Read Marrying the Millionaire Online

Authors: Sabrina Sims McAfee

Tags: #romance, #contemporary romance, #african american romance, #romance adult contemporary, #romance africanamerican contemporary, #multicultural contemporary romance, #romance alpha male, #romance and millionaire

Marrying the Millionaire (4 page)

BOOK: Marrying the Millionaire
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Me, too.
Dismayed, Richmond’s heart clenched. “I can carry
you if you need me to.”

Forgoing his kind offer by shaking her
head, long hair bristled her brown, sad face. “No,
thanks.”


Are you sure, Kayla?” the
woman to her left asked, looking almost identical to this Kayla
woman.

Tears streamed down Kayla’s face.
Veins bulged at her temples. “I’m sure.” The women released her
arms. Insistent that she make it to the car by herself, Kayla
hiccupped. When she took a step forward, the fragile young woman
stumbled to the ground, landing on her knees. “Life is not fair,”
she whimpered, her shoulders shaking up and down. Up and
down.


Mommy. Mommy. Please don’t
die like Papa.” The little boy beside the troubled lady looked on
with a scared expression on his face.

Poor thing. Like it or not,
you’re getting help.
Richmond scooped
Kayla up into his arms. Cradling her fragile body to his chest, he
peered down at the cute kid. “Your mommy’s not going to die,
fellow. Let’s get her in the car.” Toting Kayla, he marched across
the lawn toward a black Cadillac.

One of the women who’d been assisting
Kayla fell in stride next to Richmond and glanced up at him. “Thank
you so much, Sir.”


You’re
welcome.”

The woman then looked at Kayla. “As
soon as we get home, I’m cooking you a hot meal, and you’re going
to eat it. I’m not taking no for an answer this time. Grandpa would
want you to take care of yourself, you know?”

Sniffling, Kayla nodded. Richmond
opened the rear door to the black Cadillac and eased Kayla onto the
leather seat. The tip of her nose beamed a bright red. “Thanks,
Mr.—”


I hope you feel better.”
Richmond turned on his heels, hurried back toward his vehicle,
clambered inside, and rejoined his precious pumpkin, Isabelle.
Heartbroken beyond measure, he cupped his daughter’s tiny
palm.

Eyes burning, he inhaled
deeply. As the limousine drove through the cemetery’s black iron
gates, deep hurt spread through his system, tempting to make him
cry.
God, I can’t let Isabelle see me cry.
I have to be strong for her. Jesus Christ! You got it wrong, God.
Damn You.

Mourning, Richmond draped
an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder and drew her closer to his side.
Mercy, he hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t slept since the night he’d
found Salina dying in their bed from being poisoned. Had Salina
died on her own from the terrible disease, ALS, that’d be one
thing. But for someone to take her life was another.
My wife was murdered.
An
expletive entered his mind.
Killed.

Gazing out the window as the limo
drove past ancient storefront buildings, a long breath ousted from
his mouth. Head throbbing, he clenched his teeth. It wasn’t fair
that his precious pumpkin would grow up without her mother. It
wasn’t fair that someone had taken his wife’s, Salina’s, life. And
it wasn’t fair that he hadn’t found his wife’s killer
yet.

Disgruntled, his forehead
crinkled.
Oh, Isabelle. Who killed your
mother? Who? Damnit. Who!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE KILLER SAT IN THE blue recliner
inside his office, glaring out the window at the trees. Thinking
about what he did, his heart shattered inside his tight chest. A
tear puddled in the corner of his right eye, then trickled down his
bearded face. He stirred uneasily in the chair, positioned the tip
of the black ink pen to the paper, and wrote.

Dear Diary,

I ain’t never been the
type of man to write shit down inside a book. No, not ever. But the
shit I done went and did has me crying myself to sleep tonight. I’m
not letting the tears stream down my face, though. I’m just sitting
in a recliner, writing and crying with my heart. I’m crying so hard
with my heart until my chest is tightened, and cramping, and it’s
sore to the point I feel like I’m having a heart attack. If I die
in this recliner as I pen this letter, I deserve it.

It’s raining cats and dogs
outside right now, just as it had earlier today during Salina’s
funeral. Poor Richmond and his pumpkin, Isabelle. The two of them
looked so distraught and hurt. Like the world as they knew it had
descended down on their heads and crashed their perfect worlds
into. They didn’t deserve what I did to them. Salina didn’t
either.

Oh God, please forgive me.
Please. Not only did I kill Salina, but I’m the reason my good
friend Leroy Van Buren is dead. He died in that car crash because
of me.

While at Salina’s funeral,
I looked across the way and spotted Leroy’s granddaughter, Kayla.
It breaks my heart to know I killed not one, but two people. Both
of whom I loved. I should’ve never gotten in that car with Leroy on
the night I killed Salina.

As I sit here suffering,
drowning in my own grief, I’m listening to big balls of hell drop
from the raining sky, then crackle against the window pane. I can
hardly breathe. I feel so guilty for allowing Salina to talk me
into murdering her. Gotdamnme! Now that she’s dead and sleeping in
her grave at my expense, I’m fucked up inside the brain. Hurt so
bad, I want to die. Why and how I let her convince me to kill her
has me dying a slow death, laced with guilt. If nothing else kills
me, the guilt alone will.

