The Complication Page 4

  “That’s me.”

  “Quick question. Everyone at the office is pitching in to get you guys something from the registry, but we can’t decide on what to buy and the deadline is next Saturday...”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you narrow down the options to what you really want? It doesn’t matter if it’s expensive. We’re pooling together.”

  “I can’t really think off the top of my head,” I admitted. To be honest, the last thing on my mind today had been my wedding registry. Not that I was about to admit that.

  “I know I should have contacted you before this, but we’ve all been so busy and—”

  “No, it’s perfectly fine. You guys can get whatever you want. What matters to Amir is that his colleagues are there.” I nudged her with my elbow. “But pick the most expensive thing if you’re offering.”

  She chuckled. “We’ll do that. And I’m sorry for bothering you about this.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “You know…” she bounced on the balls of her feet, “it feels like I know you. Amir drops your name every second. And he won’t shut up about how excited he is about this wedding…”

  “Come on, Walesha. You can’t be leaking a man’s secrets like that,” a smooth voice said.

  I grinned as a pair of hands surrounded my waist and lifted me off the floor. The spicy cologne and familiar grip told me I was in my fiancé’s arms.

  “Amir, put me down.”

  He did. Slowly. “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey.” I accepted his kiss but kept it to a peck, conscious of our audience. Backing away—but not far enough that I left the circle of his embrace—I said, “Walesha and I were just having a little chat.”

  “Mm,” he murmured, more interested in holding me than engaging in conversation.

  I shot Walesha an apologetic look. “We’ll get going now.”

  “No problem.” She dipped her head. “Enjoy your weekend.”

  “You too!”

  Amir grunted his greeting and, without a backward glance, led me through the door. He tried to grab my hand, but I slipped it around the strap of my purse before he could capture my fingers.

  My fiancé was very touchy feely, while I preferred to show my affection in private. He’d restrained himself while we were dating, but now that we were engaged, Amir couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “Did you do your hair, Babe?” Amir asked, holding the door open for me.

  I slipped out, letting my eyes adjust to the late evening sunshine. The neighboring rooftops and coconut trees had adopted a golden tint as the sun dipped into the horizon. “No.”

  “Nails?”

  I lifted my hands and showed my polish-less fingers. “Nope.”

  “You must have done something,” he insisted, strolling beside me to the parking lot. “Because you look extra beautiful today.”

  I smirked. “Babe, I can’t take your word for it. You think I’m beautiful even when I have gunk in my eye and no make-up on.”

  He snapped his fingers. “You did something new with your makeup.”

  I shook my head.

  Amir smirked, his cheeks caving in from the force of his monstrous dimples. When we’d first met, those dimples of his had made me take a second look. And a third.

  He sighed deeply.

  I faced him. “What?”

  “I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m more in love with you now than yesterday.”

  “Stop playing.”

  “Imani.” He grabbed the car door and held it fast. Long, dark fingers curled around the glass window. Eyes as dark as black marbles bore into my own. “I love you.”

  Silence.

  Stretching time.

  A horn honked nearby. Wheels rushed against gravel. Laughter danced on the wind.

  “I love you,” he said again. Patiently. Tenderly.

  Looking down, I murmured, “Me too.”

  He backed off, satisfied. The smile stretching on his round face tickled his neatly-trimmed goatee. It was the grin of a man who’d fought a war and won.

  Or so he thought.

  I slid past him and climbed into the passenger seat. Amir trotted around the hood and got in. He started the engine. Looked at me. “Did you really leave your car and catch a taxi here just to ride with me?”

  “You know, I’m starting to get offended.”

  “Sorry. It’s just… this is unlike you.”

  “That was the point.” I shrugged. “I’ll be a married woman soon. I figured I should be more doting.”

  “I like it.”

  “Figured you would.”

  He backed out of his parking spot and asked, “So how did the meeting with the caterer go?”

  My shoulders straightened. “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Amir snorted and slanted me a look out of the corner of his eyes. “According to your text, you almost tried to murder the guy.”

  “I told you. He worked it out.”

  “How?”

  I picked at a loose thread in the hem of my blouse. “He handed over our wedding to a new chef.”

  “Someone at the same restaurant.”

  “No. Someone new.”

  Amir bobbed his head. “And you like this person?”

  “What? No! Of course not.” My heart banged in my chest.

  He turned all the way around, his eyebrows slanted and the corners of his mouth tugging upward. In that moment, I knew I’d overreacted. A thick cloak of fear grabbed my shoulders and hugged me tight.

  “Is it someone you know?” he asked.

  I swallowed. “Yeah, an old friend from college.”

  “You two must have had a huge fight, huh?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Amir parked in front of my apartment. “Because of how quickly you answered me.”

  I said nothing.

  The engine shut down. He reached out and cupped my cheek. “Screw that chef. We’ll get my family to cook for the wedding. Mom won’t mind running point on that. She was almost offended when I told her we were getting the food catered. Said it was a waste of money.”

