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Authors: Niobia Bryant

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BOOK: Mistress No More
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Renee grabbed the bottle of Patrón and hid it beneath the papers and discarded bills in her wastepaper basket.
“Ma! You home?”
Their voices were getting closer. That innocent teenage chatter about crushes, the newest sneakers, or the hottest videos. Lives that shouldn’t be filled with lies and pain.
“Shit,” she swore, yanking open the drawer to her desk to frantically push stuff aside to find gum or a breath mint.
Nothing.
The office door swung open and Renee looked up with red-rimmed eyes as her seventeen-year-old son and fifteen-year-old daughter came to a stop. The expression on their faces went from happy to completely devoid of emotion.
Kieran eyed her with clear and present anger. “Is that what you did all weekend, Ma? Drink?”
So they know
, Renee thought, wiping her face with her hands as she struggled to sit up straight in her chair. “Excuse me, but I’m your mother. Not the other way around.”
“You don’t act like a mother anymore,” Aaron snapped, his broad face a junior replica of his father.
Inwardly, Renee couldn’t handle it. The truth of their words was just another problem. Another wrong. Another damn stressor. She couldn’t handle it. Not now. She wanted to shut the door, close the curtains, and turn off the lights. It was a struggle to maintain any semblance of composure.
“So I’m the bad parent, huh?” she asked them, welcoming the anger she felt rising as the alcohol still in her system fueled her emotions.
“Is your drinking the reason Daddy left?” Aaron asked.
Ain’t that a bitch?
Renee laughed bitterly as she rose to her bare feet and stumbled around the desk to stand in front of her children. “So I’m the reason your daddy and I broke up? You two think that, huh? You had to find somebody to blame for this . . . and you two picked
me
?”
They both stepped back from her, their eyes widening. “Ma, why are you drinking so much!” Kieran yelled, crossing her slender arms over her chest.
“I’m just toasting your father’s new baby that’s on the way,” she snapped, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as soon as the words left her mouth.
“You’re lying!” Kieran screamed.
WHAP!
It wasn’t until her hand landed on her daughter’s cheek that Renee even realized she’d swung at her. Kieran gasped and held her own hand to her cheek.
“Dayum, Ma,” Aaron said in obvious disbelief.
Renee reached out for her daughter, who turned and ran from the room, the sound of her sneakered feet tearing up the stairs echoing.
BAM!
Renee felt the slam of her daughter’s door reverberate through her body. She craved a drink.
“Is what you said true, Ma?” Aaron asked. “Does Daddy have a baby on the way?”
Renee just dropped into a nearby armchair, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Aaron. Just go to your room and I’ll be up in a minute. Okay?”
Aaron stepped close to her and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, Ma?” he asked.
She kept her face—with its tears and embarrassment—in her hands and nodded her head. And she felt relief when her son finally turned and left the room.
Renee knew without a doubt that she had just made a bad-enough mess horribly worse. She reached over and grabbed the wastepaper basket, quickly snatching the bottle from beneath the paper camouflage. For the first time ever, she didn’t even bother with a glass, just popped the top and took a swig.
She just wanted to forget. Fuck it.
Chapter 2
J
aime released a heavy breath filled with every bit of the emotions she was feeling. The nervousness. The anxiety. The fear and the triumph.
For so long she had been the woman scorned in her marriage. She had to admit to herself—and anybody else that would listen—that she got a thrill from Eric chasing behind her.
When he had me, he didn’t want me
, she thought, easing out of her silver Volvo C70 in a strapless gray dress by Tracy Reese.
The valet drove off in her car just as one of the heavy wooden double doors of the restaurant opened. She eased her long slender clutch under her arm as Eric left the restaurant and walked up to her. With deep-set feline eyes that hinted at her mother’s Asian legacy, Jaime watched the handsome man she had once loved and cherished. The hard lines of his clean-cut bronzed face with those soft and full lips that she’d thought she would kiss forever. The broadness of his shoulders. The cocky strut of his walk. The way his clothes hung off of his frame. She couldn’t ever deny that he was a handsome man, but now she knew there’d been an evil streak deep within him all that time.
Her affair had brought it to the surface.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Jaime,” Eric said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. “You look so different but still beautiful as ever.”
