Chapter 37
“Be still.”
“I am being still.”
“No, you moving.”
“I’m breathing, Pip.”
“Well, stop.”
I laughed at the crazy conversation with my little sister. She was helping me get ready to celebrate my husband’s birthday.
“That’s called dying.”
“It’d be worth it if I could get this eyeliner straight.”
“Epiphany Faith!”
“There you go again.”
I sat on the edge of my bed while my sister leaned in close, one hand against my cheek as she tried to draw the perfect wing. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the window, highlighting the concentration on her face.
For a moment, it felt like we were teenagers again. Just Theory and Pip, except…
The quiet.
My sister wasn’t quiet with me. She was opinionated and usually had something to say about everybody’s business. Lately, she seemed distracted, though, like part of her was somewhere else.
“You good?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Pip rolled her eyes.
“You married a Russian gangsta. Worry about yourself.”
“Umm… you wanted me to!” I reminded her.
She looked at me all soft then and smiled. Leaning forward, she kissed my forehead.
“I did. And look how happy you are. I’m so glad you’re happy, Theory.”
Tears filled both our eyes as I wrapped my arms around her middle. Finally, she cleared her throat.
“You mess up this eyeliner, I know something!”
I laughed, but I watched her carefully. Whatever was bothering her was heavy, like it had been sitting with her for a while.
“You know,” I said casually, “I’ve been waiting.”
She side-eyed me. “For what?”
“For you to mention Jagger.”
The eyeliner paused. It was just for a second, but I caught it. Pip stepped back and set the pencil down and reached for a brow pencil.
“I’on know what you talking about,” she said airily.
I kissed my teeth. “Girl.”
“I don’t.”
I stared at her. She stared back, then looked away first. Epiphany Miller never looked away first. Yeah, this was serious. My gaze dropped automatically to her left hand.
The tanzanite ring was still there, the same ring Jagger Meriweather had put on her finger a year ago when she’d dragged him into one of her crazy schemes and accidentally ended up fake-engaged to the man who’d been in love with her for half her life.
Everybody knew those feelings had stopped being fake somewhere along the way.
Everybody except Pip. At least that’s what we’d all thought. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
“You still wearing it.”
Her eyes followed mine. A mix of emotions played across her face. I saw pain, longing, regret.
And love.
Damn.
“I know.”
“He good?”
“Yeah.”
The answer came so fast, I knew it was a lie. Whatever had happened wasn’t good. At least he was alive. Damn, my standards had gotten alarmingly low since marrying Targen.
“Pip.”
“I’m fine.”
“You not.”
She sighed. The sound was tired. That bothered me more than anything. My baby sister never sounded tired.
“I don’t wanna talk about it, T.”
I studied her face. Whatever had happened between her and Jagger was serious, serious enough that she wasn’t ready to tell even me.
But she still wore the ring anyway. My heart hurt for her.
“Okay,” I conceded.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What? Just okay?”
“Yeah.”
I stood and moved beside her. “You’ll tell me when you ready.”
A small smile curved her lips. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Chastity and Annette Miller. I’m still nosy, just well-mannered.”
She laughed, quick but real. I slipped my arm through hers.
“You should come to Port Isle this weekend.”
“Port Isle?”
“The island.”
Her eyebrows climbed. “I know Port Isle. The rich people island?”
I laughed. “I guess so. You know, it's majority Black people like us—descended from people enslaved by North Americans.
Ms. Joia bought a house down there. Sergei found out and bought her a damn estate.
There's apparently an itty-bitty neighborhood called “Russian Row” where some rich Russian families own houses.
The Sidorovs are celebrating Targen's birthday there this weekend.”
She shook her head. “I'on know, T.”
“Come anyway,” I pressed.
“Why?”
Because she looked sad and lonely and whatever was happening wasn’t getting better here. But I didn't say all that. Instead, I shrugged.
“Because I want my sister there.”
Pip looked surprised by that. Then she got emotional, but then she got annoyed with herself for being emotional. That was so Epiphany.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a yes,” I complained.
“Ay, lady! It’s not a no.”
I sighed. “I’ll take it.”
A knock sounded at the bedroom door.
“Come in!” I called.
The door opened, and I was a little surprised to find Juvie standing there.
