Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I share how, as Arnold picked up his NYU hoodie to go home, a ring fell out.
“I was hesitant. He agreed. Come to think of it, maybe Arnold’s quick response that the ring was for Tiffany was a slip of the tongue. I might not have known they were married until the honeymoon ended.”
Victor’s brows lift. “Who is she?”
God, I love the sound of his voice. Aliyah had asked, “Who is that bitch?” But Victor has a regal disposition.
“Tiffany was a fellow NYU student. They tag teamed some class projects together. He said Tiffany was serious, and she could throw a dinner party for business associates in the future. He was so sexist. Who’s to say she didn’t get the dream job, and he needed the skills to entertain her affluent associates?”
Oh, God. Shut up, Lux!
“Arnold ruined rainy days for me.”
“Rainy days?”
I take a tempered sigh instead of shoving my foot in my mouth. Maybe Victor’s a man of few words. I have to say he’s more attentive now than ever before.
“Ya know, constant drumming on the windows. The rich, earthiness. It was raining that day, which was why it was a lazy day. I had a million more reasons why I was fond of rainy days, but they no longer hold the same appeal. Now, the rain just nourishes my flowers.” I chew thoughtfully on my lip. “Anyway, I went home, had a good cry. Less than a month later, Dad and I moved to Brooklyn after . . . when . . . the nightmares became my new normal . . .” I dam up.
“Little One,” he sighs and beckons for me to come to him, which I do without hesitation. References about my height have always rubbed me the wrong way, but from Victor, I don’t mind. For the first time, the cold mask falls off Victor’s face, revealing a glimmer of tenderness. Either that or I’m still high off his intoxicating touch.
Victor’s strong arms wrap around me, and he plants me on his lap. Not straddling. Not indecent, just nurturing. I press my thighs to my chest, and his ropy arms become my safe space. The heat of his upper body warms me like a fireplace on a dreary night. “Tell me about growing up, Little One,” he says. “Tell me about you and your mum.”
11
LUXURY
Therapy never cut it. Grief counseling couldn’t slap a Band-Aid on my gutted heart. I was down to my last shred of faith with no desire to waste it on hope. I’ll say, though, that my hypersensitivity to shouting and cursing has decreased. Rarely do I jump out of my skin when there’s a disagreement down the street or even on television. Momma had put up a fight. It was obvious, the police said. I often wonder if she’d still be alive if she hadn’t fought. Since then, arguments have triggered me, and I avoided confrontation, up until Dr. Finch literally swept me off my feet. I burrow into Victor’s massive chest and do what I never thought I’d be capable of.
I let the words flow.
“In the apartment where we lived, you could hear obscenities. Music blaring, Italians and Blacks cussing, fighting. Toss some sensual moaning into the mix. Then here comes Dad, frustrated. I wouldn’t call it cussing. You’ve seen how eclectic and brainy—” Turning my face into Victor, I conceal a smile. The guy I’m screwing has more similarities to Dad than myself. Brainy? Way to go, Lux!
A tremor falls over me as Victor strokes my shoulder, and I regain my momentum. “Ahem, he’d come out of his office to apologize after calming down, which led to him sharing concepts Gin, I mean, Momma and I couldn’t fathom. We had these bewildered looks on our faces—pretty much speaking volumes.”
The edge of his mouth furrows ever so slightly as if Victor’s visualizing the entire scenario.
“Dad won the American Heart Association’s research grant when he was younger than I am now,” I shrug, realizing I’ve detoured the conversation.
Can I do this? Can I discuss my departed Momma?
“He never seemed satisfied with his work. But Mom . . . Momma would know a good day from a bad day. I’d come home from school, and she’d be baking something sweet to counteract his brooding. Then one day, he put Greco Tech on the map. You probably know more about that than I do.”
He nods me on, knowing I will go off on a tangent and mention Dad, leaving my mother at the wayside.
I pluck the stitches off my broken heart and take the plunge. “So, Dad put all his time into advancing cardiology. Mondays, as I told you before, Mom would bring flowers to his job.”
“Black roses.” His voice is a husky, low caress of encouragement. “Tell me more about you and your mum. How was your relationship?”