Jaime stepped back, thinking of the harsh words and sexual cruelty he’d put her through in the past. “It was time,” was all that she said, stiffening her spine. A memory of his hand around her throat the night she left him came back to her. She reached in her purse for a cigarette and lighter.
“It’s time, Jaime. Go hard or go back home . . . to Eric. ”
Eric let his arms drop back to his side with a lick of his lips. “You always loved the food here,” he said, saying nothing about her smoking even though his eyes dipped down to her filled hands.
Rolling her eyes, Jaime said nothing as she shoved the items back into her purse as she walked beside him back to Ma Belle’s, the upscale soul food restaurant in Maplewood, New Jersey. Every year Eric and she had come to the spot to celebrate all of their events: anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays. So many different milestones in the life of Eric and Jaime Hall. And eventually so many occasions of pretending to be happy in public.
As soon as they walked into the brick building, the flamboyant host’s smile became brighter than a thousand lit bulbs. “Our favorite couple. How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Hall?” he asked, already reaching for two leather-bound menus.
Jaime froze when Eric slid his arm around her waist and snuggled her close to his side. “Thanks, Antoine. We’re doing real good.”
Jaime smiled even though she was busy thinking:
No, this Negro is not about to front?
“Right this way.” Antoine turned away from them.
No. No. Hell no.
Jaime jutted her elbow back hard enough to knock Eric’s arm from her body. “Um, Antoine,” she called out softly.
He turned. “Yes, Mrs. Hall.”
“Actually, I’d like for you to address me as Ms. Pine. That’s the name I’ll be using when our divorce is final,” she said with ease.
Antoine’s lips pursed as his eyes widened just a bit at her words. “Um . . . okay. Right. Yes. Then, um . . . um . . . Mr. Hall and Ms. Pine, right this way.”
Antoine was polite but his eyes said “DRA-MA!” before he turned again, avoiding Eric’s eyes.
Jaime followed behind him, feeling free of the bullshit. Eric’s hand tightly gripped her upper am, stopping her. She turned enough to look down at his hand and then up into his eyes. He released her and smoothed his double-knotted silk tie.
“Was that necessary, Jaime?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, Eric. It was
very
necessary and
very
true,” she said, before turning to follow Antoine.
The smell of the Southern-food-with-a-twist cuisine made her stomach growl like crazy.
I guess my diet of Pleasure’s dick isn’t very filling.
That made Jaime smile. Pleasure’s dick was like a chocolate-dipped banana built to please. She laughed a little to herself. Soon she didn’t find shit funny when she spied the table Antoine led them to. Both her parents and Eric’s decked out in their Sunday finest, along with Father Richardson, were sitting there waiting for them with serious expressions. Her steps slowed but the anger she felt shot through her body with a quickness.
Eric stepped past her to pull out one of the two empty chairs directly between her mother, Virginia Osten-Pine, and his mother, Kittie Hall. “Here you go, baby,” he said.
Jaime’s eyes met his. He knew damn well the position he was putting her in, blindsiding her with their parents and his clergy, knowing they all wanted nothing more than to see them reunite. She hadn’t seen any of them since she left Eric.
To her it looked like Eric’s eyes dared her not to give in.
Lord knows it wasn’t the time or the place. “What is this, an intervention?” she said lightly. Jokingly but truthful to her actual thoughts.
“It is a family dinner,” her mother said, her hand crossed primly in her lap. “We are a family joined together by your marriage to your Eric.”
Translation: Your marriage to Eric is not over.
Eric pulled the chair back some more.
Jaime noticed that the caramel skin over his knuckles was stretched thin from his gripping the back of the chair so tightly. But she stayed rooted in her spot as she felt the pressure and the tension and the expectations. It was too much. It was just too damn much. She felt nauseous.
She felt everybody’s damn eyes on her.
Her mother’s disapproval.
Her father’s forgiveness.
Mrs. Hall’s nervousness.
Mr. Hall’s contempt.
Father Richardson’s assessment.
And Eric’s pleading.
It was all too damn much.
I wasn’t prepared for this bullshit today.
There was no way she could get out of this easily. It was too many voices, and opinions, and reprimands against her. Just her. The shit wasn’t fair.
I can’t beat ’em, so I’ll join ’em . . . for now.
