Chapter 2
DAKOTA DONOVAN
Daufuskie Island, South Carolina
“I need a drink. All this baby talk is making me itch.”
I laughed at my cousin, Hannah, and watched as she got up and walked over to the cart filled with bottles, glasses, and buckets of ice.
It was a makeshift bar, Tedra, the manager, had one of the staff set up for us.
We’d come out here after the dinner that looked like it had been prepared for a queen and her court, which …
shit, since I owned the gorgeous, luxury bed and breakfast we were staying in, I guess that was me.
“I can’t wait ‘til Pippin knocks her smart ass up,” Regan, one of my other cousins said from where she sat on a cushioned wicker couch.
We, the eight of us, all Donovans by blood, had convened here on the large back porch of the Southern Sunset B&B. It was my turn to host our yearly cousins’ get-together and the break from life I sorely needed.
Morganna laughed. “That’s definitely gonna be a big announcement. As goofy as Pippin is, he might have the reveal on the jumbotron during one of his games, while his ass dances up and down the field like he does when he gets a touchdown.”
The others joined in on the laughter and I couldn’t help grinning myself.
Hannah, Maria and Morganna, the triplets, were Aunt Loretta and Uncle Billy’s pride and joy.
Maria had recently taken the CEO position at my father’s advertising agency, Hannah was a pediatrician, and Morganna owned a logistics company.
Kendra was one of Aunt Alice and Uncle Myles’ daughters.
CeeCee, her younger sister, was in Egypt on some type of research project, and after our video call this morning, was having serious FOMO.
They were my closest female cousins, geographically and thus relational.
While Regan and Bailey were also on the East Coast, Bailey lived and worked in Connecticut at our other cousin Trent’s PI firm, and Regan lived in Miami where she worked within the Donovan Media Corporation.
Suri, the youngest of our tribe, and the only one born and raised in London, was the newest mother of the bunch.
“Listen,” Suri said, her British accent clear, “Pregnancy is a lot to manage.”
Hannah held up a finger as she took a healthy gulp of the brown liquor she’d just poured. “See, that’s exactly what I’m not doing.”
More laughter erupted.
“But,” Suri interjected, “I wouldn’t trade a minute of that turmoil because I have the most perfectly beautiful son I could’ve ever wished for.”
“That last part is the honest truth,” I said.
As I’d never been pregnant, I couldn’t really speak on the first half of her statement.
Jaxon Gabriel Rawlings was beyond adorable.
At eighteen months old, he was on his way to being a little heartthrob with his rich chocolate complexion and dimpled cheeks.
Regan squealed. “Yes! Yes he is! Let me see another picture.” She held out a hand for Suri, who sat beside her, to pass her the phone. “It isn’t fair that Dakota and Shawna have seen him so many times and all I’ve gotten is pictures.”
Suri had been keeping her phone either in her hand or within arm’s reach as she waited for daily picture texts and calls from her husband, Pierce, with news about their little boy.
I couldn’t believe she’d finally left them to come to the States this time.
Last year’s get-together had me, Kendra, and Morganna heading to London to see her and the baby, while the others remained stateside either because of job or family obligations.
Shawna, my sister-in-law, had seen him even more times than me, since my brother Cade was Pierce’s best friend and thus, Jax’s godfather.
Cade and Shawna had gone to London for Jax’s birth.
They’d made the trip several times after that, and again for his first birthday when they’d taken my niece/mini-me, Malissa, with them.
After eagerly opening her phone and scooting closer to Regan, Suri swiped over pictures and Regan cooed.
“Damn, you act like you don’t have one at home,” Hannah quipped, coming back to cross her legs beneath her on the couch she was sharing with Kendra.
Morganna and I sat in solo chairs while Bailey and Maria were on the porch swing.
It was a beautifully quiet night as the sun set over the Calibogue Sound.
This was one of my favorite places in the world.
I’d visited Daufuskie Island many times as a child when my mother brought us to see her older sister Helene.
I used to hate returning to the city after being here for a week or two and was ecstatic three years ago when I received my cousin Max’s email with pictures of the B&B that had just hit the market.