  “Amir, your mom is busy taking care of your sick grandmother. I don’t want to stress her out even more than she is. Besides, the chef is fine.” I blinked. “I mean, he’s more than capable of handling our wedding.”

  “Yeah? That sounds great.” He rubbed his chin. “If you’re okay with it…”

  “I—” My words faltered as Elliot’s face wafted to mind.

  My stomach clenched.

  After everything that had happened today, I shouldn’t feel this uneasy. It wasn’t like Elliot and I had kissed. We’d met. We’d hugged, as any old friends would after a long time apart. We’d gone shopping together. It didn’t mean anything.

  “Imani?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay? Did something else happen today?”

  I debated telling Amir about my connection to Elliot. Not just the fact that we were ‘old acquaintances’, but that we had been so close people frequently called me when Elliot wasn’t answering his phone because they knew we were always together.

  I opened my mouth but what came out instead of a confession was, “I got my shoes.”

  Amir smiled.

  I mentally face-palmed.

  “That’s great, hun.”

  I nodded. Maybe keeping silent was for the best. Telling Amir about my strong feelings for Elliot back in the day would only stir up unnecessary drama.

  “Amir?”

  “Hm?”

  “I love you.”

  He blinked, clearly surprised.

  I hopped out of the car with a rising resolution. Elliot was the past. Amir was my future. And nothing, not even my muddled heart, would mess that up.

  Chapter 7

  IMANI

  After changing into a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, I pulled my hair into a messy knot and grabbed one of the boxes that waited in a corner of my apartment
.

  Amir and I had decided on giving our guests tiny bottles of bubbles. The bottles were to be decorated with a bow that had our names and wedding date engraved on it. To save money, I’d ordered the bubbles and bows separately and promised I’d put them together myself.

  The items had arrived a long time ago, but I kept putting the task off. Tonight I planned on getting all the bottles dressed. Portia was coming over to help. Should be fun.

  The doorbell chimed.

  That was her now.

  I stood and cantered to the door, throwing it open. “Hey, girl.”

  “Hey.” Portia flashed me a beaming smile.

  I smiled right back, the sight of her face summoning a host of happy memories.

  We’d met when I was a sophomore in college and she was an innocent, little freshman. Since she was in the Caribbean Club, we spoke during social events and realized we were both from Belize.

  Our country of origin was about the only thing we had in common, but we became fast friends anyway.

  I introduced her to the world of skinny-dipping, irresponsible drinking and awful karaoke. In exchange, she kept me sane and grounded.

  More than that. Portia was the angel on my shoulder. Whenever I needed advice, I went to her. Although… I rarely listened.

  “What took you so long?” I asked.

  “Shawn called and asked me to drop his coat to the dry cleaners.”

  “You’re doing laundry for your boyfriend now?”

  Portia nodded happily, looking completely unbothered. “We help each other. He’s busy enough at the hospital and spends every free moment with me. I don’t mind.”

  “Girlfriend of the Year.”

  She tossed her head. “I do try.”

  I smirked and stepped aside so she could walk in.

  Portia wore an outfit similar to mine—a tank top and shorts. Except she filled out her shirt in a way I never could. I stared enviously at her chest and then at the rest of her. Flawless, nutmeg-brown skin. Curvy body. Exotic face. Crown of thick black curls. Doctor Shawn Kelly had struck the damn lottery.

  Portia scraped her hands together when she saw the bubbles I’d begun to line up. “Let’s get this party started.”

  “Party? We’re just sticking on some bows.”

  “Exactly. It’s arts-and-craft time, baby.”

  I rolled my eyes because that was such a geeky, Portia-thing to say. She’d studied art in junior college and had never lost her flair for design.

  “You can sit on that side.” I pointed to the coffee table. “I’ll put the glue on the bows and you stick.”

  “Should be easy enough.”

  We got into position and started working.

  Portia played music to fill the silence. She bopped her head on the beat and swayed from side to side, her hands moving deftly. The speakers blared a soca song.

  ‘Wine yuh waist, gyal. Turn around’

  Bow to bottle.

  ‘Oh, I love this soca sound…’

  Bow to bottle.

  “Imani, can you hand me that?”

  “Sure.”

  Bow to bottle.

  ‘You love me and I like your body…’

  I set the glue down with a thump.

  Portia arched an eyebrow.

  “I met Elliot today,” I blurted.

  “What?” Portia’s jaw dropped. “Elliot-Elliot?”

  “Do you know any other?”

  “It’s a pretty common name…” She paused and dropped the bow she’d been holding. “Wait, did you just say you met Elliot?”

  I told her everything, starting with the meeting with Chef Henry all the way to the awkward drive back to Elliot’s place.

  When I was done, Portia still looked shocked. “So he’s the caterer for your wedding? You’re really going to let him do that?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh boy.”

