Chapter Two #3
The air shifts between us, the noise of the rotors fading into a hollow drum, as if the entire cabin has narrowed to the heat of his gaze.
His eyes drop, infinitesimally but unmistakably, to my mouth.
And mine—traitorous and weak—do the same, tracing the curve of his, dark brown framing a dark pink, divot that I had so loved exploring.
The taste of him echoes in my senses and I feel a swell of treacherous need building, building, building.
My hand is still splayed across his chest, half-forgotten in the panic, and beneath my palm I feel it—the sudden skip in his heartbeat, like a stone across water.
For one fractured second, it makes me ache…elated that I caused that reaction within this powerful, charismatic man.
Then the pilot opens the door, noise and sunlight rushing in.
I jerk back, spine straight.
I sternly remind myself that I can’t be elated over his heart skipping a beat. It was just a reflex. A physical reaction. And one I can’t even own if he belongs to someone else.
Someone like the mother of his child.
The Rockson land stretches wide and unbending on a gentle sloop in the heart of the Western Region. Cocoa, palm and nim trees sway in the morning breeze, the soil dark and rich underfoot. A place that breathes legacy and memory.
My legacy. Of fostering cultural enrichment beyond Ghana’s borders, through Ashon and Cilla’s dream project. It was an invitation I’d been unable to resist, despite knowing it might mean crossing paths with Theo Biney once more.
The man in question is already prowling the site like a man assessing a fully-formed vision—measuring distances with his stride, sketching invisible lines with the sweep of his gaze.
I follow, determined not to let the charged incident in the helicopter affect me.
He pauses on a rise overlooking the grove. ‘The wind corridor would work here,’ he murmurs, almost to himself. ‘A natural spine.’
I bite back the urge to bristle. ‘Unless you want students blinded by glare. You’ll need screening—timber, shade trees, maybe earthen walls.
Otherwise it’s just another vanity project designed for photo spreads, not people.
The film studio can exist in a box for all I care.
The cultural aspect, the need to connect with a rich heritage even if it’s not their own, is what will bring everyday people here. We need to capitalise on that.’
His head turns, slow, deliberate, those dark eyes narrowing. I expect mockery, but what I see instead is…interest. Almost admiration. He doesn’t say it, of course. He only nods and makes a note in his sketchpad.
Nana’s voice slices across the clearing. ‘Shade trees and earthen walls? We’re not building a village school, girl. We are building Africa’s first world-class studio.’
The dismissive girl lands like a slap.
I spin towards him, every nerve alive. ‘And this—’ I spread my arms to the expanse of cocoa trees ‘—is Rockson land. I have a say in what happens here. Even more than you do. If you’ve forgotten, let me remind you.
At least one Biney had the sense to do the right thing, even when he believed it would cost him everything. ’
I am, of course, referring to Ashon.
A stunned silence drops over the group.
The site managers glance anywhere but at us. Minions shift uneasily.
I know I’ve just landed myself squarely in Nana’s crosshairs, but I don’t care. I’ve had it up to here with all of the Bineys, especially the one who held me so selflessly on the helicopter. The one whose heartbeat I still feel on my fingertips.
When I glance at Theo, expecting censure, I find something else. A glint in his eyes that looks dangerously like pride. Support. He damps it almost instantly, shutters sliding down, but not before I see it.
And then, to my utter shock, he steps forward, places himself between his grandfather and me. ‘Nana,’ he says smoothly, silk over steel, ‘I think you should leave us to it. Let us work. The sun’s about to get unbearable and I know how much you hate the heat.’
The old man stiffens, fury rippling beneath his skin. For a heartbeat I expect him to explode. Instead, he bristles, pivots sharply and strides away, walking stick stabbing the soft earth as he heads towards the waiting SUV.
Once it’s departed in a cloud of ochre dust, Theo exhales, like he’s just broken his own rulebook. ‘Careful, Tessa. You may have just poked the lion.’
I lift my chin, ignore the quaking inside at his stark truth and wrap my fist around my own pride and gumption. ‘Aging lions roar loudest when they sense the end of their reign approaching.’
His mouth curves, somewhere between amusement and respect. ‘Indeed. Shall we get on with it?’
I give a brisk nod. But deep inside? I haven’t felt this alive in years.
Every nerve tingling, every breath exhilarating.
I tell myself it’s the land, the project, the helicopter ride, the fight even. Not Theo. Absolutely not him.
But I experience the barest tinge of regret when the next two hours fly by.
The near harmony between us when we walk back towards the vehicles in silence.
That is, until Theo speaks again. ‘Don’t forget. We leave for Lisbon at the end of the week.’
I stop dead. ‘No.’
He doesn’t even break stride. ‘I’ll give you the night to change your mind.’ His voice sounds like confidence wrapped in inevitability. ‘And you will. Because this project is in your blood now. And you can’t help but see it through the best way you know how. Even if it’s with me.’