16. KAISEN #3
One of Delphine’s friends—a woman with box braids and a sundress—leaned forward in her lawn chair, grinning. “Girl, you sho been having some fine ass men ripping and running down this street lately!”
The other women laughed, loud and unfiltered. Truth’s face went hot.
“Y’all need to chill,” she said, but there was no real heat in it. Just embarrassment.
Delphine didn’t laugh. She was still watching me, her expression unreadable. Then, she tilted her head slightly, like she was trying to place something.
“You look familiar,” she said slowly. “You look like that other one that’s been coming around here.”
My blood went cold.
I kept my face neutral, kept my body language relaxed, but my mind was already calculating.
She’d clocked it. The resemblance between me and Amai.
We didn’t look identical—I was lighter, my features softer, my build leaner—but we had the same eyes, the same jawline, the same way of moving through space.
And Delphine Renois was sharp as hell.
“I get that sometimes,” I said easily, flashing a smile that I hoped looked genuine. “Guess I just got one of those faces.”
Delphine’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push. Just nodded slowly and turned back to her fish, flipping a piece with practiced precision.
But I could feel her watching me from the corner of her eye. Could feel the weight of her suspicion settling over the yard like humidity.
Truth was oblivious, still embarrassed by her mama’s friends, still trying to recover from the teasing. She didn’t see what I saw—the way Delphine’s shoulders had tensed, the way her grip on the spatula had tightened.
She knew something was off.
And if I stayed much longer, she’d figure out exactly what.
“I should get going,” I said, taking a step back. “Let you get settled.”
Truth looked surprised. “You sure? You just got here.”
“Yeah, I got some things to handle.” I pulled out my phone like I’d just gotten a text. “But I’ll hit you up later. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
“Okay.” She smiled, and it made leaving harder than it should have been. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Anytime.”
I nodded at Delphine and her friends, kept my movements casual, unhurried. Didn’t run. Didn’t rush. Just walked back down the street like a man with nothing to hide.
But the second I turned the corner and was out of sight, I exhaled hard.
That was close.
Too close.
Delphine had seen it. Had clocked the resemblance between me and Amai. And if Truth started asking questions—if she started putting pieces together—this whole thing could blow up before I even had a chance to figure out what I was doing.
I pulled out my phone and stared at Truth’s number in my contacts.
I’d gotten out just in time.
But I knew I couldn’t stay away.
Not now.
Not after today.
I had just as much of a right to get to know the mother of my child as Amai did. The only difference was, I think I wanted Truth to be a part of my life. It was still too early to tell, though.
I pulled up to Truth’s mama’s house at exactly seven o’clock, the way I’d promised.
The sun was setting over the Seventh Ward, painting everything in shades of amber and gold.
Kids were still playing in the street, their laughter carrying on the evening air.
A few neighbors sat on porches, watching the world move around them with the kind of patience that came from living in a place where time moved differently.
I’d chosen Compère Lapin for dinner—upscale but not pretentious, the kind of place where the food was exceptional and the atmosphere was intimate without being suffocating. The kind of place where you could have a real conversation without shouting over music or dodging drunk tourists.
I texted Truth when I parked: I’m outside.
Her response came thirty seconds later: Give me five minutes.
I leaned back in my seat and waited, watching Delphine’s house through the windshield. The porch light was on. I could see movement through the screen door—shadows passing back and forth, the rhythm of a household getting ready for the evening.
Five minutes turned into seven.
Then the front door opened.
And Truth stepped out onto the porch.
I went completely still.
She was wearing a red dress that should have been illegal.
Deep V neckline that plunged between her breasts, the fabric clinging to every curve like it had been painted on.
A high split up her left thigh that showed smooth brown skin with every step she took.
Her hair was pulled back from her face, showing off her neck and shoulders.
She’d done something with her makeup—subtle but effective, making her eyes look bigger, and her lips fuller.
She looked like sin wrapped in silk.
Like temptation personified.
Like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing to every man who looked at her.
I got out of the car before I could stop myself, moving on instinct, needing to be closer. She walked down the porch steps carefully in heels that made her legs look impossibly long, a red YSL purse secured on her shoulder, and her hand lifting the hem of her dress slightly so she didn’t trip.
When she reached the sidewalk, she looked up and caught me staring.
“What?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Nothing,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “You look good.”
“Just good?”
I opened the passenger door for her. “Get in the car, Truth.”
She laughed—low and knowing—and slid into the seat. The dress rode up slightly as she settled in, showing more of that smooth thigh. I forced myself to look away, closed her door, and walked around to the driver’s side with my jaw clenched tight.
This was going to be a long night.
Compère Lapin was tucked into the Warehouse District, all exposed brick and soft lighting and the kind of quiet elegance that made you feel like you’d stepped into someone’s well-kept secret.
The hostess seated us at a corner table near the window, away from the main dining room, where we could talk without being overheard.
Truth looked around, taking in the space with those sharp, intelligent eyes. “This is nice.”
