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Authors: Niobia Bryant

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BOOK: Mistress No More
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She could see and remember that text clear as day. Word for word.
LIFE HAS MANY FORKS IN THE
ROAD AND TODAY I’VE DECIDED TO
TRAVEL DOWN THE PATH LEADING
YOUR HUSBAND STRAIGHT TO MY
WAITING AND OPEN ARMS. I CAN’T
LIE AND SAY I HAVE REGRETS. I
LOVE HIM MORE THAN YOU AND I
NEED HIM MORE. YOU SAW HIM
FOR THE LAST TIME THIS
MORNING. TONIGHT HE COMES
HOME TO ME. HE’S MY MAN NOW.
THANKS FOR NOT BEING WOMAN
ENOUGH 4 HIM.
 
XOXO
How in the hot hell she could forget it? Especially when all three husbands had come home that night, all three denying Jessa’s words. All three claiming it wasn’t them.
That bitch was supposed to be their friend—especially
her
friend—since their college days. Straight bullshit. No chaser.
“Aria?”
She shifted her eyes to Dr. Matheson.
“Why do you feel Kingston is Mr. Perfect?”
Aria bit the IMAN gloss from her lips as she closed her eyes and spoke the truth about how she felt. “He is
too
good to be true,” she admitted softly, feeling emotional.
She felt Kingston stiffen beside her. “I am sick of this—”
“Let her finish, Kingston.”
Blinking away tears, Aria wrung her hands. “I always feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like this marriage is what everyone dreams of but no one has—no one I know anyway. And so I was waiting for something to pop off, something to prove that . . . that . . . that . . .”
“That what, Aria?” Dr. Matheson nudged.
“I don’t know. I . . . I . . . don’t . . . I don’t know.” Aria shrugged.
“You’re right, you don’t know,” Kingston muttered under his breath.
Aria side-eyed him. “No, what I don’t know is if my husband fucked my friend. I don’t know if my husband was planning on leaving me to be with my friend. That’s what the hell I don’t know.”
“Because I’m too good to be true,” he drawled.
“Damn right,” she flung back.
“So if I beat on you, cuss at you, cheat on you, lie to you, and disrespect you, then what?” he asked, turning in heat to face her, his expression incredulous. “Why is it so hard to believe that there are good men—good black men. That’s crazy!”
“Because I know men can’t be trusted. As soon as you give them a foot of space they no good ass is off cheating and tricking and doing shit they got no business. I know,” she stressed with emotion. “I. Know.”
Dr. Matheson jotted something on his notepad. “And how do you know that, Aria?”
She froze, hating that her eyes shifted. She hated that the fear she carried with her was just as strong as ever. Secrets had a way of revealing themselves. Secrets that filled her with guilt every day. Secrets that could—would—ruin her marriage.
Wild teen years filled with lots of partying, weed, and even more men—most married. Trying to be grown way too soon. Abortions. Liquors. Scheming. Lying.
And now she couldn’t have children.
That was the secret she’d confided to a friend and she’d been afraid Jessa would tell Kingston about it. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t have because he would have confronted her about it. Having children was the next step in his plan for their happily ever after.
Kingston didn’t know.
“I just know,” was all that she finally answered.
“This myth that there are no good black men is just that: a myth,” Kingston said. “I’ve done nothing to make my wife suspect me. Nothing but do what I’m supposed to do as man—as a husband: love my wife. That’s it. I love my wife. I’m good to my wife. And I’m being punished for that. A brotha can’t win for losing.”
Aria’s eyes were troubled as she shifted them out the window to the late summer scene. All of her doubts plagued her. Was it possible that Kingston was not the guilty husband? Was she punishing her husband for nothing and ruining her marriage?
Was the fact that a little ghetto girl from Newark with brains enough for a full scholarship to Columbia had actually snagged an upper-middle-class man who seemed to step right out of a romance book so hard to believe?
“And do you love Kingston, Aria?”
“With all my heart, Dr. Matheson,” she stated, without hesitation, question, or second thought.
“And Kingston, do you love Aria?”
“I love her. I love the hell out of her. . . .”
Aria felt waves of relief flood over her.
“But if she doesn’t appreciate me and trust me . . . then I don’t know if we’ll make it.”
Aria turned to face him. She knew her husband very well. There was no doubt that the words he spoke were not an idle threat.
Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child.
Anotherwomanispregnantwithmyhusbandschild.
Renee Clinton dropped her head into her hands and fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. To release all the pain, the frustration, and the disappointment. “Maybe if I get it out it’ll stop eating me up inside,” she muttered, her eyes closed as she leaned back heavily in her office chair.
Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child.
Anotherwomanispregnantwithmyhusbandschild.
“I hate my life.”
She folded her feet beneath her in the chair as she looked at the framed pictures of her family. Snapshots of a better time—not the best of times but definitely better than now. She laughed bitterly at the thought that she’d spent a full day worrying about whether Jessa Bell had fucked her husband when she’d been completely blindsided by the news that her husband had cheated and his mistress was pregnant with his child. “Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees,” she muttered sarcastically.
Jessa was the least of her damn worries.
Brrrnnnggg
.
She cut her eyes over to the cordless phone ringing on the base. Who could it be?
