20. Dream
T he sun dipped below the horizon as I turned into my neighborhood, the streetlights flickering on one by one. All I could think about was getting home, showering, and preparing for Damier’s first visit to my house.
As I pulled into my driveway, my eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of a dark car with tinted windows that had been behind me for the last couple of turns. A chill ran down my spine as it slowed near my house, the engine rumbling low.
I gripped the steering wheel, watching it carefully. For a moment, it idled as if the driver was debating something, but then it rolled past my driveway and disappeared down the street.
Relief washed over me, but the unease lingered. I shook it off, convincing myself it was just someone lost or turning around.
Don’t let it ruin your night, I told myself as I stepped out of my new royal blue M3 BMW.
With a deep breath, I walked into my house, ready to make everything perfect for Damier. This was his first time in my space, and I wanted it to feel like home—for both of us.
Work had been good, and despite everything that had gone down with Zaraa, I was in a surprisingly calm mood. Sometimes, losing people wasn’t a loss—it was just life clearing space for better things.
Tonight, I wasn’t thinking about Zaraa or her betrayal. I was focusing on being a wife for the first time. All I could think about was being engaged. I was still struck by my ring, and even after Zaraa tried to make me feel bad for being engaged, I was still feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft, emerald green, form-fitting silk nightgown I’d chosen. My hair, usually tied back in a bun for work, now cascaded over my shoulders.
By the time 7:00 PM rolled around, I was settled in the living room, sipping on a glass of champagne. The house felt peaceful, the faint sound of soft R&B playing in the background. When the doorbell rang, my stomach fluttered, but I stayed calm as I walked to answer it.
When I opened the door, Damier stood there in a tailored black dress shirt and slacks, looking every bit the man women pinned to their vision boards. His eyes swept over me, and for a second, he just stood there, almost drooling.
“Damn,” he said, his voice low and full of heat.
I laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “No hello?”
He pulled me into a hug, kissing my neck in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Fuck, you ain’t knocked up with my baby yet?” he teased, his tone light but his hands lingering on my waist.
I laughed again, swatting at his chest. “Dear God, not yet,” I said, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help wishing it were true.
As he walked in, I watched his eyes roam over the space. My house wasn’t a penthouse or a sprawling estate, but it was cozy, functional, and had everything a family could need.
“This is a dope-ass house,” he said, surprising me.
“Thank you,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips.
We headed to the kitchen, where he immediately gravitated toward my bar. He spotted his favorite imported cognac and chuckled, picking up the bottle.
“Now, how did you get this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I smirked, leaning against the counter. “Your mother brought it by my job yesterday for me,” I said.
He nodded, pouring himself a glass. “Figures,” he muttered, grinning.
We sat at the glass table in my kitchen, the night feeling warm and easy. But as we sipped our drinks, I decided to rip the Band-Aid off.
“My best friend’s name is Zaraa. We fought because she and my ex, Lamari, were creeping behind my back when we were together, and as of now,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. “The bitch nigga who thinks he can fight me?”
“Yeah,” I said, swirling the champagne in my glass. “I feel betrayed, but honestly? I’m trying not to let it bother me. I just keep thinking about how Zaraa was my only friend for years. I’ve been so focused on my career and my life that I haven’t thought about making new friends. I’ve always been stuck with Zaraa.”
He nodded, his voice calm but firm. “I get it. You had tunnel vision. Maybe you should start hanging with Hocus’s wife. Y’all always vibe when we’re all together.”
The idea caught me off guard, but in a good way. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s relatable and on your level. She can help you with the wedding planning, too. I’ll set something up where y'all can start hanging out.”
The mention of the wedding made me pause. “I haven’t even thought about the wedding yet,” I admitted, sighing. “I grew up in a two-parent household, but marriage wasn’t something I dreamed about. I never had a dream wedding idea.”
He moved closer, his hand brushing my cheek. “Take your time, baby. You don’t have to rush. And you don’t have a budget—whatever you want, it’s yours.”
I smiled, my chest warming. “You always know what to say.”
He leaned in, his voice soft. “I know this is all new to you, but I promise you, Imani—I’ll be your first and only husband.”
I laughed, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. “You damn right you will.”
After a few quiet moments, he broke the news that a chef was coming to cook for us in the next thirty minutes.
“I like that,” I said, grinning. “But next time, you’re letting me show you my cooking skills.”
We moved back to the kitchen, and I finally slid into what had been on my mind all night.
“So, you really like my place?”
He chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Yeah. It’s cozier than the penthouse or any house I own.”
I bit my lip, nervous but determined. “Good. Because I want you to move in with me.”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I ain’t never moved in with a woman.”
“Don’t look at it like that,” I quickly said. “This house is perfect for showing our future kids—and Donshay—that there’s balance in being wealthy. We can remodel it, make it ours.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll give it some thought.”
I smirked. “Stay a few days with me, and I bet you’ll have your answer in two days or less.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re persistent, woman.”
$$$$$
The chef arrived, and the smell of soul food filled the house, making it feel even cozier. The chef prepared a mouthwatering feast of smothered pork chops, mac and cheese, collard greens, cornbread, and chocolate pie for dessert. We ate and laughed, the night flowing effortlessly until my phone buzzed. It was my mother.
When I answered, her voice was calm but heavy. “Mrs. Knight funded the medicine for Donta to pass peacefully. It’s set to be done here, in his room, in two weeks.”
I felt my chest tighten, but I kept my voice steady. “Okay. I’ll come over tomorrow.”
As I hung up, I felt the weight settle over me like a dark cloud.
“What’s wrong?” Damier asked, his tone soft but concerned. He was sitting across from me, finishing up rolling his blunt.
I couldn’t answer at first. My throat was tight. Finally, the tears came, spilling out uncontrollably as I told him what my mother said. Damier tucked his blunt behind his ear, stood immediately, walked over, and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing. He carried me to the living room, settling me in his lap as I cried into his chest.
He stroked my hair, his voice low and soothing. “Everything gon’ get better with time, baby. Your brother’s going to be at peace, and you know he wants you to be at peace, too.”
His calm presence and the steady rhythm of his breathing soothed me in a way I couldn’t explain. He put his blunt to my lips, and I took a hit, the sharp inhale grounding me.
“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I got you.”
And in that moment, I knew he meant it.