With a cold stare into Eric’s eyes Jaime forced herself forward to finally take the seat he offered.
When his hands landed lightly on her shoulder she fought the urge to snatch up a fork and dig it deep into his flesh.
Slick bastard.
He took the seat next to her at the round table and Jaime felt her dislike for him go up a big notch. As they all chitchatted like this wasn’t the most awkward situation, Jaime tuned them all out.
She thought about rolling over in her bed this afternoon, not at all surprised to find she was alone. Pleasure had left while she slept off a sexual explosion from their last go-round in the shower. It had been a day filled with Pleasure. Her body, particularly her pussy, had felt turned inside out.
“What are you ordering, baby. Your usual?”
Jaime side-eyed Eric. “I’m tired of the usual,” she said to him, clearly speaking between the lines even as she ignored the hunger grumbles of her stomach.
Eric was relentless in his desire to reconcile, but Jaime could no way in hell fathom going back into the prison of her marriage. The role of the perfect wife smiling on the outside while slowly dying on the inside awaited, but she couldn’t play the part anymore.
Besides she found it bizarre that he wanted to reconcile. For the last six months of their marriage he pretended to love her in public, tolerated her in private, and humiliated her in bed.
Her annoyance went up yet another notch when he ordered for her.
Bzzzzzz.
Jaime opened her clutch and removed her cell phone, not missing Eric’s eyes on her movements. A text. She left her cell hidden by her purse flap and opened the message.
I feel like eating UR pussy. U Home?
This 1s on me.
Her heart raced. Pleasure. She wasted no time texting him back, not really giving a damn if Eric snatched the phone and read the messages.
NOT HOME. WILL CALL WHEN YOU
CAN CUM.
That made Jaime’s clit swell with life. As she pushed the cell phone back deep into her clutch, a smile smooth as butter spread across her face. Long night ahead, she thought, as the servers began to bring out the steaming hot plates.
“Let’s bless the food,” Father Richardson said, his round and bald head beaming beneath the track lighting of the restaurant.
Eric forced Jaime’s left hand out of her lap and into his own hand. Her mother reached for her right hand and then pulled Jaime over toward her. “I forgive you,” she whispered in Jaime’s ear. That made her mouth drop open.
Remembering the harsh words and lack of support her mother had for her, Jaime didn’t want her forgiveness. She felt her mother should ask for hers.
Jaime focused back on the prayer.
“. . . and we thank you for the reuniting of your children Jaime and Eric,” Father Richardson said.
Jaime’s head jerked up.
The what?!
“With their love, my guidance, and most important Your presence in their marriage I know this union will succeed.”
She eased her hand out of Eric’s and then slid it beneath the white tablecloth to tightly grab his dick and balls.
He grunted in pain and shock.
Jaime leaned in close to his ear, whispering, “If you ever pull a stunt like this again I will castrate you and then feed it to you. Understand?”
He nodded once.
Jaime released him and then stood. Everyone looked up at her. “I’m sorry, but Eric has lied to you all. He lied to get me here. We are not getting back together. We are getting a divorce. Please, please respect that this is what
I
want and . . . it is what
we
need. Please.”
Before they could throw holy water on her and begin the tirades, Jaime tucked her clutch under her arm and got the hell away from them and the charade.
As soon as they got home, Kingston was called into the hospital and the last thing Aria wanted to do was sit home alone with her thoughts, her regrets, and her doubts. She grabbed her monogrammed Coach duffel and her keys, and headed out of their spacious Mediterranean-styled home to climb into her silver Range Rover. As she reversed down the paved driveway, she paused and turned her head to look up the street at Jessa Bell’s brick and stone French country-styled structure.
The bitch hadn’t been back to her house in Richmond Hills since her coward-ass message. And Aria had spent many a day and night waiting for the bold bitch to return. “Hmph,” Aria grunted, imagining the Brick City beat-down she so badly wanted to lay on Jessa.
“Dumb bitch,” Aria drawled, checking for traffic before she reversed onto the street.
She
needed
to confront Jessa. She needed to find out who the tramp had slept with and planned to run away and start a new life with. Aria felt like she needed it more than she needed air and water. She needed to know if all her fears about Kingston were true. Had her friend put him in the corner and forced him to come out?
BOOK: Mistress No More
9.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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