The Complication Read online

  The Complication

  Nia Arthurs

  First published in Belize, C.A. 2019

  Copyright © Nia Arthurs

  Cover Design: Oliviaprodesign

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  A Word From The Author

  Also by Nia Arthurs

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 1

  IMANI

  Broken hearts aren’t for everyone.

  They certainly weren’t for me. Which was why I lived by a strict dating code—my men liked me more than I liked them. Point blank. Period.

  The romantic imbalance was my anthem. My religion.

  Soon to be my swan song.

  In three days, I was marrying a man who was hopelessly in love with me.

  Goodbye, dating.

  Hello, married life.

  But first… the wedding.

  Growing up, I’d dreamed about my wedding dress—one like Cinderella’s, of course, because who didn’t want to be Cinderella at six years old? I’d walk down the aisle with a bouquet of flowers in my hand. The sun would shine, all the people in my kingdom would admire me. Everything would be perfect.

  Ah, to be six and dreaming again.

  The truth is, planning a wedding was way more complicated than just picking a dress and a venue. And it wasn’t like those two were a walk in glass slippers either.

  On top of trying on two-hundred-pound masses of silk and lace for six weekends straight, a wedding involved guest lists, photographers, seating arrangements, tears, budgets, money. Way too much money.

  Details, details, details.

  And I wasn’t the type of girl who liked to spend time muddling through the fine print.

  So, basically, planning my wedding was torture and the dark-skinned chef staring sheepishly at me… yeah, he wasn’t helping.

  “What do you mean you double-booked?” I squawked.

  Yes, you heard correctly. My voice, when irritated, took on an abrasive, bird-like quality.

  I could tell the chef wanted to snicker. His brown lips did a weird little twinge-slash-pucker action. My fingers twitched. I dug them into my palms to keep from slapping him.

  “I’m very sorry, Ms. Davis,” he said before sliding over a powder bun with a please-don’t-make-a-scene-in-this-place gleam in his brown eyes.

  I eyed the powder bun. Rejected it. Sighed. “I really don’t understand, Chef Henry. I called you three months ago to make this reservation and I was assured that you would handle the meals without any issues.”

  “You see,” he rubbed his hands together, “we had an intern. She was new and she didn’t know how things with the computer and appointments worked yet…”

  Intern? My guests are probably going to eat a burger and fries from a fast food joint because of an intern?

  I breathed deeply through my nose.

  Chef Henry held his breath. I saw him studying me, waiting for the explosion that he deserved and that would embarrass us both.

  Lucky for him, Maruba Hotel wasn’t a climb-on-the-table-and-stab-a-man-with-my-heels kind of place. It was the swankiest hotel and restaurant in Belize City, constructed early in our nation’s days of independence.

  Since 1981, they’d renovated the banquet room with velvet tapestry, large windows overlooking the Caribbean Sea, and enough gold to make a pirate cry.

  I’d been in Maruba a handful of times. Mostly with Portia and her friend Jane Macy. Never with Amir. My fiancé would croak if he saw the prices on the menu.

  Which was why I hadn’t told him about the ridiculously insane deposit I’d put down to secure this kitchen.

  No way was I leaving this place without getting my money back.

  “Of course, we would refund your payment,” Chef Henry said as if he’d read my mind. “And we want to make things right. That’s why…” He stretched his neck and glanced at the entrance.

  “What?” I frowned.

  “He should be here by now,” Chef Henry mumbled, glancing at his watch.

  “Who?” My patience was running thin.

  An intern had blown a hole through my wedding preparations and that made me want to cry and scream simultaneously.

  Both emotions required privacy.

  Something I wouldn’t get in this room that was full-to-the-brim with tourists and businessmen romancing young women that, I’d bet my salary, weren’t their wives.

  “He’s a friend of mine who recently moved to Belize. He hasn’t even officially opened his restaurant yet, but I begged a favor.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “You think I’d let some random man cook for my wedding?”

  “You’d be free to sample his work, but I assure you,” Chef Henry leaned closer, his hat sliding down his big forehead, “that my friend is leagues above me. Before he decided to open his own place, he worked at a Michelin-rated restaurant. The fact that he’d even consider doing a wedding is incredible.”

  I side-eyed Chef Henry.

  Hard.

  Did he think hyping up this stranger would shield him from the biggest, most scathing one-star review the world had ever seen?

