Chapter Eight #3
“I ain’t never heard of no shit like that.” He frowned.
“You’re gonna like it. I went to Georgia Aquarium with Mimi once, and we got a drawing. It’s not supposed to be a cute picture, but they’re funny nonetheless.” I sniggered.
He stared at me, making me erupt into laughter just as the guy finished the drawing and turned it around to show us. Throwing my head back, I erupted in heavy laughter.
On the picture, Romelo was side-eyeing me. His ears were big, and the artist drew the diamond studs in his ear really small but italicized the gleam. As for me, he drew my face really round and my cheeks really puffy with a blush effect, turning them rose pink.
“How could you not love this?” I laughed, reaching out to take the picture away from him. “This is so fucking cute!”
Romelo was still side-eyeing me, not to laugh, but the way the corners of his mouth were jittering made it hard for him not to join me in laughter, making it hard to maintain a straight face.
“How much is it?” I spoke up once the laughter subsided.
“Do you want it to be framed?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“It’ll be $100.”
I reached into my purse until Romelo swatted my hand away and reached into his sling pack and peeled off some money.
“Thank you, baby,” I kissed him. “Thank you so much,” I grinned to the artist.
We stood up, holding hands, then he reached for the picture. Walking away from the artist, he snaked his arm around my neck and tongue-kissed my ear, then slithered it around my neck.
“You hungry now? I already done fucked up an appetite.”
“I thought the point of coming to Turks was to sightsee?” I tittered, craning my neck to glance up at him.
“You been a problem ever since we touched down….You drowned, damn near giving me a fucking heart attack, and you out here breakin’ up happy homes.” He joked.
My jaw hung as I playfully punched him in the stomach.
“Nigga please, you ain’t cracked a smile since you been with her. I can giggle yo draws down to yo ankles nigga!” I spat.
He laughed. “I plead the fifth.”
“That’s what I thought. I know better than that.”
“You don’t know shit!”
“You like seafood?” he asked me.
“Yeah, sort of?”
“You do or you don’t?”
We stopped at a beachfront restaurant that looked like our villa.
It was luxurious, with a spa-like feel, with calm colors like blue, yellow, and white.
The hostess, a stunning woman with skin like polished mahogany and a bright smile, led us to a table outside, looking onto the beach, near the sand, so close to the water.
“Aye,” Romelo spoke when he seated across from me. “Did you seat us outside because we’re black?”
Her face turned beet red.
“Uh, um,” she stammered, looking from me to him.
My mouth gaped open in shock as I kicked him under the table. “Stop it,” I muttered through a closed mouth.
“Let her answer the question.”
“Oh no sir, I wasn’t—” she cleared her throat. “Er, um, I wasn’t trying to offend you. By all means, I’m not racist at all—”
“You ain’t got to explain yo’ self to him,” I cut her off to rebut.
“People recommend this view a lot, that’s all.”
“Who yo manager is?”
Her brows knitted. “My manager?”
“Ma’am no, don’t pay any attention to him, please. He’s just being an asshole.”
She was a little hesitant to walk away and eyed Romelo for an okay, before trotting off after placing our menus on the table. When she was out of earshot, I rolled my eyes at him.
“You’re gonna be the reason they spit in our food,” I retorted.
“Mane please, ain’t nobody gon’ spit in our shit. I’ll blow this bitch up,” he spat.
“We’re in their territory.”
“You know what you want to eat?” He questioned, switching the subject while glancing down at his menu.
My head darted at the menu, scrunching up my face.
“Don’t go getting no chicken tenders and fries,” he teased me.
“None of this stuff looks familiar.” I frowned. “I’ve eaten lobster and stuff, but seafood scares me. The last time Mimi ate some, she got food poisoning.”
“You should get the conch fritters. They’re good,” he mentioned.
The waitress came over to us, looking calmer now.
“Have you settled on your choice of drinks yet?” She smiled at both of us with a thick melodic accent.
“I’ll take a Sprite,” I spoke up first.
“Give some water—a water bottle,” Romelo chided. “How ya’ll conch taste out here?”
“It’s really good—one of our highly recommended dishes. It’s actually fresh. The chef caught it himself this morning.”
“Give us some conch fritters to start off wit’ and a lobster tail with a side of skrimp.”
Romelo passed her our menus, and she trotted off, then quickly came back with our drinks. I took a sip from the straw, scrunching up my face from the acid, as Romelo twisted the cap and gulped some of his water down.
“You know what you want to do after this…maybe go shopping?”