  “You think I should have said no?” I squeezed my eyes shut. The unease was starting to crawl back over me. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did I feel so unsettled?

  Portia took my hand. “Does Amir know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Who Elliot is to you?”

  “Was. Who he was to me.”

  “Imani…”

  “What?” I peered at her. “Are you doubting me?”

  “If it was anyone else—” Portia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “But Elliot…”

  “We just talked and hung out. It felt like old times.”

  “That’s not a good sign.”

  “It’s different. We’re adults now.”

  “You were adults back then too—adults who went everywhere together and finished each other’s sentences and exchanged gifts. Are you sure nothing happened between you two?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  She dropped my hand. “Okay.”

  “Let’s finish this up,” I said, scooting closer to the coffee table and picking the glue gun back up.

  Portia remained still.

  I glanced up at her, my eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Did he… say anything? About that night?”

  “Why would he?” I angrily jerked a bow from the pile and pressed the gun’s nozzle to it. “He didn’t say anything seven years ago.”

  “Maybe if he understood, it would explain—”

  “Forget it. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Like your upcoming wedding to the man of your dreams?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No, I think I’d rather talk about Elliot.” Portia laughed when I glared at her. “Of course. We can talk about whatever you want.”

  We spent the rest of the night putting the bottles together and taking care of other last minute details. When it was time to leave, I walked my friend to the door.

  Portia gave me a hug. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I know,” I murmured against her shoulder.

  She pulled back and flashed me a tiny grin. “You and Amir have been together for a while. He’s a great guy or you wouldn’t have let it come so far.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “In every other case, I’d tell you to trust your heart, but… don’t this time.”

  I shuffled my feet.

  Portia squeezed my shoulder. “Amir’s the right choice.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.” I pasted a strained smile on my face and said boldly, “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  Portia nodded, but neither of us looked very convinced.

  Chapter 8

  IMANI

  The next day, bright and early, I pulled on a respectable black and white striped jumpsuit, slapped some hoops in my ears and sprayed my curls with water and coconut oil.

  Looking perfectly responsible and non-heatheny—yes, I’m aware that’s not a word—I headed to Zion Ministries Non-Denominational church.

  Both Amir and I weren’t particularly religious, but we still remembered getting animal crackers and Kool-Aid in Sunday school. It had made enough of an impact that the thought of getting married outside a church hadn’t crossed our minds.

  Going church shopping for the wedding had turned out to be more stressful than we thought. There were so many options—Catholic, Pentecostal, Evangelical, New Age.

  Somehow, we’d winded up here at Zion.

  Pastor Matthew was a widely respected man of God. Kind. Humble. Wise. An anomaly. There were no whispers of a secret love child or torrid affairs with his secretary. Yet.

  Even though Pastor Matthew didn’t make it a requirement for the couples he officiated to attend his church, I figured it was the polite thing to do and had been randomly stopping by so he could see my face.

  A few extra prayers never hurt anybody.

  As I walked into the sanctuary, my phone rang.

  I shook the hands of the elderly woman at the door while maneuvering my other arm into my bag to pull it out.

  Amir’s n
ame appeared on the screen.

  I answered. “Are you here yet?” Craning my neck to see above the colorful hats in the pews, I added, “Which row are you in?”

  “They moved up the basketball game, babe. I thought I could attend at least a part of the service, but I can’t.”

  I sighed and paused in the middle of the crowded aisle. Amir and I usually attended the service together. I didn’t know anyone here—though that was by choice and not on the part of the enthusiastic church sisters who’d clamored to invite me to their events—and the thought of sitting by myself didn’t appeal.

  Someone tapped my shoulder.

  Agitated, I spun. “Babe, you should have told… me…” The words sputtered out like a dying fire.

  Then a real fire whooshed through my body.

  Because standing before me was Elliot White. He wore a fitted button-down shirt that was rolled up to his elbows and a pair of black pants. Simple. The outfit was way too simple to look that good.

  “Babe?” Amir’s voice bleated through the speakers.

  Elliot didn’t say a word, but his baby blues held me captive, luring me into our own conversation. His eyes crinkled in welcome. I’m glad to see you.

  “Imani?” My phone blared.

  Blue eyes dipped to my shoes and moved all the way up to my head. You look great.

  “Honey?”

  Elliot held my gaze steady while a corner of his lips tilted up. Sit with me?

  “Imani, are you there?”

  I startled out of the trance and murmured into the phone. “Uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.”

  Elliot smiled.

  Amir said something I didn’t understand.

  My finger glided to the END button and pressed down, severing the connection.

  Chapter 9

  ELLIOT

  I stepped back so Imani could scoot into the pew and then squeezed in beside her.

  Our shoulders pressed together.

  She wiggled away so that we were no longer touching.

  I smiled, watching the way she adjusted her blouse and fiddled through her purse without looking at me.

  She was nervous.

  Good.

  I wasn’t the only one still feeling… something. The fact that she was engaged hadn’t changed us.