Her husband with his new responsibilities and obligations to another woman? Or her kids off enjoying their young lives without a real care in the world? Or her friends who were caught up in the drama of their own marriages?
Beep . . . beep . . . beep.
“Hi, this is Jackson . . . Renee . . . Aaron . . . and Kieran. The Clintons. We’re not available to take your message. After the beep, do your thing.”
“Hmph. I need to change
that
shit.” After the gun she’d pulled on him the night of his big “revelation” Jackson didn’t have any choice but to move the hell out. Jackson’s no-good cheating ass was now the proud renter of a two-bedroom town house downtown.
Beep.
“Renee, this is Darren. You really need to show up at the luncheon for the upcoming CancerWalk. All the head figures are looking for you to be there. Call me back so I know what to say.”
That shit went right out of her head. It was Sunday. How many weekends had she been off at work while her husband had been fucking another woman? No. She couldn’t handle it anyway. Her assistant was a handy little thing and she knew he would handle things. “Tomorrow, I will go to work. Tomorrow,” she promised, her words sounding hollow to her own ears.
The job she’d once loved was now a reminder of her failed marriage. Her need for a career had caused such a wedge in her marriage. These days she couldn’t muster the passion and love she’d had for working for a nonprofit benefiting cancer. These days she was too busy nursing a shattered heart.
“Love don’t live here anymore,” Renee sang, completely off-key as she reached for the bottle of Patrón and poured herself a hefty shot.
Beep . . . beep . . . beep.
Straight tequila was an acquired taste, especially for a causal drinker, but for the last month she had come to love everything about the liquor. Every single thing. The look of it as it poured into a clear glass. The smell of it filling her nose as she held the glass to her lip and prepared to take a sip. Even the slight burn in her throat as she swallowed. And finally . . . finally . . . the way the liquor made her numb.
Her husband’s outside baby. Her job. Her marriage. Her stress. Her kids. Her secrets. Her husband’s secret. Her bullshit.
The
bullshit.
All of it went away when she was deep into her Patrón. All of it.
“Fuck that shit,” she muttered, swiveling in her chair to turn away from the photo of her two children, smiling and happy without a true care in the world.
And how would they feel when they discovered their father had a child on the way with another woman? How do you explain
that
to children? Especially teenagers.
She couldn’t even grasp all of the emotions that flittered through her in the course of a day. How was she supposed to be ready to take on their feelings, their reactions, and their questions as well?
“I shouldn’t be dealing with this shit.” Sighing, Renee lifted her glass, took a deep inhale that filled her chest, and then sipped intensely, letting the tequila float over her tongue before she swallowed it with only a slight wince.
This last month of her life had been the absolute worst. She never dreamed shit could be so damn bad.
Never.
And she needed her friends. Although she was confident that Jackson was too busy fucking some other woman to slut around with Jessa Bell, just the fact that the scandalous bitch had sent the text was enough for Renee to cut her ass loose. Plus, if she was dirty enough to fuck either Aria’s or Jaime’s husband then Renee figured the slut could have just as well have stabbed her in the back, too.
“So fuck you, Jessa Bell,” Renee said aloud, wiping a bit of spittle from the corner of her mouth.
Since Jaime had walked away from Eric and their marriage, Renee hadn’t seen her and they’d spoken on the phone only briefly. Whatever new life she was carving for herself didn’t seem to include her husband or her friends.
“C’est la fucking vie, Jaime.”
And Aria.
“Hmph.” Renee shook her head, running her trembling free hand through her short, ebony curls.
She couldn’t believe that Aria had had the nerve to judge her. Yes, her marriage had been so shaky and she had felt so neglected by Jackson that she’d almost given in to a fleeting attraction to her assistant, Darren. Only his homosexuality had kept them from sealing the deal on the most awkward foreplay ever.
In a moment of weakness she’d admitted her near infidelity to a friend and she’d felt Aria’s cold shoulder ever since. No lunches. No random phone calls throughout the day. No dropping by each other’s house to gossip or catch up. Just bullshit waves or head nods usually shared by strangers.
“To hell with you, too, Aria.”
She really needed her friends more than ever. In truth they all had shit to deal with, but it would be a helluva lot easier if they toughed the bullshit out together.
They hadn’t even discussed the message or Jessa Bell since that day.
Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child.
Pain that was becoming as familiar as well-worn slippers clutched at her chest and refused to let go . . . until she swallowed down another drink. And another. And another.
“Ma! We’re home.”
Renee lifted her head from the desk, using her hand to wipe the drool connecting the side of her face to the executive desk mat. Her head suddenly pounded and her heart raced like crazy. Sweat matted her short, ebony curls to her head.
“Ma! Where you at?”
“When the hell did I fall asleep?” she asked herself, as her eyes shot to the door of the office she used to share with her husband. Her kids were home from their weekend visit to their father’s new bachelorhood.
BOOK: Mistress No More
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ads

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