  My phone chirped.

  I snatched it up and shot a glare at the screen.

  A text had come in.

  AMIR: How’s the meeting with the chef going?

  ME: Not well.

  I paused and then typed again.

  ME: Would you still love me if I went to jail for murder?

  He answered immediately.

  AMIR: You’re kidding right? Tell me you’re kidding!!!

  “There he is,” Chef Henry said.

  Settling my phone back on the desk, I glanced up, just in time to see a big man lumber into the room. His long-legged stride and imposing figure was a magnet to the female eye.

  I caught myself sitting up straight and staring.

  Remember, Imani, you’re about to get married.

  But there was no rule against peeking was there?

  My eyes slid his way again. I saw a wide chest. Pecs grabbled
for attention beneath a snug-fitting grey T-shirt. Pale skin. Rolled up sleeves stopping at fit biceps. A square jawline brushed with blonde stubble. A strong nose. Blue eyes.

  No, not just ‘blue’.

  The color of the sky on a beautiful, cloudless day. Bright, as if the sun hid behind the irises. The baseball cap crushed against his blond head threw a shadow over his face, but the darkness made his eyes shine harder.

  Wait… I knew those eyes. Didn’t I?

  He stopped in his tracks, his gaze grabbing me by the throat and holding steady. A deep voice rumbled, “Imani? That you?”

  “Elliot?”

  “You two know each other?” Chef Henry asked, his gaze zipping between the two of us in comical confusion.

  “Imani,” Elliot said my name again, walking faster.

  The next thing I knew, I was standing and Elliot was taking me into his arms. His strong chest felt hard, solid. The musky scent of his cologne surrounded me.

  The hug lasted little more than a second. He released me but didn’t break contact. His big hands remained on my arms as he set me away and looked me over.

  I didn’t move, didn’t even blink as he took me in—my black, flowered romper, the hoops in my ears, the frizzy crown of my hair that curled rebelliously out of my pseudo-bun.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he shook his head. “I can’t believe…wow, Imani.”

  “Elliot.” His name wasn’t the only word in my vocabulary. I swear. But all of a sudden, it was the only thing I could murmur.

  He grinned.

  My heart started beating like it was a tambourine in the hands of a Pentecostal mid-praise break. There was no proper explanation for it. Except, maybe, that I was excited about meeting an old friend.

  I clamped my mouth shut before I said his name again—like an absolute fool—and studied the planes of his gorgeous face that had gotten hotter with age.

  What is this sorcery?

  “How have you been?” he asked. “The last time I heard from you was…”

  “Graduation. We haven’t talked since we graduated.”

  “Geez, that was what? Five, six years ago?”

  “Seven.”

  He bobbed his head. “I meant to stay in touch…”

  “It’s fine. You’re busy. I’m busy. Life goes on.” I shrugged.

  There. That sounded like a cool, I’ve-been-fine-without-you response.

  “Still, I should have done better,” he said, his deep voice moving me to nostalgia.

  I remembered nights filled with laughter, parties, dancing and enough junk food to send a person straight to the ER. Good memories. And Elliot was… in every single one of them.

  “You look exactly the same.” He eyed me up and down. “I’m the only one that looks like he’s nearing thirty.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “You’re not too bad.”

  I’ll take Understatement of the Year for two hundred, Alex.

  I shook my head to clear it of the internal Jeopardy reference and asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m supposed to meet a friend…” He looked at his watch—a fancy one that told me he wasn’t doing too badly at life—and cringed. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  I chuckled. “Some things never change.”

  His eyes softened and he took one step away before swerving back. “Imani, I gotta… it’s been too long. We should catch up.”

  “How about you catch up now?” Chef Henry said.

  My head jerked down. I’d forgotten that he was even there. In fact, the entire room had gone silent and blurry. Only Elliot had been in sharp focus.

  Elliot blinked. “Man, were you there the whole time?”

  “Yup.” Lips flattening to a thin line, Chef Henry stood. “Ms. Davis, this is the chef I was telling you about.” He clamped Elliot on the shoulder. “And El, this is Imani, the bride.”

  Chapter 2

  IMANI

  Embarrassment. That’s what I felt when Chef Henry referred to me as the bride. And I shouldn’t be ashamed. Because he was right. I was a soon-to-be married woman.

  Am I going insane? Why am I disappointed right now?

