Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rayne
Iwatch DK with his family and see the blueprint. Not a different man—the foundation of the one I already know.
The man who carries responsibility like it was stitched into his bones. The tenderness behind the discipline. The way he loves quietly, but completely.
It all makes sense.
Their family isn’t big, but it feels full.
Growing up, it was mostly me and Dad. Our own little unit against the world.
I never felt like it wasn’t enough. It was love.
It was home. But now, surrounded by the scent of roasting meat and garlic, the steady hum of conversation, and the melodic rhythm of isiZulu, I feel myself slipping into something just as warm and wonderful.
“Ntanami, you have strong hands,” Gogo says, guiding mine as we make the phuthu pap. She takes a large fork, showing me how to fluff the maize meal so it won’t clump together in a block. “Not too soft. Good. A woman must know how to feed herself and her people properly.”
I bite back a smile as she watches over my shoulder like a culinary drill sergeant. We move on to the sheba. I thinly slice the onions into half-moons as directed, dice the tomatoes from her garden, and finely mince the garlic.
“Yebo.” She gives one firm nod like I’d passed an exam.
DK tried checking on me twice, only to be shooed off both times.
Gogo clearly runs this kitchen with an iron ladle.
Through the open window, the hint of woodsmoke floats from outside.
Angelo is chill—a man of few words who stays loyal to the coals and avoids both the kitchen and his mother-in-law in equal measure.
Naledi lets her mother take center stage, not because she isn’t strong, but because I suspect she learned long ago which battles deserve her energy and which ones can be won with silence and a raised eyebrow.
I like her. She has the same warmth as DK—the kind that is natural and doesn’t demand attention.
Neo is a whole damn circus. That man cannot be serious for a minute.
He tosses playful digs at DK every chance he gets, and DK volleys them right back.
But underneath it, there’s so much love.
Their bond lives in the banter. In the ease.
In the way DK instinctively gets Neo a beer before he voices wanting one, in the way Neo slings a casual arm around DK’s shoulders with affection.
It makes me think of Sophia. I’m not mad at him for rejecting her.
Salty on her behalf? Absolutely. But not mad.
Neo’s a player, that’s undeniable, but from everything I’ve heard from DK and seen so far, he’s not cruel.
If anything, I think he saw something soft and untouched in Soph that he didn’t trust himself not to ruin.
In his own backwards way, he probably thought not returning her interest was somehow honorable.
Dumb, but coming from a good place. Sophia deserves someone who sees her fire, not just her innocence. Someone who understands that softness doesn’t mean “too sweet.”
Watching Neo now—grinning, charming, ribbing—I can’t help thinking that the girl he was trying not to ruin might’ve been a woman capable of ruining him right back.
I tuck away my musings when Gogo reminds me that the sheba needs to be stirred.
Cooking for a celebration turns out to be a full-day affair with plenty of nibbling in between.
When the meal is nearly ready, I excuse myself to the bathroom and check my phone.
Anika stays on the edges of my mind. I see a message from her, and my heart does a hopeful gallop, only to stutter a second later.
It’s a field team update. She’s still doing her job, but she’s cut the cord on us.
The silence around our friendship feels heavy.
When I re-enter the kitchen, DK catches my eye. It’s the kind of look that asks if I’m okay while also saying it’s okay if I’m not. He’s got me either way.
I love him.
There’s no falling anymore—I’m there. And it doesn’t scare me. He’s proven time and time again that he’s nothing like Hollis. He’s a man who will hold my love like it’s sacred.
I offer him a smile before his mom steals my attention.
“Rayne, come,” Naledi says, handing me a large ceramic bowl of chakalaka. “Take this outside.”
The patio table is an extension of the kitchen’s soul.
It’s covered in a vibrant, woven cloth beneath a large umbrella, overflowing with dishes that tell the story of two heritages.
Bright yellow rice sits beside calamansi chicken, and the warm phuthu pap I helped fluff.
Next to them is a deep bowl of rich peanut kare-kare served over tender samp instead of rice, the creamy grains soaking up the sauce.
Its savory aroma mingles with curried mince stuffed into crispy lumpia.
A large dish of adobo-braised greens adds a sharp, vinegary tang to the spread, while grilled pork belly waits beside the thick sheba.
We take our seats, and for a moment, the backyard goes quiet. Gogo sits at the head of the table, the royal-blue silk scarf I gave her wrapped regally atop her head.
“We give thanks,” she says, her voice low and resonant.
I’m not religious, but I respect the weight of the moment. We bow our heads. The blessing is a fluid mix of English and isiZulu, thanking the ancestors and the Creator for the harvest, the family’s health, and the company. When she finishes, she looks directly at me.
“The old ways back home may say the men eat first,” Gogo explains, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “But Ubuntu teaches us we are nothing without each other. A kingdom cannot stand on one leg, and a true king does not eat while his queen has an empty plate. In this house, we serve each other.”
Yasss, Gogo, I think to myself. I love that even as she honors her roots, she’s reshaped tradition to fit her family. No wonder DK respects women the way he does. He was raised by queens.
My gaze shifts to him. A soft smile touches my man’s mouth as he spoons kare-kare onto my plate while I slide two skewers of citrusy chicken onto his.
Once everyone’s plate is heavy with food, Gogo claps her hands together once, the sound sharp and joyful. “Now we eat until the stories are finished.”
I quickly learn that means the conversation is as plentiful as the food.
Naledi speaks of her late father. DK had already told me about Mandla Dlamini—his fierce activism during the Struggle in Gauteng and the risks he took fighting for liberation.
