Chapter Ten #2
My throat tightens and I blink back tears across the lunch table in her favourite restaurant. ‘I didn’t want pity. Or worse, judgement. The mess was mine to shoulder.’
Cilla blinks equally glistening eyes, then reaches across the table and covers my hand. ‘I’m not judging you, cousin. I would never. I’m mourning with you.’ She shakes her head, her other hand finding the swell of her baby-filled belly. ‘I could never imagine how… I’m sorry.’
I nod and open myself up to her sympathy.
Her eyes gloss with tears, and when mine spill over, we laugh through the wetness, two women with makeup smudged and hearts cracked open.
By the time our salads arrive, her tears have transformed into something fiercer. ‘So, we’ll be pregnant together,’ she says, determined. ‘The babies will be cousins and best friends, and grow up side by side. Can you imagine how wonderful it’ll be?’
Her words stab hope into places I don’t want it. Hope I’ve ruthlessly trained myself to smother. I shake my head, fumbling for deflection. ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t even—’
She waves me off with the regal flourish of a woman very comfortable in her role as Ashon’s adored wife. ‘Don’t argue with me. It’ll happen this time, I know it will. But… I’ll admit, I’m stunned. Theo just…accepted this? Like it doesn’t matter to him?’
My fork clatters against the plate, betraying me. ‘It doesn’t matter to him,’ I say briskly. ‘Why would it? He got what he wanted—sex, companionship, whatever. Now it’s…over.’ Maybe. Is it? ‘And I get to concentrate on what I need. That’s all.’
But my heart… Oh, my foolish heart lurches like a wild bird. Because if it truly didn’t matter to him, why does he still look at me as though I’m both a temptation and a torment?
Cilla smiles slyly, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. ‘You’ve conquered a Biney, Tessa. Not just any Biney, but the domineering one, even more so than my darling husband. I almost pity the man.’
I laugh, shaking my head. ‘Don’t romanticise this. I haven’t conquered anything. He’s still Theo. Arrogant, impossible—’
Her gaze slides past me, her smirk morphing into something startled. ‘Maybe I spoke too soon.’
I turn, pulse skipping as a hush descends on the elite crowd enjoying their lunch.
Theo is striding across the restaurant, every inch the commanding billionaire, his cocoa-brown gaze locked on me with laser precision. Conversations resume in his wake, women turning their heads to drink him in with licked lips and lustful eyes.
He gives zero indication that he notices. His eyes are fixed on me alone.
And when he reaches me, he doesn’t ask permission—of course not. He pulls out the empty chair beside me and sits, his presence blotting out the sun.
‘I should take you over my knee for being out in this heat,’ he says quietly, the fury beneath his calm unmistakable. ‘When you should be resting.’
My temper flares instantly, but I’m aware some of the heat I’m feeling isn’t derived from fury. At all. ‘I dare you to try it. You don’t get to dictate how I live my life.’
His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking. But his gaze betrays him. It drops, hot and hungry, to my flat belly. For one harrowing, hopeful second, it feels like his eyes see something I don’t. Something that both terrifies and thrills me.
And I can’t shake it.
That dangerous, impossible feeling that Theo Biney is already claiming what might one day grow there.
‘You don’t own me, Theo!’ I snap, louder this time, the clink of cutlery and the hush of voices reminding me this is very much a public setting. But the words keep coming, unstoppable. ‘You don’t get to swoop in like some omnipotent overlord and tell me when to rest or what to eat or—’
I shove my chair back and try to stand mid-tirade, fury blazing through me.
Only, the infernal brute is right, the covered terrace isn’t as cool as the interior.
It is far too hot. Too sharp, too sudden. The world tilts alarmingly and I sway, clutching the edge of the table.
‘For God’s sake,’ Theo hisses, rising in a blur. His arm snakes around my waist just as my knees threaten to give. He hauls me against his chest, face paling beneath his perfect, maddening composure. ‘Damn it, Tessa.’
Somewhere beyond my thundering pulse, I catch Cilla’s gasp, her wide eyes flicking between us. The restaurant blurs, then clears, then blurs again.
And the next moment, I’m cocooned in cool leather, the hum of an engine beneath me. Theo’s car. The air-conditioning blasts against my overheated skin.