“What's wrong?” I demanded.
He gave me a faux-hurt look. “Something gotta be wrong for me to check in on you? I thought we were friends, and this how you treat me? I'm calling Granny--”
“Julien! Cut the bullshit,” I snapped.
“Look, I know you planning something for my OG birthday. I can help,” he said excitedly.
I glared at him. “You absolutely cannot.”
“I can! I like surprises.”
“And? No!”
“I don’t understand why I can’t help,” he complained.
“Because it’s a surprise, and you can't hold ice water.”
He looked genuinely offended. “You not supposed to hold it. And you being real dismissive of how much I help around here. I helped pick your office furniture.”
“Juvie. Ms. Joia told me you suggested a stripper pole.”
“It would’ve brought the room together. Plus, you know how many problems girls work through on them stripper poles? Put the music on, get in your zone, and writer's block be damned. Then you happy, my OG happy, the marriage happy. But nobody wants to give ol' Juve credit.”
I pointed toward the door. “Leave. Now.”
He muttered something under his breath about people not appreciating his artistic vision and stormed out. Pip laughed again, but this time it was lighter.
“What we gon' do with him?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Granny Nette says we gotta keep him.”
She chuckled. “I guess. Sit down so we can finish now. You done moved so much, that wing looking like an isosceles triangle.”
I gasped and ran for the mirror. “Pip!”
“Come on, before your husband sees you, Goth Girl!”
“I hate you!”
She pursed her lips. “You do not.”
I looked at her then, my beautiful, troubled, gifted little sister. I smiled. “Nah,” I said softly. “I do not.”
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the clock on the truck’s dashboard read 11:43.
My husband looked at me suspiciously. The problem was that I had spent all day surprising him.
He didn't know what to expect next. I'd worked hard to figure out what to give a man who needed nothing material.
I wanted to celebrate our firsts for his birthday.
First, Granny Nette and some of my other family had ambushed him over FaceTime from the living room where we’d first met. They spent fifteen minutes talking about how obvious he’d been. Awestruck, Granny said. Pawpaw claimed Targen had looked at me like a man who saw his wife.
Targen denied everything. Nobody believed him.
After that, I’d dragged him to the bar where I’d first realized I still loved him. I was kinda surprised they'd let us in.
“Money talks, zolotse,” my husband explained.
“And no one is going to say anything?”
He smiled mysteriously. “What would they say? No one saw anything.”
I shook my head. “That's crazy.”
“What's our first here? The first time I killed someone for you?” he asked.
“What? Targen! No!”
Although... was it? Did the guys on the roadside count?
“It's the first time I realized I still loved you,” I mumbled.
He frowned. “You don't look happy.”
I sipped my drink before looking at him. “I put a lot of effort into hating you.”
“You didn't wanna love a nigga, but I made you,” he said smugly.
I kissed my teeth. “You can't make nobody love you.”
Heated gray eyes bored into me. “All this work I put in, showing you love is action and not just a feeling? Yeah, shorty. I made you love me.”
I went quiet because he had a point.
Then came dinner and the letter… the letter I had spent three days rewriting because nothing sounded just right. The letter that was the first thing I'd ever written directly to him. He sat there and read all of it, twice. The second time he read some of it out loud.
“You stormed back into my life and started calling me your wife before I had agreed to be your anything.
You scared me.
You aggravated me.
You kidnapped me.
You bought me a house
You built me a perfect office.
You 'handled' people on my behalf, ahem.
But none of those are the reasons I love you.
I love you because every time I'm afraid, you stand between me and whatever scares me.
I love you because you learned and loved every scar on my body and never asked me to hide them.
I love you because I sleep through the night now. Before you, I had forgotten what that felt like. I love you because you’ve given me peace. I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore. You keep me looking forward.”
And I swear his voice shook when he read, “In case no one told you, you deserve to be celebrated. Happy Birthday, husband!”
Finally, we were home. Somehow, I was more nervous than I had been all day. Targen glanced toward me as he turned off the truck.
“What you worried about?”
I sighed. “I'm not worried.”
“You are.”
His hand found mine. His hold was warm, comforting.
“Thank you for today, milaya. You really wrote me a letter.”
“I’m a writer. What you expect?” I asked with a shrug.