“You been here before?”
“No.” She picked up the menu, scanning the options. “I don’t usually do places like this.”
“Why not?”
She looked up at me over the top of the menu. “Because I’m usually broke, Kaisen. That’s why I agreed to be a surrogate, remember?”
Fair point.
The waiter appeared, took our drink orders—wine for her, bourbon for me—and disappeared again. Truth went back to studying the menu, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration.
“Get whatever you want,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m serious. Don’t look at the prices.”
She glanced up again, something unreadable in her expression. “You always this generous with women you just met?”
“Only the ones I like.”
That earned me a small smile. She went back to the menu.
When the waiter returned with our drinks, we ordered—she got the duck confit, and I got the redfish—and then we were alone again, just the two of us and the low hum of conversation from other tables.
I took a sip of bourbon and watched her over the rim of my glass.
“So,” I said. “You nervous about next week?”
Her hand stilled on her wine glass. She looked down at it for a moment before answering.
“A little,” she admitted. “I just want it to take this time.”
“What happens if it doesn’t?”
“We try again.” She took a sip of wine. “Until it works.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying her. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”
“It’s what I signed up for.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
She met my eyes then, and I saw something flicker there—vulnerability, maybe, or fear she was trying to hide. “No. It’s not easy.”
I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand.
Wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do this, that there were other ways to make money, other ways to survive.
But I didn’t. Because I knew she’d already made her choice.
And because I knew—better than she did—exactly what she’d gotten herself into.
Instead, I asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind since the park.
“You sure you can handle me being around?” I kept my tone light, teasing.
“I’m sure.” She took another sip of wine, her eyes never leaving mine. “And honestly? I don’t know if you can handle it. Most men can’t.”
“I’m not most men.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I mean it, Truth.” I leaned forward, my voice dropping lower. “I’m cool with it. I’ll be there every step of the way. Since you’re basically doing this alone.”
Something shifted in her expression. The lightness faded, replaced by something harder, more defensive.
“I’m not alone,” she said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” She set her wine glass down carefully. “The man from the contract—he’s been really supportive. He goes above and beyond. He’s even driving me to the appointment next week.”
I went still.
Kept my face neutral even though my mind was racing.
Amai.
She was talking about Amai.
And the way she said it—the softness in her voice, the way her eyes had gone distant for just a moment—told me everything I needed to know.
“That’s nice of him,” I said carefully. “But is it a good idea for him to be that involved?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I chose my words carefully. “Kind of sends mixed signals, doesn’t it? He’s paying you to carry his baby. But he’s also checking on you, driving you places, and being supportive in ways that go beyond what’s in the contract. That’s not just business, Truth. That’s something else.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m clear on what this is.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
But I could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the confusion, the way she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince me.
She wasn’t clear.
Not even close.
And Amai—my brother, the man who’d spent his entire life building walls around himself, who’d never let anyone get close, who’d turned emotional distance into an art form—was getting involved in ways that were going to destroy them both.
I sat back in my chair and took another sip of bourbon.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Okay what?”
“If you say you’re clear, then you’re clear.”
She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching my face for the uncertainty I wasn’t sure I wanted her to find.
“You don’t believe me,” she said finally.
I didn’t answer right away.
Because the truth was, I didn’t.
I could see the way her face softened when she talked about him. Could see the way she checked her phone periodically, like she was waiting for a text. Could see the way she’d defended him without even realizing she was doing it.
Truth Renois was falling for the man who’d hired her to carry his baby.
And Amai—whether he knew it or not—was falling right back. But there’s no way I’d let them walk off into the sunset with my child without a fight. If Truth was going to be with anyone, it’d be me.
“I believe,” I said slowly, “that you think you’re clear. But I also think it’s easy to tell yourself something’s just business when your heart is starting to get involved.”
Her eyes flashed. “My heart’s not involved.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I said okay, Truth.”
She looked away, her jaw still tight, her fingers wrapped around her wine glass like she was holding on for dear life.
The waiter appeared with our food, breaking the tension. We ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the conversation shifting to safer topics—the food, the restaurant, the neighborhood.
But I kept watching her.
Kept seeing the way she defended him.
This wasn’t just a contract anymore.
Maybe it never had been.
And when it all came crashing down—when Truth discovered who I really was, when Amai found out I’d been circling his surrogate, when the truth about the dual sperm came out—it was going to be a bloodbath.
But, for now, I sat across from Truth Renois in a restaurant in the Warehouse District, watching her try to convince herself she wasn’t falling for a man who was already halfway gone.
Amai was selfish and cared about his image more than he’d ever admit.
That’s why he was with that professor. Anyone with eyes could tell he was not into that woman the way she was into him.
Amai was starting a lot of fires, and it was only a matter of time before they consumed him.
The biggest spark was buried in his past, but something told me she was about to set all this shit on fire if she ever returned.
And I wondered how long it would take before everything exploded.