20. vanity fair
vanity fair
MARLEY
I enter the Honu House, my nerves on edge and my eyes bouncing nervously around the restaurant.
The place is filled with a posh crowd, a blur of movement, with everyone dressed in their finest clothes.
Servers glide through the tables with trays of hors d’oeuvres and a yellow cocktail with a mini green palm leaf sticking out of it.
I spy guests laughing, dancing, and talking animatedly, but my eyes are still searching for that familiar handsome face.
When I finally spot him near the back, my heart literally skips a beat. I hate that he makes me feel this way. Nervous and giddy and, dare I say, lustful.
Even now, with his back turned to me, Othello has some kind of magnetic pull that makes it difficult to focus on anything or anyone else.
He is a hard man to resist. And it isn’t because of how sexy I think he is.
It’s because of how easy he is to talk to.
How comfortable he makes me feel. His humble confidence, his thoughtfulness, the way he makes me laugh, and how he is always the perfect gentleman.
The crowd seems to be moving in slow motion as I saunter through the rich and famous.
My nerves are doing back flips in my stomach, and my heart is fluttering like mad.
My eyes zero in on Othello and no one else.
He’s talking with a group of men, his broad shoulders relaxed, his stature tall and poised.
He lifts his glass to his lips, but pauses.
He either feels my presence or someone says something because he and the men he’s standing with all turn to look at me.
Now I feel like I’m on fire, my cheeks burning with uncertainty and excitement.
Othello looks at me, and I can’t help but smile. When he returns the sentiment, my knees almost give out. He has the sexiest smirk. Full lips that curve up in a lopsided grin.
So sexy.
A voice in my head warns me not to get caught up. I have to remind myself why I’m here. Othello didn’t bring me here by choice. More like panic. Tonight we’re both playing a game of great pretenders. This is all a stunt. It’s not real.
Randomly, I hear Michael Jackson’s voice in my head, saying, “None of it’s true. None of it’s true.”
Yes. None of this is true.
Othello and I continue our walk towards each other, heat coiling in my stomach the closer we get. When Othello reaches me, his eyes are on my mouth. He runs a tongue across his lips and then slowly leans in, his mouth landing softly on my forehead.
Me and my fuckin’ rules.
As if reading my expression, Othello’s luscious lips curl into that dangerous, heart-stopping smile.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low and teasing.
“Fashionably, I hope.”
His gaze drifts down my body. “Yes, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs. “You look…incredible.”
“Thank you. Did I miss much?”
“Not at all. You’re right on time. Everyone is just mingling before we sit for dinner. How’s your headache?”
“Gone.”
“Perfect.”
I don’t know how long we stand there, our eyes flirtatious and smiling, when Othello finally says, “Let’s get you a drink, and I’ll introduce you to Gavin and the rest of the guys.”
“That sounds great.”
A drink might settle my nerves, though being next to Othello already feels like the safest place in the room.
It’s the curious eyes, the whisperers, the lingering glances that make my stomach twist. I’m sure the Gavin, Othello, and Carina love triangle is the talk of the night.
I try to put on a face that looks like a nonchalant, happy girlfriend.
Othello takes my hand. The contact is brief but electrifying, his fingers lacing through mine.
“What do you like?” he asks when we arrive at the bar. He flags for the bartender.
I arch a brow. “You mean, you don’t know your girlfriend's favorite drink?”
This makes him laugh. “Remind me again. I forgot.”
“Oh wow. Red flag,” I say, gasping dramatically. “Forgetting my favorites? Tsk, tsk.”
Our eyes connect again, a charged silence sparking between us. I turn to the bartender, saving Othello before he has to answer. “I’ll take a French 75.”
Othello shakes his head and slides a hand down his face. “You’re right. I guess we do need to get on one accord.”
“Yes. We do. Get your head in the game, Mr. Kingston. We’re playing a game of make-believe.”
“You’re right. We are. We have to make this look seamless.”
“Genuine.”
“Flawless.”
“A smooth game of pretend.”
Othello shakes his head. “It won’t be hard pretending with you, Marley Jacobs.”
The way he says it steals my breath away. He leans in, so close I can feel the heat from his body.
“Don’t forget rule number one,” I remind him, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah. I know. But number one isn’t this.
” He grazes my cheek with his lips. “And it’s not this.
” Another soft kiss caresses my jawline.
“It’s not this either...” he nears the side of my neck, a shiver racing down my spine.
I pull back, completely flushed. My eyes land on his, and I think I’m ready to risk it all.