I didn’t even bother with a return email, just dialed his number and screamed, “I want it!”
He laughed, and thirty days later I owned another business.
“Facts,” Bailey said in response to Hannah. “Raleigh is my little ladybug. One of the main reasons I’m always hopping on a flight down to Miami.”
Regan chuckled. “Like you don’t have a bunch of little faces to enjoy at home. Sam and Karena’s kids and Lynn’s son are right there whenever you get up from under Devlin to go across town and visit them.”
Bailey shook her head. “You ain’t have to go there. My husband and I are not always in bed.”
“No, you’re bent over the back porch railing like you were the day I showed up at your door,” Maria shot back.
Bailey grinned wickedly. “That’ll teach you not to call first.”
“Well, excuse me.” Maria chuckled. “Forgive me for wanting to see my cousin while I was in town for a quick business trip.”
“You’re excused,” Bailey said, holding her glass up in salute toward Maria. “And I was very happy to see you … after, we were finished.”
“Wait,” Suri interjected. “You made her wait while you, uh, finished?”
Bailey’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Did you think I was gonna stop? Have you met my husband? Two things that man don’t play about is me and getting his nut.”
We all fell out laughing at that. Mainly because, while we didn’t know Devlin Bonner on sexual terms, we were all very aware of how serious the ex-Navy SEAL and former mercenary was about Bailey.
We sat outside for another hour talking, reminiscing, and yes, drinking.
This was one of the few times we could really relax and be ourselves.
Besides all of us being women of a certain age—which for us meant in our mid to late thirties—we were also career women, focused on making our mark in this world.
While that sent each of us on our individual paths, the Donovan blood running through our veins kept us irrevocably connected.
Rather, the weight of the legacy created by our great-great-grandfathers and the expectations passed down through the generations of women who stood by them, rested on all our shoulders, in equal, if unique, portion.
I was the only daughter in a house of overachievers.
My father, Charles Donovan, not only veered away from the family’s oil business to start one of the top advertising agencies in the country, had also taken philanthropy to a whole other level.
One that coincidentally put him in the category of the top five richest men on the East Coast. My mother, Brenda Baynor-Donovan, turned her childhood hobby of lining up all her dolls every Saturday morning for their weekly wash and style, into a thriving nationally renowned celebrity stylist business.
Then, when love and motherhood knocked on her door, transformed her love of hair and all things women’s beauty into three full-service luxury salons in the DMV.
And as if having successful parents wasn’t enough, there was my older brother, Cade, who graduated top of his class while snagging a dual political science and criminology degree.
Then, he headed straight to Capitol Hill, before deciding that catching serial killers was a far more glamorous job and joined the FBI as a profiler.
How was I supposed to compete with all of that?
I wasn’t. Or I didn’t. I learned early on that my only competition was myself, so I never doubted that I could do anything I put my mind to.
I just had to make sure whatever I did made my parents proud.
That I didn’t do anything to trigger my brother’s hair-thin and deadly temper.
And that I always remembered my ancestors who were stolen from their homeland and brought here to work in hot fields, cook and clean, raise the bratty babies of the privileged, and build the world that would never see them as equal.
I had to keep in mind that for me, the expectation was always bigger and better.
I liked to think I’d done that by earning my own dual degree in biology and forensic science.
Not only did my educational choices shock my parents, but my decision to open Apocalypse and further pursue a career in crime scene cleanup and biohazard decontamination left them flabbergasted.
Not necessarily disappointed though, and for me that was a relief.
While my father was proud of my drive and tenacity, he wanted a softer life for me.
My mother, on the other hand, applauded my independence.
She was my biggest cheerleader when it came to making a name for myself in a profession that didn’t have nearly enough women, Black women at that.
But Brenda also wanted a house full of grandbabies.
She wanted Sunday dinners with her children and the families they created.
She wanted, as did my father, to watch the Donovan family continue to grow, thrive, and succeed.
All through the lens of a legacy built on integrity, respect, and loyalty.
And what had I done?
I’d fallen in love with the wrong man.
“Hey, you okay?”