 

 

 

 

 

TWO YEARS LATER ON HILTON Head Island,
the roasting summer depleted its dry, hot days as the cool fall air
breezed into the Low Country, offering sweet, sultry days and warm
autumn nights. One early Thursday morning, the bright sun rose
above the ancient oaks in the back yard of Kayla’s deceased
grandfather’s estate and glistened down over the one story, grey
wooden house that he’d willed to her.

Peck. Peck.
Peckpeckpeck.
A bird’s beak pecking
against the glass window ticked in Kayla’s ears as she lay on her
side in her grandfather’s old comfy bed, trying to sleep.
Peck. Peckpeckpeck. Why does this stupid bird
insist on waking me up every morning?
Kayla thought, keeping her eyes strained together. Knowing
she had a long, exhausting day ahead of her,
she clenched the comforter tighter to her chin.
Peckpeckpeck.

Wishing the stupid bird would fly
away, Kayla huffed. Her eyes fluttered open. Irritated at the crazy
pecking bird, she rolled to her back and peered up at the
ceiling.

Sun slipped through the tiny slits in
the blinds and soaked into the skin of her face. Squinting against
the bright rays, she stretched her legs down the soft linen on the
mattress. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head, then
climbed out of bed.

Wearing a pink cotton tank
and black pajama shorts, she treaded over to the window to look at
that darn bird still hitting its beak against the window.
Peckpeckpeck.
Kayla
pulled the string on the blinds, lifting them. Sure enough, the
red-bellied woodpecker had returned at its usual time again this
morning. Kayla smiled at the beautiful animal. Bright red fur
buzzed at the top of the white bird’s head, and white lines
squiggled on its pitch black wings. Its eyes looked like dark,
inked circles.

You’re a cute, furry
thing
. “Why don’t you try coming an hour
later tomorrow?” she spoke to the bird, as if it may have a clue as
to what she was saying.

Reflecting on the night her
grandfather, Leroy Van Buren, had called her right before he’d had
that terrible car crash, Kayla’s heart crunched. She wrapped her
fingers around the string of the blind and continued gazing at the
tall trees in the distance.

Oh, Grandpa. I miss you.
Why’d you have to die? First my mother, then grandma, and now you.
You’re all gone.

Except for her baby sister, Alana, and
her lovely son, CJ, Kayla had no one. No family. Just a few close
friends.

For a brief moment, her
mind traveled back to the rainy day she’d buried her grandfather.
His funeral had been small and short, just the way he would have
wanted it. After the funeral, she’d been so hurt until she’d fallen
to her knees, and some kind stranger had jumped out of his limo to
come assist her in her time of bereavement. The man had lifted her
from the ground, carried her to the car, then slid her into the
back seat. Without uttering a single word, the strong-looking
warrior had stalked off, leaving her questioning his identity.
Quite often, she thought of him.
Who was
he? Where are you now? I hope you’re doing okay.

Kayla’s eyes roamed over
the slender, tall grass and bright yellow daisies swaying in the
air. Gosh, the grass needed cutting rather urgently. And my, the
decay ate away at the rotten wooden fence in the backyard. While
she appreciated her grandfather willing her his house, keeping it
up, with very little income coming in, burdened her. Unable to find
a steady job, Kayla’s shoulders knotted with frustration.
The money Carson gives me is just not enough. The
money Grandpa left me is about to run out. I need a job bad. I have
the worst luck in the world.

Times had been hard for
Kayla ever since her ex-husband, Carson, had walked out on her. Had
left her for another woman. Carson had always been the one to take
care of all their finances, and now he barely gave her enough money
to take care of his own son.
As soon as I
get a job, I’m taking Carson’s behind to court and putting him on
child support. I hate to do that, but he leaves me no choice. Two
hundred dollars a month is nothing considering he makes well over
one hundred thousand dollars a year.

Although she had a Bachelor’s degree
in Education, Carson had forbidden Kayla to work during their short
marriage. He’d insisted she stay home and do the domestic
housework, like cleaning, cooking, and taking care of their son.
Now as a single mother, she struggled to keep a job that fit with
CJ’s schedule. Daycare alone cost more than what any job in this
small town was willing to pay her.

Expelling a long sigh,
Kayla closed her eyes.
I can do this. I
can take care of me and my son. God, please help me find a good
job.

Thinking back over her
life, she opened her eyes and stared at her back yard. My goodness,
there was just so much to do to her house. The rotten wooden fence
needed replacing. The garage door opener needed fixing. The house
needed a thick coat of fresh grey paint. And well, she was too
broke to hire a handyman, so she guessed she’d just do it all
herself.
I can learn anything I want to.
I’m not going to let my divorce keep me down anymore. It’s time for
me to get out there and make something of myself. I have a son to
raise, and I’m going to do a darn good job raising him.


Mommy! Mommy!” CJ ran into
Kayla’s room. “Is the birdee here?”


Yes, CJ.”


Can I pat him,
pleaasssee?”

The woodpecker spread its black wings,
then flew across the yard and landed on the roof of the birdhouse.
Smiling, Kayla rubbed the top of CJ’s head. She crouched down in
front of him and stared into his big, round eyes.


I don’t think he’ll let
you touch him. He’ll probably fly away if you try.” CJ loved this
bird and had become enthralled with birdwatching, a habit her
grandfather had had up until his death. “How about Mommy make you
some yummy pancakes this morning?”

BOOK: Marrying the Millionaire
6.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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