung up, we all made plans to get together at their home to meet the two new Brathwaites in person and to celebrate our engagement.
There was a tiny pang of sadness in my chest at the possibility of not being able to create a new life with Quentin. I knew he wanted kids, and I wanted them too, though I'd always been too afraid to verbalize it, even to myself. Due to the uncertainty of it all, it was much easier to keep all thoughts of motherhood safety tucked away, rather than hope for a miracle baby or some invasive fertility treatment that may not work. But after seeing Caden and Caleb, I suddenly wanted to face the topic head-on with my self and with Quentin.
"That can still be us, you know," Quentin said as if reading my thoughts.
"I'd like that." I trailed my fingers along his veiny forearms, as they held me tight. "But due to my infertility issues, we may not be able to have a big family."
"You're my family. Anything beyond that would be a bonus."
I resituated on the sofa to lay on top of him. "We could try IVF," I suggested.
"I would love to put a baby in you, any way I can. But if you decide against IVF, there are other options."
I lifted my head from his chest and shook my head in defiance. "Oh, no. We are not getting a surrogate. I've seen way too many Lifetime movies where the surrogate tries to kill the wife and take her place in the family."
Quentin sighed exaggeratedly and tickled my sides with his long fingers, causing me to cackle loudly before snorting. "What am I going to do with you?"
I squirmed in his arms at his prying fingers. "Love me," I laughed, before kissing the tip of his nose.
"That's easy." Quentin relented on his tickle torture and tucked a stray dreadlock from my bun behind my ear. "How do you feel about adoption?"
"Oh," I said, somewhat surprised. "I didn't know you would even consider something like that."
"Why not? We could give a child a good life. I think we should at least consider it. I mean, not tomorrow, but maybe in a couple of years. I want to travel the world with you first."
Could I love this man any more? "I think that's a great idea, Q." I raked my fingers through his damp hair, brushing a few stray locks back. "I can't wait to marry you."
Quentin's eyes were intoxicating. Their hazel orbs dilating into pools of golden brown as his eyes swept over my face. "I can't wait to marry you, Princess." Quentin swiped the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, and said with a sly smirk, "So now that we've established that, you have thirty days to plan the wedding of your dreams."
My eyes widened. "Thirty days? Are you high? That's nearly impossible. And it'll cost a fortune to pull off a wedding in thirty days."
"In case you forgot, I'm kind of a big deal, and money talks, sweetheart."
I rolled my eyes, even as I laughed. "Here we go. There's the cocky boy I remember."
"Just stating the facts, Princess. I just so happen to have a shit ton of money, which means we have a shit ton of money—enough for our great, great grandkids to wipe their asses with. So, whatever you want for our wedding, I'll personally see to it that you'll get it."
"This is insane," I said with a grin on my face. "And it's also fucking awesome. Let's do it."
"Go big or go home, right?" With his hand on the nape of my neck, Quentin drew my mouth close to his, and he kissed me. It was a kiss that I felt down to my toes—one filled with promise, desire, desperation, and love.
When I was fourteen years old, I gave my heart away to a skinny boy with long legs, a disarming smile, and eyes the color of a forest on an autumn day. Loving Quentin was everything I thought it would be—exhilarating, all-consuming, terrifying, and life-changing.
My mama was right. Once you give your heart away, you can never take it back. Another thing I learned along the way is that the heart is resilient. It hopes. It heals. And the heart never lies.
Quentin has my heart. And I have his.
And our story—this new life—is only just the beginning.
THE END
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About The Author
Tia and her family currently reside
in Northern California, where she was born and raised. She is a stay at home mom to two children and a wife to her college sweetheart. Falling in love with the literature greats from the past has inspired her to find her creative voice and tap into her imagination. She graduated from Cal State East Bay in Hayward, California, and received a B.A. Degree in English with a concentration in Creative Writing.
Her goal is to create books that will make you laugh, cry, cringe, and fall in love. Her characters are flawed, as we all are.
In her free time, Tia loves spending time with her family, cuddling with her cat, going to concerts, and traveling. She enjoys writing about interracial relationships and is living out her own interracial BWWM romance with her Alpha male; however, her novels are fiction and not autobiographical.
Her reading list currently consists of fiction novels about bad boy Alphas and the women who bring them to their knees.