But listening to Naledi and Gogo retell those stories feels entirely different.
Their voices carry a musical cadence as they speak of the man who helped shape the foundation DK stands on.
“Mandla was a lion,” Gogo declares with love and pride, tapping her knuckles against the table.
“He did not tolerate injustice. And he passed that down.” She points a finger at DK.
“This one followed him everywhere as a boy. He didn’t become a crusader, but he believes in taking care of people and doing what’s right. ”
“I’m not in my grandfather's league,” DK says humbly. “I just run campaigns. Rayne is the one doing the real work.”
Angelo glances between us with a knowing look in his eyes. It’s both protective and perceptive. He understands the dangerous tightrope we’re walking—that by day we publicly battle each other, while privately, secretly, we have this.
“Rayne, where did your interest in politics come from?” Naledi asks before her next bite.
“I was born and raised in Bayside,” I say, feeling their collective attention—the curiosity reserved for the first woman DK has ever brought home.
“My mother passed away when I was little, but my dad... he made sure I never lacked love. He’s a children’s book author.
He writes stories with social messaging in a way that kids can grasp.
He taught me that people matter more than things and that community counts.
That if you believe in something, you fight for it. ”
“A good father leaves a permanent mark on a daughter’s heart,” Naledi says with a spark of relatability in her eyes. “It takes courage to protect what matters.”
“I know Bayside has to grow to thrive. But paving over the waterfront isn’t the answer.”
Under the table, I find DK’s hand and gently squeeze it. “I recognize DK is trying to pull his candidate toward a more balanced center. That still doesn’t put us on the same side, but we both know who we are, and I trust his heart completely.”
“Bayside is lucky to have her fighting for it.” He lifts my hand and kisses the knuckles.
Naledi and Gogo smile with open delight.
“Looks good on you, bro.” A lazy grin spreads across Neo’s face. “Takes the heat off me.”
Gogo narrows her eyes at her grandson. “A man cannot play, play his entire life.”
“I like playing, Gogo.” Neo laughs, completely unfazed. “I don’t want to be locked down.”
“Locked?” Gogo sucks her teeth, instantly dismissing the excuse. “Marriage is not prison, Neo.”
He raises an eyebrow, not at all convinced.
Across the table, Angelo, who has been quiet until now, shrugs. “Personally, I’m a happy inmate.”
Naledi tosses her crumpled napkin at him, and the table erupts into laughter.
It feels normal. It feels like belonging. It feels easy to picture this as my future.
After dinner, cleaning is a family affair. Gogo appreciates that I’m just as meticulous about tidiness as she is. She watches me wipe down the final counter, a smile softening the lines around her mouth.
“The way a person treats the kitchen shows how they treat people. You have a clean heart, ntanami. Your father raised you well.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at both the compliment and her approval. Neo cuts and serves the birthday cake he brought, watching closely for Gogo’s reaction after her first bite. “A man who can pick a good cake should know how to pick a good woman.”
He brushes it off with his usual grin and a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek.
Settled in the living room, we sip Amarula over ice and launch into a raucous game of Lucky Nine. They teach me how to play, shouting and betting with leftover matchsticks. Later, when Naledi pulls out the family photo albums, DK’s protests are promptly ignored.
I flip through the pages, seeing all the stories I’ve heard come to life—DK with chubby cheeks and an expression far too serious for such a little boy.
We steal a moment alone under the excuse of taking the empty glasses to the kitchen. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his chest.
“Your family is amazing,” I murmur. “They’ve made me feel so welcome.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I told you they’d love you. Gogo doesn’t just let anyone make the phuthu pap. It’s basically a rite of passage.”
“I think she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t starve you.” I laugh, feeling happy, and tighten my arms around him.
“The game!” Neo shouts from the living room. Our cue to return.
Gogo and Naledi, exhausted from cooking, eventually head upstairs to bed while the men shift their attention to the Azkals men’s soccer match streaming from a rainy evening in Manila.
I sit next to DK on the sofa, tucked into the curve of his arm, while his eyes stay locked on the pitch.
DK told me how much it meant for Angelo to have his sons watch the first match of the season with him.
Deciding to give them that time together, I press a kiss to DK’s jaw. “I’m going to head up.”
“I’ll be there soon to tuck you in,” he whispers, the dark promise in his voice sends little shivers down my spine.
I rise from the couch and say goodnight to Angelo and Neo, who lift their eyes off the screen only long enough to return the words.
The cheers and chatter from downstairs are muted behind the closed door of DK’s room. I gather what I need from my bag and step into the shared bathroom, tilting my face up to the warm spray. I’m well-fed, well cared for… and completely in love.
I take my time applying the rich, moisturizing lotion I packed specifically for this weekend, the one that leaves a subtle gold shimmer.
Need thrums through me as I rub it into my skin, feeling that deep, pulsing beat of anticipation.
I apply a light mist of my favorite perfume—notes of vanilla, rose, and bergamot—to the pulse points at my neck, wrists, and behind my knees, the fragrance intensifying from the heat of my body.
I slip into the chemise I’ve been saving. It’s milk chocolate, open at the front except for a thin tie between my breasts, and so transparent it might as well be invisible. I set the leather restraints on the side table, and leave the lamp on, so he can see them—and me.
Then I pull back the covers of DK’s bed and slide in. The low buzz of the vibrators fills the corners of the room. This is exactly how I want him to find me when he comes through that door to “tuck” me in.