Othello waits for me to make the move and close the space between us.
To kiss him. And for the first time, I stop searching for reasons not to.
What would it hurt?
I lean closer, drawn to him in a way that feels impossible to fight.
“Ahem…”
An annoyed grunt breaks the spell. Over Othello’s shoulders are two dark brown orbs staring at me.
Carina.
In all her pretty girl glory.
She stands there, flanked by two of her bridesmaids, giving Isis from Bring It On with her bougie cheerleader clique. They smile too wide, too phony, eyes scanning me like I’m wearing last season’s shoes.
“Well, don’t you two look cute,” Carina chirps. She tilts her head. “Charley, right?”
My patience consumes me, almost like it’s holding me in a hug to keep me from getting out of line.
I realize that Carina’s behavior has nothing to do with me.
Whether she wanted Othello or not, she could still be jealous that he had moved on and was with me.
I mean, I didn’t miss the way she looked at Othello yesterday when we first arrived.
She looked like a woman who was still holding onto a bit of her past.
“It’s Marley,” I remind her coolly. “And hello, Carina.”
“How are you two enjoying the night?” she asks, but she’s not even looking at me. Her eyes are on Othello. The bartender calls to get our attention. My liquid courage is ready. Othello reaches for it and hands it to me before he puts an arm around my shoulders.
“It’s going well. We’re having a good time.”
Carina’s smile is tight and pinched. “I’m glad.”
Are you really?
“I love your dress,” Minion One says to me. She extends her hand and introduces herself as Carina’s cousin, Jaylah.
“Thank you.”
Minion Two speaks up. “I’m Camila. I heard you’re the editor-in-chief of Mod magazine. I read that all the time.”
I’m glowing now. Finally feeling less intimidated.
“Thanks for your support.”
“No problem. You guys do a good job of recycling trends.”
My glow fades.
“Excuse me, everyone,” Collette calls out, vying for everyone’s attention, lightly tapping a silver fork against her water glass.
The music lowers.
I cut my eyes at Camila. But she doesn’t look moved.
“Good evening, family and friends! We’re about to start dinner.
But I just wanted to say that I’m so glad everyone was able to make it out to celebrate Carina and Gavin’s next step in their journey.
This week is about love, laughter, and new beginnings,” Collette coos.
“Let’s raise a glass to the happy couple.
May this be the first of many memories we’ll cherish together. ”
Carina drinks in all the attention, raising her glass in the air and smiling proudly. Gavin joins her, taking her hand and leading her to their assigned seats.
Othello touches the small of my back and lowers his head to whisper in my ear.
“Ready?” he asks.
And I’m not sure if he means to eat or to finally put on a show for these people.
“Ready,” I answer, and he takes my hand in his and leads me to the long rectangular table large enough to seat fifty guests. The place cards have us seated right in front of Carina and Gavin.
How convenient.
Othello pulls my chair out for me, and I take a seat, setting my clutch on the table next to my water glass.
Everything is styled to perfection, reminding me of a spread straight out of a luxury bridal issue.
Crisp linens, layered place settings, and white dendrobiums that I know cost a pretty penny to ship this far.
Collette sits between her daughter and husband, looking very much like the Queen of an empire. She’s wearing a sleeveless sequined halter-neck jumpsuit in a beautiful shade of purple.
“Marley, I don’t think you met my husband, Jerome.”
“No, I haven’t,” I reply, offering him a polite smile. “But I’m a huge fan of your music.”
Jerome’s expression warms, clearly used to recognition but still gracious about it. “I appreciate that,” he says.
“I commend you and my wife. Yoga at the crack of dawn takes the kind of discipline I don’t possess.”
I laugh, and a man sitting to my left and in front of Jerome joins in.
He’s a husky man with broad shoulders and a belly that reminds me of Santa Claus.
“I agree. The only thing I’m greeting at sunrise is a hot cup of coffee.” Then he wraps one arm around a woman sitting next to him, who is wearing an elaborate diamond necklace. “And my wife. If she’s in the mood.”
His petite, graceful wife swats his arm playfully. “Oh my goodness, Thomas. Please. Don’t listen to him.” She reaches across from him and extends her hand towards me. The ring on her ring finger could blind a small village. “Hello, dear. I’m Angela, and this is my corny husband, Thomas.”
I laugh softly, slipping my hand into hers.
“Hello to you both.”
“We’re glad to have you here, Marley. Othello, you sure know how to pick your women.” Thomas lets out a booming laugh, his round belly shaking with every chuckle.