  Elliot took it all in stride. “Wow. Congrats, Mami.”

  My heart vibrated like a harp when he called me by that stupid nickname. What started as a mistake by a college professor during roll-call had turned into a me-and-Elliot thing.

  We used to have a lot of those.

  Me-and-Elliot things. Inside jokes. Secret looks. The ability to read the other with just a sweeping gaze and a grunt.

  Not anymore.

  Elliot strode to the chair around the table and pulled it out. “Sit here,” he ordered. As if I hadn’t been doing that very thing before he came in.

  I shot him a stubborn look.

  Elliot took my shoulders and gently drove me down. His fingers kneaded against my tense muscles and an unwitting sigh of pleasure escaped my lips.

  He removed his hands quickly and folded himself into the seat beside mine, planting his big feet on the floor. He turned a little toward me and his knees brushed my thighs.

  Awareness shuttled up my spine.

  I subtly twisted away.

  “Small world, right?” Chef Henry said, a tinge of awe in his voice. He seemed much more relaxed now. As if Elliot’s presence had distracted me from his major screw up.

  Think again, man.

  Elliot smiled. “Wouldn’t you call something like this fate?”

  “We were bound to run into each other sooner or later,” I pointed out.

  “Always the optimist.”

  “I prefer the term pragmatic.”

  “We were bound to meet again, so it’s no coincidence we met like this.” He arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Can you argue with that?”

  “I don’t remember you being this cocky in college.”

  “I was, but you never had a problem.”

  I barked out a laugh. “I think the years have screwed with your memories. I was the only one who could deflate that huge ego of yours.”

  He chuckled.

  “So I heard you’re a big time chef now.”

  “Me?” He jutted his chin in Chef Henry’s direction. “Did he tell you that?”

  Chef Henry laughed. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Elliot tilted his head. “The gig was supposed to last a few years while I studied under the greats, but it ended up going on for longer than I’d planned.”

  “How’d you wind up in Belize?” I asked.

  “My gran. You know she’s from here, right?”

  I nodded. I remembered.

  Elliot was incredibly close to the women that raised him. I’d never seen a man more doting. It was a mode he reserved only for the people he cared about. That list used to include me.

  Again… not anymore.

  “She missed her home country and I thought…” His eyes drifted to me.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I thought a change of scenery would be good for her.”

  I nodded.

  “Like I said on the phone, Elliot,” Chef Henry spoke, shifting to work mode, “because of a mistake on our end, we won’t be able to cater Ms. Davis’s wedding...”

  “You eating that?” Elliot pointed to my untouched powder bun.

  “Huh?”

  Without waiting for an answer from me, he plucked the powder bun and took a big chomp out of it. I watched him drape his arm over the back of my chair. Confident. Comfortable.

  My heart fluttered again.

  Nostalgia. You’re just moved by memories, that’s all.

  “Like I was saying,” Chef Henry shot Elliot a reprimanding glance at the interruption, “we need your help.”

  “Done.”

  “You sure? You didn’t even hear the details.”

  “If it’s for Mami, then it’s done.”

  I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to go out of your way.”

  “It
’s not out of my way.” He swallowed, his blue eyes locking in on me.

  “But I don’t want to bother—”

  “Nothing that involves you is a bother.”

  At this point, I wasn’t sure why I was so determined to get Elliot the hell away from my wedding. But suddenly, the thought of him there didn’t feel right.

  My phone rang.

  I glanced down and saw Amir’s face filling the screen. Light brown skin. Broad eyebrows. Black eyes. His piercing gaze broke right through the glass with so much impact it was like he was standing there.

  My heart stirring with guilt, I shot out of my seat. “It’s my fiancé. I should take this.”

  “Go ahead,” Chef Henry said.

  I offered a tight-lipped smile and rushed to the hallway so I could speak with a semblance of privacy.

  “Hello?”

  Amir’s voice barreled through the speakers. “Imani, please tell me I don’t have to bail you out of jail.”

  “Relax. I didn’t do anything crazy.”

  “Oh, thank God.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “What happened?”

  “We had a mix-up at the restaurant, but it’s being resolved.”

  “Great. I want to hear all about it. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  We hung up.

  With a sigh, I returned to the table and sat. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Elliot had ordered a drink. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle and brought it to his mouth. His full, plump bottom lip curved around the neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each sip. Gracefully, he set the bottle back down.