Chapter Nine #3
Still, my heart leaps when she cracks her beautiful eyes open. Except what I see, uncertainty and fury flickering there, but also something fragile I pray isn’t finished, rocks me to my core.
So it’s a good thing I’m sitting down.
I stare at my wife, the woman who owns a far greater chunk of me than I bargained for, and I breathe in the antiseptic night…until she falls asleep.
Cilla
True to his word, and much to my traitor heart’s delight, Ashon moves closer while I’m asleep and plants himself beside the bed like a sentry, tension radiating off him in brutal, silent waves.
His thumbs drum the railing. His answers when doctors and nurses float in are calm, clipped and precise, each syllable weighted with warning and prime expectation.
But not when he addresses me.
‘Water?’ he asks, a distinct gentleness in his voice.
I shake my head. ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
‘The doctor was pleased with the latest scan.’
‘I know. She told me.’
A beat. His jaw ticks. ‘Need anything else?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘An explanation,’ I say, voice hoarse. ‘Why is Renée camped outside my room? Shouldn’t the great Ashon Biney’s right hand be in LA greasing palms and green-lighting sequels? Or hunched over blueprints with Theo.’
He shakes his head. ‘Theo can handle my requirements without me looking over his shoulder. And Renée’s here because she’s worried—about you, about us.’
‘Right,’ I scoff. ‘She just flew halfway around the world to hold my coconut water.’
A quirked eyebrow greets my caustic response. ‘Since you’re evidently feeling feisty…’ he says in a drawl tone, ‘…shall we clear the air?’
‘Sure,’ I whisper. ‘Tell me the ways you intend to re-establish the baseline trust you’ve broken.’
He exhales through his nose. ‘I told you, it—’ He scrubs a hand over his face. ‘The timing was—’
‘Convenient,’ I finish. ‘For you.’
He paces three steps, pivots. ‘You want a confession? Yes, I handled it wrong. I was trying to stage it—’
‘Like a scene in one of your movies.’ My voice cracks. ‘I’m not a set piece, Ashon.’
Silence expands, thick as plaster. Finally he says, ‘This is going nowhere. Rest. We’ll talk when you’re stronger.’
‘I’m strong enough now.’ The monitor beeps faster. ‘Much stronger than you think.’
He flinches at the spike, then nudges his head at the monitor. ‘No, you’re not. I won’t have you distressed again. If you won’t do it for me, do it for the baby, Cilla.’
Weariness floods me, heavy as lead. I close my eyes. ‘Fine. I need sleep. Go home.’
His jaw ripples. ‘There won’t be many times you will get away with sending me away—’
‘Then I’ll make hay now, thanks. Go away, Ashon.’
After a terse little moment where his gleaming eyes promise retribution, he picks up my hand, presses a kiss to my knuckles and then walks out, tension rigid in every line of him.
As victories go, it’s an inconsequential one because, of course, I miss his presence the second he leaves. And when the door swings open again what feels like minutes later, I assume he’s back. To torment and overwhelm. To remind me that my heart is on the steep decline to betraying me.
But it’s not my husband who walks through the doors.
It’s… Nana.
Impeccable Kente, gold-handled walking cane, smile carved in polished stone.
‘Child,’ he murmurs, feigned warmth coating every syllable. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’
I clutch the sheet to my chest. ‘How magnanimous. A phone call would’ve sufficed.’
He chuckles, pulling a chair closer. ‘Grandchildren are a blessing. Great-grandchildren even more so. But some blessings must be earned.’ He looks around. ‘And it looks like you’re being tested as to whether you deserve yours.’
I say nothing, probably because of the fury and anguish fighting for supremacy within me.
After several beats, he raises an eyebrow. ‘Nothing to say?’
I summon a starched smile. ‘It looks like you’re on a roll, Nana. And far be it for me to interrupt my elder.’
He smiles in return but it looks as brittle and disingenuous as I feel. ‘While you and my grandson enjoyed your honeymoon safari and scouting, I did a bit of scouting of my own.’ His smile sharpens. ‘Interesting history. Loans unpaid. Land forfeited. Painful, yes—but all above board.’
My pulse pounds. ‘Only if you deem extreme coercion above board.’
‘And now you intend to right that historical inconvenience?’ He taps his cane once. ‘Revenge is a…dangerous hobby for expectant mothers.’
My throat tightens. ‘I want what was stolen. That’s all.’
‘That’s not all.’ His gaze hardens. ‘You want a seat at my table. You want to rewrite the Biney name.’ He leans closer, voice a scalpel.
‘Understand me, girl. If you push this, I will raze what remains of your family’s reputation.
No more fancy documentaries for you. No more cushy tenure for your uncle.
’ He shakes his head. ‘Choose wisely, girl. Let what’s left of the Rocksons live their lives in peace. ’
A tremor shudders through me, equal parts fury and fear. ‘And Ashon?’
‘I build heirs,’ he says, rising. ‘I do not let them be led by ambition-mad wives. He knows his place. You will learn yours.’
He straightens his ntoma, mask of concern snapping back in place. ‘Rest well. Stress is unkind to babies.’ With that, he glides out, cane tapping like a countdown.
The door clicks shut.
The tears come hot and unstoppable with anger, betrayal, terror for the child who twists gently inside me as if asking what storm we’ve walked into.
I reach for the call button, then drop my hand.
Nana and his grandson have spies everywhere. I need a little more quiet. Peace.
But first I need a plan. One that protects my baby, my family, and—if I’m honest—the man who might break with his grandfather for my child…break me to keep what he believes to be his.