Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
NAJI
I manio and I sat across from each other at the dining table for dinner, the mood unusually calm. My plate held grilled salmon over wild rice with sautéed greens—clean, elegant, just like the house. I took another bite of salmon, chewing slowly, savoring the moment—not just the food, but the peace.
“I’ve got a gala to attend next week and I want you to come,” he announced.
I finished chewing, reached for my water, and took a small sip before dabbing the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Then I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“Okay,” I simply replied.
That was it.
There was no dramatic pause, interrogation, or suspicious squinting like he was dragging me into something messy.
Imanio stared at me like I had sprouted wings.
“That’s it?” he asked in a perplexed tone.
I chuckled. “W-what else do you want me to say? You expected a dramatic gasp? A t-tic?”
“At least one question. Nothing about who’ll be there? Or what it’s for?”
I just shrugged and reached for my water.
“I figured you were going to get to that part. S-so what is it for?”
“It’s the annual Legacy Gala. My company throws it every year—industry people, investors, media, press. Basically, a bunch of folks pretending they don’t Google me in private.”
“Oh, okay,” I nodded, casual. “What’s the attire?”
He smirked, finally. “All white.”
“Hmm. What exactly do you plan on wearing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Probably a turtleneck… and silence.”
I giggled. “A turtleneck and silence? That y-your new brand?”
“Always been the brand,” he replied, smugly cutting into his salmon with calm precision.
A phrase escaped before I even felt it forming. “Fashion felony—first degree! ” It dangled awkwardly in the air while I tried to smooth it away with a sip of water and a half-laugh.
“You good?”
“Y-Yeah. You’re just so dramatic.”
He pointed his fork at me. “And you said yes to going with me with no hesitation… look at us.”
“I… I didn’t hesitate because I trust you,” I confessed, then stabbed a roasted potato. “ And because I look good in white.”
Imanio watched me a beat longer than he should’ve, then gave a slow nod, leaned in a little and brushed a finger across the back of my hand.
“Wear what you want. But you in white? That’s gonna be a problem. Now I don’t care how you carry yo’self in public, but just know… when you get in bed, you better be a hoe.”
I took a slow sip of my water, met his eyes, and replied, “Then don’t blink, baby… because I can play saint in the streets and sinner in the sheets.”
The whole thing felt like a fever dream. One minute I was sitting on the edge of Imanio’s couch wondering how I’d even ended up in his orbit, and the next I was in an exclusive dress boutique with the store owner locking the glass doors behind us.
“For privacy,” he said with a knowing smile—because apparently, us being out together was enough to send the sidewalks buzzing.
People had already stopped and stared as we walked in, their whispers chasing us like perfume: “That’s Imanio Kors and his wife?” “She’s beautiful.” “They look good together.” Compliments rang out in a way that made my cheeks warm, though I tried to play it cool.
Inside, Imanio sat down on a leather stool like it was a throne, his posture all patience-on-life-support, looking like a man who’d rather be anywhere else but there.
The person helping me was flamboyant, fabulous, and full of commentary—André. He snapped his fingers like punctuation every time he spoke.
“Darling, we are going to make you glow ! I don’t do ordinary… not when this —” he gestured dramatically at me, “—walks through my door.”
Imanio grunted. “She already glows.”
André scoffed so hard I thought he’d faint. “ Sir! You just earned yourself one free compliment from me, but use it wisely.”
I bit back a laugh as André whisked me into a fitting room.
First Dress: A sequined, body-hugging number that shimmered like disco lights. When I stepped out, André clapped like he’d just witnessed a miracle.
“Yes! Vegas showstopper! She could step on the Strip and own it!”
Imanio tilted his head, unimpressed. “She’s not going to Vegas… and the attire is white.”
I tugged at the sequins scratching my arm. “He’s right… and I’d probably blind myself if I wore this too long.”
André waved a hand, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “Darling, don’t you worry—we’ve got more. Sequins are just the appetizer; the main course is hanging in the back waiting to snatch your soul!”
Second Dress: A flowy white gown that looked like it had been stolen straight from a fairy godmother’s dream closet. The fabric floated around me like mist, light enough to feel magical but heavy enough to trip me if I wasn’t careful. I twirled a bit and that’s exactly what almost happened.
“Disney on ice—without the ice!” I shrieked as the fabric tangled around my ankles.
André gasped, exaggeratingly clutching his chest. “Drama! I live for it!”
Imanio just sighed, rubbing his temple like going there was a mistake.
“Darling, you’re giving whimsical princess!” André beamed.