He shrugged back. “Maybe a watch.”
“You have watches.”
“A nice lil’ tricked out truck.”
“You have trucks, baby.”
“A Blackhawk helicopter.”
I kissed my teeth. “Boy! You absolutely not getting a helicopter!”
He chuckled. “What you gave me was better than any of that, malyshka. You let me know I’m doing my most important job right.”
The sincerity in his voice made my heart flutter. The letter had affected him. I knew it had. He’d been quiet after reading it, like he was thinking hard.
“You’re welcome.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles. “Best birthday I’ve had,” he said softly.
I laughed. “Even better than the year Sergei probably bought you a small country?”
“He never bought me a country.”
“A city, then.”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
I shook my head. Rich people. He leaned over and kissed my forehead gently.
Then, he opened his door. A fresh wave of nerves rushed through me. Lord. I suddenly wasn’t sure about any of this to come. All night, I'd focused on the past, but the gift in the house... it was about the future.
We walked into the house together. The lights I’d left on earlier created a warm glow in the entryway. Everything looked normal, exactly like I planned. Targen kicked off his shoes and started toward the kitchen. I grabbed his wrist. He stopped, looked down at my hand, then at me.
“One more thing,” I whispered.
His eyes narrowed immediately. “There's more?”
I nodded. “There is.”
“Theory, baby, you didn't have to--”
“Come upstairs,” I interrupted.
His eyebrow lifted. “Oh, yeah? Let me get some water first. We gon' need it--”
“Mind out of the gutter, perv,” I muttered.
But his words had cut through the anxiety building in my chest. I led him upstairs, down the hallway, past our bedroom. I stopped outside one of the guest rooms. It looked completely ordinary from the outside. Targen glanced at the door, then at me. A slow smile spread over his face.
God, he was the finest man I'd ever seen.
I rested my hand on the knob. My heart pounded against my ribs.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the door, then stepped aside.
Targen looked inside. At first, nothing happened.
His gaze moved across the room, taking things in.
The freshly painted walls. The bookshelf with the stack of children’s books.
The rocking chair near the window. The stuffed bear sitting on one shelf.
They were just small things, pieces of what I hoped would be a bigger picture. This room was about possibilities.
“I'm not pregnant,” I told him.
He nodded. “I know.”
“I just... you know, I told you how badly I wanted to be a mother. I know it's not fashionable, but I want to make a home... be a home for my family more than anything.”
“And that's okay. What's right for other people doesn't have to be right for us. I want to take care of you, Theory,” Targen whispered, his eyes like molten silver as they caressed over me.
“I've been scared.” The confession came quietly. “Because what if I couldn’t? What if I wanted it and it never happened? What if I got excited and got hurt again?” My voice cracked slightly.
No, Theory. I wasn't going to cry on my husband’s birthday.
“But I don't want to be scared with you. The gift is... I want to hope with you, dream with you.”
He walked around me, then hugged me from behind. Still no words, so I kept spilling them.
“I know it might not happen. I know we might try and nothing comes from it. But I realized something.”
“What?” He asked softly, swaying with me.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life acting like I don’t want things.
I want you, Targen. And I want a family with you.
I want a happy, soft life with you. You told me you were going to make me happy.
I'm going to make you happy, too. I'm going to be your peace, your calm, your--”
“Theory,” he murmured, sweeping me up in his arms.
He settled us in the rocking chair. He held me and just rocked, both of us too full of emotion to speak for a minute.
“You're so brave to face your fears, milaya. Just know I'ma be here, right beside you, being brave with you,” he promised.
A tear slipped free before I could stop it. Targen pulled me tighter against him. I pressed my face against his chest. I felt his hand on my back.
“I love you.” The words rumbled through his chest.
“I love you, too.”
My voice sounded muffled, but he didn’t seem to mind. Eventually, I tilted my head back. His eyes found mine immediately.
Like always.
A small smile curved my mouth. “Happy birthday.”
I snuggled closer to him. He held me extra tight, the way he knew I liked. And above my head, he whispered, “You made it that way.”
His phone vibrated and he groaned. I moved slightly so he could reach it. He read the text quickly and shook his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Mama wants me to meet her at the helipad tomorrow.” He smiled then. “Apparently, I am getting a helicopter.”