Chapter One #2
Alice’s father, a proud, self-made man, originally from the cotton fields of South Carolina, had owned several renowned jazz clubs and restaurants in Harlem, and had paid for Harold’s college tuition––Harold’s graduation being the only requirement for allowing his precious daughter to marry a working-class immigrant, rather than one of a dozen elite, young Black men of Harlem, who all vied for Alice’s attention.
But she’d only had eyes for her West Indian wanderer, and together they’d built a beautiful life, raising three children, including Soleil’s father, Kenneth.
Soleil was incredibly close with her grandfather, who in reality had been more like a second dad to her.
Her parents, Kenneth and Marisol, were barely out of high school when they’d gotten pregnant with Soleil––a grave mistake with dire consequences for many teenagers.
But instead of turning their backs on the foolish, sixteen-year-old parents-to-be, in agreement with Marisol’s parents, Alice and Harold had sold their W 126th Street brownstone, and moved the family to Connecticut where life was more financially manageable, and where all three generations had lived under one roof until Soleil left for college.
A mathematics professor at The City College of New York, her grandad had patiently helped her with her homework, taught her how to swim at their town’s YMCA, encouraging her to be strong and confident in the water, and drove her to school every morning, even though the school bus stopped right in front of their house.
Soleil’s dad often asked why she was getting the royal treatment when he was forced to take the city bus or walk to school every day––rain or shine.
He’d playfully mimicked his father in his best Nevisian accent by saying, “When I was a young man, I had to walk tree miles to school, widout shoes, trew cattle fields and cusha tree, each one a dem tryin’ to kill me. ”
“You said I needed to get myself to school to teach me responsibility,” Kenneth had reminded his father one morning as Soleil savored the porridge her grandad usually made her.
“Yes, and what happened to all that responsibility, eh? See how you barely pass high school in the end?”
Kenneth had rolled his eyes. “Pop, all I’m saying is that you are spoiling her.”
Spoiled or not, Soleil loved those drives with her grandad.
She would tell him all about the latest drama within her friend group, which boys she liked––listing their qualifications for his assessment––and listening to his stories about coming of age in 1970s Harlem.
But her grandad never talked about Nevis––never spoke of his childhood, his life before emigrating, or about Bernadette, his first wife who had died in Nevis not long after they were married.
Soleil took another sip of her Ting just as Zuri returned to her seat. Melissa and Deirdre were right behind her on their final pass through the cabin, collecting the last service items, and inviting passengers to fasten their seatbelts and secure their belongings in preparation for landing.
“Look how green St. Kitts is!” Melvina exclaimed from the seat behind Soleil, startling Janelle from her sleep. “My word…”
St. Kitts. Soleil turned her attention back to the view in time to catch Nevis’ sister island––separated by a narrow stretch of sea called The Narrows––coming into view.
She craned her neck, taking in the verdant slopes, and the patchwork of fields, roads, and houses, then looked beyond, her heart skipping a beat as Nevis came into view––rising majestically from beneath the sea.
Nevis Peak, the island’s dormant volcano, stood sentinel, its summit hidden within a dense cloud.
She clutched her chest, willing her heart to slow down.
The plane banked gently into a slow, almost reverent descent, as though even the pilot understood the significance of this arrival, carrying her closer and closer to her roots.
Zuri reached for her hand. “You okay?”
Soleil nodded, but her eyes were wet.
Soleil descended the narrow stairs, her espadrille sandals clicking lightly, her mandarin linen sundress billowing in the breeze, the intense midday heat greeting her with a bang.
She inhaled deeply––the smell of jet fuel and briny sea water making her light-headed as her feet touched Nevis for the first time.
On the tarmac, Soleil pulled a hair elastic from her wrist and twisted her curls into a low bun.
Beside her, Zuri unzipped and removed her hoodie––revealing a tight, lilac tank top. She tied the long sleeves of the hoodie around her waist, and whistled. “Whew. Now that’s some sunshine.”
As they walked with the other passengers toward the small seaside terminal, through immigration, and out the sliding glass doors at the front of the sleepy airport, Soleil marveled at the serendipitous event that had led her here.
It was only six months ago, when she was being photographed for a New York Times profile on young movers in fashion, that Wayne Lawrence, a photographer from Nevis’ sister island––St. Kitts––had been commissioned for the job.
Listening to Wayne speak of his home island with pride and nostalgia had inspired her to dig deeper––to try to develop some kind of connection to Nevis, with or without her grandad’s approval.