“We can do that. I’ll window shop though.”
He frowned, scrunching up his face before sucking his teeth.
“Do I look like the type of nigga to let my girl window shop?”
“And I’m not the type of bitch that’s gonna let you spend all yo money on bullshit.” I argued.
“If I got it, you got it. I thought this was the princess treatment you was talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Buying me things isn’t one of them. I like acts of service.
I don’t care about materialistic shit—buy me flowers because I mentioned in a conversation that I liked them.
Rub my feet because I mention that my feet are hurting, run me bath water, give me forehead kisses and tell me you love me throughout the day, give me love notes—everything. ” I ranted on and on.
“I ain’t gon’ hold you Juicy. I’m new to all that—that side of things.”
My brows knitted. “How so?”
“Trecee was the first relationship where she didn’t require much. I could come inside the house wit’ a Birkin or a Hermes and she’d love it. She didn’t require none of that, and my past encounters wit’ other bitches required a hard dick.” He explained.
I raised my brow as I sipped from my Sprite again. “So you’re not capable of being romantic?” I jested.
He shook his head no, then gulped the last bit of his water down. It made a crunch sound, indicating it was empty.
“No, but the idea of romanticism is something I haven’t grasped the concept of yet.”
“So, you’re only capable of loving me up to your standards?” I queried.
“I want you to teach me how to do things your way. I want you to show me how to do it the right way.”
His voice was sincere and soft. When he reached out to grab my hand, the callouses on his palm were subtle but noticeable. Then he began to caress the back of my hand with his thumb. His eyes were burning desire into mine, making me melt and my heart skip beats.
“I mean it, Synthia.”
“You want me to give you patience?”
“Do I have to get on my knees?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Do it now.” I commanded with a low smirk.
He didn’t hesitate. He walked over to me while I remained seated and got on his knees, making sure not to crease his shoes.
His eyes remained latched onto mine, never breaking his gaze.
He was at my height now, until he bent down and trailed his lips along my knees, down my legs, then reaching my feet where he grazed his tongue between each toe, as he clutched an ankle that dangled a rose gold anklet with his name in cursive.
The waiter intruding with our food didn’t stop him, and she didn’t bother us.
“Synthia, I want to be your man, and I want to have your heart, the right way. I want to be the only man you’ll ever love. I don’t want you to ever go lookin’ for anybody else.”
“Promise me you’ll never break my heart.”
“I promise,” he spoke.
“Promise me that if I’m not the woman for you, then you’ll tell me.”
“That’ll never happen—”
“Promise me, Romelo,” I cut him off to say.
“I promise.”
I gazed into his eyes, trying to carve away any doubt in my heart. Each day he was opening up to me, peeling away layers, showing me his scars and imperfections. The way he listens to me I talk like my words matter, and my feelings aren’t shattered.
When we’re together, everything else fades away.
My worries disappear when he pulls me close and kisses my forehead, massages the crevices and nooks on my body.
It feels so raw and unfiltered. We have a spark—a magnetic spark.
The kind that makes my heart race. It’s a deep chemistry that needs to be studied.
“Do you love me?”
“I love you enough to know what the sacrifices of losing you look like. I love you enough to breathe for the both of us. I love you enough that if your heart stopped beating, mine would too, and I wouldn’t be no good. I’ll end my life if there was a predicament where I had to save yours first.”
I took a deep breath—a shaky one—then tears formed in front of my eyes, beckoning to fall.
Then I felt my cheeks become wet from my emotions running rapid.
Despite everything and the context that this started all wrong, I’m choosing him—I’m choosing a taboo love.
I’m choosing to stay in too deep, and I hope I don’t drown.
The food came out looking like art. Along with the conch fritters, were grilled lobster tails glistening with butter and herbs. The conch fritters were golden and crispy. My mouth began to water. The rice and peas looked edible too.
“Oh my god,” I moaned after first bite of lobster, the meat so tender it practically melted on my tongue. The butter was infused with garlic and something citrusy.
Romelo watched me with those dark eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You like it?”
“It’s taste better how it here for some reason.”
“If you like this, you’d like it how my dad cooks his too. He’s talkin’ shit ‘bout doin’ a seafood boil for Thanksgiving and my mama ain’t goin’ for it.”
“I’m not a seafood eater like that, but this is good. I’d try it again, then get disappointed if it doesn’t taste like this.” I stated with a mouth full of lobster as I pointed at it with my fork.
“Seafood don’t get you full though. You’ll be hungry later.”