Chapter 10 Naomi #2
I laugh, swatting at her as she pretends to pop my collar. “Stop it.”
The dealership delivered the all-white, black-interior beauty this morning. It’s my first new car since college. My old one was fine until it started making an ominous clacking noise a couple of months ago. My family had been on my case about upgrading for years, but I’d always brushed them off.
“Just because we have money doesn’t mean we need to switch cars like we switch clothes!” I’d argued.
Aisha hops into the passenger seat, and we head for Mers, our favorite coffee shop. The traffic melts away as Burna Boy’s song “Tested, Approved an amused smirk painted across his face, his shoulders bobbing in what I can only assume is a chuckle.
"Sorry," I mouth silently, my body burning as I turn away. We slide into the car, and Aisha is still going on about his physique—biceps like sculpted stone, shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. I can’t focus.
Her words barely register over the blood roaring in my ears, my body still thrumming with the electric impression that he made.
I glance toward the door one more time, searching for him like some masochist desperate for more punishment, but he’s finally gone. Relief seeps into my chest, cooling the fire crawling up my neck—
A sudden flash—just on the edge of my vision.
Too quick to be a car. Too focused to be chance.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t say anything.
I don’t check the rearview mirror either.
I can’t. Because what if someone’s there?
I shake my head, willing my nerves to settle, and slam the gas pedal, yanking us out of the lot as if I’m a fugitive fleeing a crime scene.
“Hey, there, Speed Racer,” Aisha drawls, breaking the tense silence as she holds tight to the handle on the ceiling of the car. “You okay?”
I glance at her. She arches one brow, and her gaze drops to my hands.
It’s then I notice my death grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles cracking, my nails digging into the leather. I force my fingers to loosen and let out a slow breath.
“Yeah,” I murmur, blinking hard to push the tension out of my head, breathing out the practiced lie. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
I know she doesn’t believe me, I can feel it. But thankfully, she decides not to press the issue.
When we finally pull into my driveway after dropping Court’s pastries off, Aisha wastes no time darting to my bedroom and straight for the dress she left on the mannequin.
Her head tilts, a satisfied smile curling her lips. The dress is perfect: midnight blue, with a slit that will kiss the curve of my thigh every time I step. Tiny silvery sparkles cascade like starlight across the fabric. This one is special; this one she made just for me.
“We just need the perfect heels now,” she says, admiring her work.
I don’t know how she does it, but she is an artist. I’m not sure why she won’t do this professionally, and every time I ask, she just waves it away.
I always tell her she is more than amazing enough to dress any celebrity, including Empress Beatrix.
But for now, she is my own personal couturier, and I look stunning every time.
Christian Cavanaugh—or Captain America, as my brothers so lovingly call him—won’t know what hit him. He’s back from overseas for the first time in a year. Nobody told me that being with a military man would be this...lonely.
It’s been 365 days. 365 days of no kisses, no touches, and no him. Letters and quick phone calls aren’t the same—not when I’m craving more.
And another part of me wonders if it’s him I really miss, or the idea of being with someone. We’ve never been the most emotionally in tune. The most physical, yes, but then we never had much time before he would be deployed again.
He comes from a military family and has been insistent that he serve at least four tours.
He’d wanted to make his family proud. This had been his sixth tour—and last. Over the next couple of months, he will take his father’s place as CEO of Celestia, one of the leading pharmaceutical companies nationwide.
My father’s company has done business with his family over the years, and as far as I know, everything has gone smoothly. But I can’t help but feel some undercurrent of tension whenever Christian is in the room with daddy and my brothers for too long.
My brothers have tried to assure me it’s only a case of their baby sister being in a relationship, their constant overprotectiveness winning out.
Christian says it's because they just never had the chance to get to know him. But despite their excuses, something still seems off. Hopefully I’m just overthinking.
My therapist said that I tend to catastrophize things.
So, for now, my plan is just to start slowly, making up for lost time in a way that I hope will soften the constant tension.
I run my fingers along the soft silk of my dress and look over at my best friend. “This is your best one yet. Thank you.”
She slings her arm around my shoulder, tucking her head against mine. “What are friends for? If he doesn’t worship the ground you walk on after seeing you in this, he’s an idiot,” she whispers, giving me a gentle squeeze.
Aisha is the only person who knows about how disconnected we’ve been and how the distance has taken a toll on us.
She’s been here through every tear. This is her way of lending her support, even though she has been very vocal about her distaste for him. She made the dress only because she wants to see me happy.
“Ni! Come down to the foyer!” Tris’s voice blares over the intercom on the wall, abruptly ripping me out of my swirling thoughts. I roll my eyes, dragging my feet toward the speaker.
“Ni!” Tris snaps again, as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
What the hell— “Coming,” I answer into the intercom, the sugar in my tone so fake it could rot teeth, batting my eyelashes at Aisha for effect.
She snorts, already heading for the door. “I’m going to head out,” she says, grinning far too wide, as if she knows something I don’t. “Let me know what happens.”
“Traitor!” I glare at her retreating figure as she shuts my bedroom door behind her.
“I have to get back to the studio.”
“Fine,” I huff as we walk backward in opposite directions. “Have Malcom take you back. Sorry, I couldn’t.” Malcolm, one of our drivers, is borderline in love with her, so I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to be of service.
“Will do, right after I flirt with your brothers.” She giggles, disappearing down the main hall.
“Aisha, ewww!” I yell after her. She wouldn’t really, even though she has had the most sickening crush on Tris for years. I hear her cackle in the distance, before she says, “Hey, boys!” loud enough for me to hear.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head.