‘Where are we going and…what about Cilla?’ I rasp, panic spiking.
‘She’s fine,’ Theo bites out, his jaw granite. ‘Her husband keeps two guards on his precious wife at all times.’ His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles tight over mocha skin. ‘Maybe I should do the same with you.’
I bristle, summoning enough energy to lash back. ‘I’m not your wife. I’m nothing to you.’
Tense silence crackles between us, thicker than the icy air. His profile is carved from stone, unyielding, unreadable. I drag my gaze to the window—only to realise we’re not headed towards the office. Or the guest house.
My chest tightens. ‘Where are we going?’
He doesn’t look at me. ‘My private doctor.’
Anger spikes again, cutting through the lingering dizziness. ‘Why are you so invested in this?’ My voice cracks. ‘It’s—I thought you’d have ended this by now… That you…’ I shake my head, fists knotting in my lap. ‘You’re driving me insane.’
His reply is quiet but firm. ‘I can live with that. As long as you’re insane and healthy.’
I can’t breathe around the ache his words stir. ‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ I mutter.
He shrugs thick, beautiful shoulders.
And I simmer and wonder how I feel so alive. So needy. So everything in this moment.
At the clinic, he stays glued to my side, his presence as immovable as a shadow. The doctor’s verdict—all clear, just exhaustion—does nothing to loosen his grip. His hand never leaves my back, his watchful gaze daring anyone to step between us.
When it’s done, he gives me a choice. ‘My place, or I stay at the guest house, annoying you until you give in.’
My heart hammers, traitorous. My mouth spits defiance. ‘As long as you leave me alone in your house, I’ll come. We have the Obibini site visit tomorrow anyway. For the ground-breaking ceremony.’
His eyes flash, his mouth opening. About to object.
‘Don’t even think about stopping me,’ I snap, spine rigid.
Tense seconds tick by. Then he exhales, slowly, before he steers us through the guarded gates of his penthouse building.
He shows me into a suite that smells faintly of cedarwood and Theo himself, places a tall glass of fruit punch in my hands, the condensation slick and cool against my skin.
Despite myself, something softens in my chest.
But he doesn’t stay. Just watches me take the first sip, then turns, leaving me in peace.
I slide beneath crisp sheets, exhaustion dragging me down.
And for the first time since Cape Town, I sleep like the dead.
The best sleep I’ve had since we returned to Accra.
Theo
The red earth smells rich, alive, ripe with possibility.
Reporters crowd the barricades, cameras clicking as speeches drone on. Flashbulbs catch on the ceremonial shovels lined up like polished weapons. Legacy, they’ll call this in tomorrow’s papers. A cornerstone moment.
I adjust my cufflinks, a small armour against the heat of the late morning sun. Then the scent of pipe smoke hits me, acrid, sharp.
My grandfather sidles closer.
For the first few minutes he remains silent, but I know better than to think it’ll stay that way.
Sure enough, after a long, studied glance, he speaks, his voice pitched low for my ears alone. ‘I hear there was…an episode at a restaurant. Something about the Rockson woman fainting, doctors—’
My jaw turns to stone. I pivot slightly, cutting him with a look I perfected long before I could afford my first suit. ‘You’re right, Nana. You are big on legacy. So let me put this in a way you’ll understand.’
His eyes narrow.
‘If you want any part of whatever legacy I’m building, watch yourself.
You stood by while my father—your own son—suffered under slings and arrows you could’ve blocked with one hand tied behind your back.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten it.’ My tone dips, lethally.
‘Attempt to manipulate me—or—’ My gaze drifts across the crowd until it lands on her.
Tessa Rockson.
Resplendent in an emerald-green sheath dress that clings lovingly to her curves, her curls pinned back to expose the proud line of her neck. The sun turns her skin into liquid bronze, her smile like a beacon as she speaks with the donors. Even from here, she steals the air from my lungs.
I bring my gaze back to the old man. ‘—or anyone I may or may not be involved with, and I’ll help you along with those empty threats you keep making and cut you off so fast you won’t feel the blade until you’ve already bled out.’
Nana bristles, his age-creased mouth tightening. But he doesn’t reply. He knows better than to risk the very speculation and scandal he failed to shield my father from, in front of the cameras and board members and sycophants who hang on every gesture. He knows better than to test me in public.