She’d eventually reached out to someone on the island’s Tourism Authority board, who had eventually invited her to serve as a Tourism Ambassador, and to attend this year’s Culturama Festival––a two-week celebration from late July to early August that showcased the island’s rich cultural heritage with music, dancing, pageantry, street parades, parties, and more.
Mrs. Mannings, Soleil’s original point of contact at the Tourism Authority, was waiting outside with Jonas––their taxi driver for the week––a man with graying temples and dark sunglasses, who quickly loaded their luggage into the back, and handed them ice-cold bottles of water as they hopped into the air-conditioned van.
Soon they were driving along a sun-kissed coastline, past colorful houses nestled within lush greenery, bougainvillea spilling over stone walls, and the occasional herd of goats or band of wild donkeys wandering nonchalantly along the roadside as the taxi made its way to the Golden Rock Inn, their home-away-from-home for the next twelve days.
Hotel reception was in a quaint stone building with a boldly painted red door and jasmine vines climbing the outer walls.
Inside, Jasmine, the aptly named receptionist, welcomed them with a friendly smile.
As she filled out the registration forms, Soleil glanced out the open door and saw a man in a loose, sun-bleached cotton shirt and khaki shorts walking toward a car parked in the circular drive.
He was tall and lean, and moved with an athlete’s gait––long neat locs bouncing off his broad shoulders.
As if sensing he was being watched, he turned his head. Their eyes met for a moment, and a faint smile ruffled his lips before he got into the passenger seat of the car.
“If the rest of Nevis’ men look anything like him, I think we’re going to have a very good time here,” Zuri whispered in her ear.
“Um, excuse me, ma’am, aren’t you married?”
“Happily, but I still have eyes, and they work just fine.”
“Here are your keys, ladies.” Jasmine’s voice reclaimed their attention. Your luggage has already been taken to your cottages. If you would kindly follow me, I’ll show you the way.”
As they left reception, the perfumed scent of wild blossoms and damp earth consumed Soleil’s senses.
The stone path to their side-by-side cottages wound lazily around agave, ferns, bamboo stands, rare palms, and flowering shrubs that brushed their legs as they followed Jasmine through the cool garden.
The branches of centennial fig trees swayed overhead, their shadows dancing on the ground cover below.
Lava rocks—massive and weathered—lined the path like natural sculptures, guiding them forward.
A green vervet monkey darted through the canopy, and birds called out in bright, fluting notes.
And as sunlight broke through in patches, illuminating the purple bougainvillea spilling over stone walls, the property felt less like a hotel and more like a secret Eden to Soleil.
Their cottages were just as enchanting as the rest of the grounds, with wooden louvred windows opening onto a shared private terrace and overlooking the lush gardens.
Inside, the decor was minimalist, but colorful, with wooden chairs painted in the same bright red as the cottage doors, and sleek desks and chairs with glossy green finishes.
Soleil took her time unpacking, lining up her shoes at the foot of the bed, carefully hanging her dresses in the wooden armoire, and neatly arranging her toiletries in the bathroom, including her bottle of the yet-to-be-released new fragrance, Lovely by Lena.
She remembered the day she met Lena Harrington, and how Lena had practically begged Soleil to dress her for the upcoming award season.
It was a move that had placed Lena on every major publication’s best-dressed list, and to think, Soleil had almost said ‘no’ when Zuri had invited Soleil to the Palisades pool party.
It had been at the end of a long week, shooting back-to-back campaigns as a Blue Monkey Skincare ambassador.
Her skin had been glowing and dewy, but inside, Soleil had been running on fumes, fighting vicious jet lag from having spent the prior week in Hong Kong as a guest speaker at the Hong Kong Institute of Design.
All she’d really wanted to do that night was crawl back to her hotel with take-out from her favorite Chinese restaurant in L.A. , and fall into bed.
Thankfully, she’d opted for a double espresso instead, and had the night of her life rubbing elbows with some of L.A.
’s hottest creatives and brightest stars, and had since become one of the most sought-after A-list stylists.
Meeting Lena had catapulted her career forward, and the opportunities were still pouring in.
Some days she truly couldn’t believe the path her life had taken.
Everything felt dreamlike, as if she might wake up and find herself back in Brooklyn, getting ready for another day of meetings and the controlled chaos of her carefully curated life.
But this was real. She was here, on the island where her grandfather was born, breathing the same air he’d breathed growing up.
She was ready to discover what this little island had in store for her, and the music, the laughter, and the festival that would undoubtedly be nothing short of spectacular.
Continue reading Rock Steady With Me, or turn the page to read a sample of The Doctor’s Secret Bride.