27. Chapter 27
Queen Adanna
I cooked simply because I couldn't sleep last night.
Dame and I fucked for some hours, and he was slumped right after it happened.
However, I was another story. I hadn't heard a peep out of Brooklyn or King Eze in days, and every instinct in my body was screaming that something was off. I’d been waiting on her to try another move, to throw another wrench into our lives, but the silence on her end was deafening.
Jade had already tapped into the docs and confirmed there hadn't been much movement, updating me that the prenatal DNA test was being processed by the board.
But I kept that part to myself. I didn't say a word to Dame because he was finally just starting to get back to himself, back to his normal groove, and I wasn't about to ruin that peace just yet. So instead of laying in bed letting my mind race through a dozen worst-case scenarios, I got up and cooked. I set Dame’s warm towels up and kissed him until he woke up. He should be getting dressed soon.
When are we ever trapped like that? Is Auntie slipping? Or maybe we moved in too fast? Either way, my mind would not rest.
Once the dining table was set with fresh fruit, eggs, grits, crispy bacon, and warm biscuits. I walked down the east wing to get Quan for breakfast.
I pushed open the door and found him laid out flat across the king-sized bed in a pair of loose basketball shorts. This man was laid up with his bare chest showing as his phone rested in his hand. My eyes briefly scanned his build before making my presence known.
"Breakfast is ready," I said flatly, leaning against the doorframe.
Quan smirked, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress. "I was looking for you... figured you were out getting into trouble."
"I don't get in trouble," I replied, keeping my tone cool and dismissive.
Quan stood up, stretching his arms high over his head. "I don't know... looks like you don't really run shit around here no more."
My eyes narrowed into slits. I took three steps into his personal space, stopping inches from his chest. "That is far from the truth and don’t try no fuck shit while you're here."
Quan looked down at my mouth. "I got you, Mamas. My bad."
"Stop flirting with me," I murmured, stepping back toward the hallway.
Quan chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. "I'm not the one who's flirting."
I rolled my eyes, turned on my heel, and walked off to go get my man.
I went all the way to the west wing, where Dame was sitting on the edge of the mattress, tying his designer sneakers.
"I made breakfast," I offered casually, leaning against the bedpost.
Dame blinked, pausing mid-knot, staring at me. "You did what?"
"I actually made breakfast," I repeated. I stepped up behind him, sliding my hands over his heavy shoulders. "I was thinking that we could all spend the day together."
Dame raised a skeptical eyebrow, tilting his head back to look up at me. "Doing what?"
I smiled wide. "Going to the Fruit Festival that you were trying to decline."
Dame rolled his eyes hard. "Babe, we shouldn’t be out..."
"Come on," I pressed, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "It'll be good for us to be out in the community."
He agreed, as he continued to get dressed.
Ten minutes later, the three of us were sitting around the grand dining table, clearing off the last of the breakfast plates.
I sat back with my glass of water, letting my eyes jump between my husband and my ex. I had expected thick tension, maybe a territorial dick-measuring contest or thrown hands before the coffee got cold. But instead, the two of them had somehow descended into a subtle bromance.
Quan took his last bite of biscuit, pointing a thumb over at Dame. "I ain't gonna lie, Dame... them kicks are fire. Where'd you cop that?"
Dame leaned back in his chair. "Appreciate it, bro. The brand is called Bathu. But I was looking at what you walked in with, that vintage hoodie? Bruh, that was clean as a bitch."
"Man, stop playing with me," Quan laughed, shaking his head. "You got elite taste, King."
"Shit, you ain't doing too bad yourself," Dame offered, giving him a genuine nod. "Respect."
I just sat there, watching the two men in my world swap fashion tips and compliments over my homemade cooking.
I pulled out my phone, checking the time on the screen, and tapped my nails against the tabletop to break up the brotherhood.
"All right, gentlemen," I said, pushing myself up from my seat.
I looked over at Quan, resting a hand on my hip. "Quan, you can use any of the open spaces on the compound to entertain yourself while we're gone."