Imanio’s brows knitted. “She’s not whimsical.”
“Excuse you, she is very whimsical,” André shot back, hands on hips. “Look at those twitches—pure whimsy!”
I choked on a laugh, covering my mouth while Imanio’s jaw tightened like he was calculating how many seconds until homicide.
“Can we hurry this up?” he muttered, voice low and impatient.
André clutched his pearls dramatically. “Oh, no, no, no! You can’t rush perfection, darling!
Besides, this is only the second dress! You think Beyoncé found her Grammy gown in under ten minutes?
! Please!” He rolled his eyes and leaned close to me, stage-whispering, “Tell me, darling, how did you snag a man who’s fine as wine but looks like he’s been stood up by happiness his whole life?
That man can be a whole cologne model but sits there looking like he smells disappointment? ”
I cackled. “He’s not that bad. But he’s m-my fine grump,” I said aloud, glancing at Imanio with adoration.
Imanio’s brow ticked; that curious expression played on his face like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or proud.
Third Dress: A sleek white number with a daring slit. The fabric was satin-smooth, its clean finish catching the light so that it shimmered faintly every time I moved, and the back crisscrossed elegantly before dipping low, daring anyone to call it too much.
When I walked out, the room shifted.
André’s hands flew to his chest. “Oh my God! S top! We’ve reached perfection! This is it! Do not argue with me!”
Imanio’s eyes lingered long, his silence thicker than words. Finally, he nodded in approval. “That one.”
As André leaned in to fix the drape across my shoulder, his hand slid lower than intended, brushing my breast, then he gave it the lightest playful squeeze.
Andre gasped theatrically like he’d just confirmed a designer’s prophecy.
“Perfect size!” he sang out, tilting his head. “Honey, the dress isn’t couture—it’s you . They ought to build mannequins off these proportions. Lord, I’d rent them out by the hour just so men could cry in peace.”
The air snapped. Imanio shot up from the stool so fast it scraped against the marble floor, his glare dark enough to set curtains on fire.
“Watch your damn hands! That’s a married woman!” he growled, face carved tight with fury, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to pounce.
I caught his eyes and gave him a sharp look that screamed don’t you dare , silently begging him not to make a scene. Imanio exhaled through his nose like a dragon being forced back into its cave, chest still rising heavy.
André purred, “Ouuuu! He’s possessive! Love that for you, sis! But relax, Cujo. Is your wife beautiful? Very. My type? Far from it . No offense, honey.”
“None taken,” I said quickly.
“Sorry, guard dog, but I’m not out here competing in the straight-man Olympics.
I like my men tall enough to reach the top shelf, fine enough to stop traffic, strong enough to deadlift me, rich enough to pay off my student loans with spare change and texts me ‘wyd’ at 2 a.m. from Mykonos.
I don’t even break a sweat for a man who doesn’t wear cologne strong enough to knock out a horse or owns at least three properties and a yacht. ”
Andre flicked his wrist dramatically.
“That being said, your wife is safe… from me, anyway. That is, unless she can get me an Amex Black.”
By the time we left, dress in Imanio’s hand, I nudged him outside.
“I think you might’ve met y-your match in there,” I kidded.
“He was too close,” Imanio muttered, still simmering.
“That’s his job,” I said, laughing, swatting his arm playfully. “He was helping me. You d-don’t get to kill every man who touches fabric near me.”
He gave me a side-eye. “Watch me.”
I rolled my eyes, grinning. “You are exhausting… and dramatic. Honestly, you and André could be best friends.”
Imanio halted, narrowed his eyes at me. “You funny.”
“Yeah, and whimsical too,” I teased, sticking my tongue out.
I froze mid-step, my stomach dropping, when I noticed Tyla, leaning near the curb—alone and looking like the city had chewed her up and spit her out twice.
Her hair was brittle and wild, like it hadn’t been washed in days, lips cracked and face sunken.
She wore an oversized shirt that swallowed her once-toned frame, and shoes that didn’t belong on anyone's feet, let alone a woman who used to strut Paris runways.
No way… that can’t be her.
But her approaching me confirmed it.
“Oh my God. Naji?”
Imanio felt my body stiffened. He didn’t say a word, but he knew something shifted. His hand dropped, reaching for the strap beneath his shirt—just in case.
I touched his wrist in reassurance. “I g-got this,” I muttered.
He paused. “You sure?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I need to h-handle it.”
Tyla took a few clumsy steps forward. Her voice was shaky, like she’d forgotten how to be confident.
“You look… wow. You look amazing.”