Quan leaned back, raising an eyebrow with a slow smirk. "Can't I come?"
"No," I replied smoothly, a faint smirk playing on my lips. "It's a date and you're not invited."
Quan chuckled, shaking his head, while I stepped behind Dame's chair and gently tapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on, King," I murmured softly.
Dame stood up, pulling his jacket on, and we left Quan at the table as we headed out to the estate SUV.
***
After we left the fruit festival, I swung the car onto the winding back roads that cut through the heart of the Aiken tribe’s territory.
Dame sat in the passenger seat beside me as he watched the transition from paved city streets to the towering timber and ancestral stone gates of the district.
" re we making a stop to pay our respects?" Dame asked softly.
"Yeah," I replied, keeping my hands steady at ten and two. "I want to do it while we have time.”
Dame turned his head to stare at me, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before his expression smoothed into quiet solidarity.
"I'm right behind you, baby," Dame said.
We pulled up to the main house of the Aiken family compound.
It was a classic structure built with dark cedar and native stone, surrounded by towering oaks that filtered the bright sunlight into soft, golden patterns across the grass.
You could tell immediately that the family was gathering.
Rows of vehicles lined the gravel driveway, and the faint, comforting aromas of slow-roasted meats, fried plantains, and traditional spiced stews drifted out toward the porch.
They weren't crying. They were celebrating her life in true tribal fashion—honoring her spirit with food, memory, and presence.
I parked the SUV, and cut the engine. Dame stepped out first, walking around to my side to open my door.
As we walked up the steps onto the wide front porch, the low murmur of conversation inside suddenly lulled. Several extended family members were scattered around the porch and living room holding small glasses of spiced rum and plates of food.
The moment I stepped through the front threshold with the King by my side, the house went quiet.
Eyes widened across the room. Whispers died on lips. The shock on their faces was hard to miss. I didn't carry my weapon in my hand. I walked in softly, keeping my posture respectful and my hands visible, letting my energy speak before I opened my mouth.
An older woman stepped out from the kitchen doorway into the main living room, wiping her hands on an embroidered apron. She had Tamika’s brown eyes, but her face was lined with the deep dignity of a mother who had carried decades of tradition on her back.
Tamika’s mother froze the second her eyes locked onto mine. A plate in an uncle's hand rattled slightly against his glass.
I stopped a few feet away, breaking the silence.
"Peace be to this house," I said smoothly, dipping my head in a traditional gesture of respect. "I know my presence here is unexpected... but I couldn't let another sun set without coming to offer my personal condolences to you and your family. I am deeply sorry for your loss."
The mother stood motionless. The tension in the room felt like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest touch.
Slowly, the mother set her towel down on the edge of the dining table. Without saying a word, she closed the remaining distance and reached out, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
I pulled her in close, hugging Tamika's mother deeply, holding the weight of her grief. I felt the slight tremor in her hands as she rested them against my back, feeling the raw, human pain of a mother who had lost a piece of her own flesh and blood settled into me. Dame stood a step behind us.
We held each other for a long moment. The relatives slowly eased their shoulders, and a few softly exhaled as the tension bled out of the air.
When she finally pulled back, her hands rested on the sides of my arms. She looked up into my face and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Your heart..." the mother whispered softly. "Your heart is just as beautiful as your mother's."
I froze.
The breath caught tight in the back of my throat.
My pulse stopped as icy shock rolled down my spine.
Nobody spoke about my mother like that. My jaw tightened as the urge to ask burned in my chest. But as I looked at the grief sitting in this mother’s eyes, surrounded by the photos of her fallen daughter, I swallowed the words right back down.
Today wasn't about me. Today was about being there for my people, about standing in the gap of grief and showing respect to a family that was hurting.
I forced a soft, genuine smile onto my face, keeping my focus locked entirely on her pain.
"Thank you," I murmured gently, squeezing her hands before stepping back. "May her spirit find absolute rest, and may this home be filled with prosperity and love."
Tamika's mother gave me a grateful nod. "Bless you, child. Bless you both."