Shine Bright Like A Diamond: A BWWM Billionaire Love Story (4 page)

Miss Quinn
, the note read,
welcome to your first morning in Adamson Mansion. Breakfast will be served to you in bed at eighty thirty. If you are awake before then, ring the bell on your bedside table, and Beatrice will come attend to you. Your humble servants, the staff of Adamson Mansion.

Wow. Breakfast in bed? Almasi could never have dreamt of such a thing. She could only remember having breakfast in bed once; as a child, she had fallen very sick with pneumonia, and she had been bedridden for nearly a week. But in fine health? A capable person ought to sit at the table like anyone else. Well, she imagined she might as well get used to this lifestyle sooner or later.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was 7:45. She thought about ringing the bell, but decided against it. She wasn’t hungry yet, and she still had plenty of time to reflect quietly on her own.

So Almasi leaned toward her bedside table and reached for her diary, which she had left next to the silver bell which  she honestly had not  noticed the night before. It was time for her to do some more writing, to document this crazy morning in her even crazier new life.

***

Jacob woke up feeling a little disoriented. Why was he in his parents’ old room? He then remembered the events of the previous day, and shook his head  in wonder. This was such a strange arrangement. Who could tell what might come of it? He also remembered that it was his wedding day. His stomach sank a little. He, Jacob George Adamson, was getting married. Now
that
was an unexpected turn of events. Well, it was only for a month. He pictured Almasi’s face and smiled. This was going to be a pleasant month for him. He hoped she would be happy, too.

Jacob got up, put on a big, fluffy white robe, and strode quietly to the bathroom across the hall. There was an en suite for the master bedroom, of course, but something about that made this experience a little too surreal. Instead, he opted to use the one that had been his as a child. He opened the door and stepped in, feeling that familiar soft carpet between his toes. Ah. A sanctuary of normalcy  in this hectic couple of days.

After taking a long, hot shower and drying himself off with the softest towel he could find, Jacob donned his robe again and made his way back to the master bedroom. As he was walking, he thought he heard a sound coming from one of the guest rooms. He remembered that that was where his bride was staying, and he crept quietly to the door and listened. There was a scratching sound, like a pen on paper. What was Almasi doing writing at this time of day? Jacob Adamson’s wife should not have to worry about work on the day of her wedding.

As far as he knew, she didn’t even have any work. The internship had been canceled, right? Then why was she writing? He decided to go see for himself, so turning the doorknob carefully, he silently propped the door open a couple of inches and peered inside.

Almasi was sitting on her bed, focusing too intently on the book in her hand to notice her groom staring at her from the doorway. The book she was writing in looked simple enough; it was small, with a dark leather cover, and some tiny pattern engraved in it that Jacob couldn’t make out from far away. There was a tiny silver lock on the side, and he saw a matching silver chain glinting around Almasi’s neck and plunging into her night dress.

A diary, then. Well, he would let the woman have her secrets. Diary writing was not an improper activity, and it would probably give her some much needed space in what must be a terribly confusing household for her.

Jacob silently shut the door and turned to walk back to his room. The room that would soon be
their
room. What an odd thought that was. He settled back into his bed, opting to have another half hour of sleep before ringing for his breakfast. Unlike at his penthouse, where he found breakfast in bed to be a little too fussy, Jacob enjoyed staying in bed  at the mansion. He tucked himself under the covers and closed his eyes. Ah. He really was home at last. It was a shame he would have to go back to his normal life at the end of the month.

***

Almasi finished her diary entry for the morning and, carefully closing and locking the book, placed it back on her nightstand. Then, after thinking for a moment, she decided to open the drawer and put it in there. It would be safer that way. She touched the key, which rested just between her breasts, next to her heart. Her secrets, the wedding and the money and all of her innermost feelings, were safe there. She was safe.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and a maid entered with a tray of food.
This must be Beatrice,
thought Almasi.

“Good morning, Miss Quinn,” said the maid. “I have here some toast, pancakes, and a bowl of fruit for you. The bacon and eggs are coming right up. Would you like your eggs scrambled? Fried? Over easy? Hard boiled?” The maid was fairly young, probably about Almasi’s own age, and she had a friendly and patient air about her. “What would you like, Miss Quinn?”

“Oh, um… scrambled would be fine, thank you,” said Almasi. This was amazing. Not only did she have her own maid now, and breakfast in bed, but she was even being given options on the minutia of these gifts. Talk about being served on hand and foot!

“Absolutely, coming right up,” said the maid. She brought the tray over to Almasi and placed it on her lap. “And just to let you know, your personal stylist will be here in about an hour to help you pick out an ensemble for the engagement photos. She can help you with your makeup and all that, too.

As for your hair…” the young woman looked at the sleeping scarf of Almasi’s head and trailed off. “I have no idea if she has ever worked with your, um, texture before.” She sounded apologetic, bashful even. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out!”

Almasi laughed dryly. White people were so cringe-worthy, yet still kind of funny when they got uncomfortable talking about race. It was just hair, for crying out loud. “Well,
I
have worked with this texture every day of my life, so I’m sure I can deal with it myself. But thank you for letting me know.” She smiled at the maid, who smiled back self-consciously. “You can go get the eggs now, Beatrice.”

“Oh, of course! Right away, Miss Quinn.” And then, quick as a flash, the maid disappeared out the door.

I could get used to ordering people around
, thought Almasi. For the time being, she started on her toast and fruit slices. Beatrice would be back in ten minutes with the scrambled eggs and bacon.

After her breakfast had been eaten and her tray had been cleared away by Beatrice, Almasi heard another knock on the door. “Come in!” she said. It was, to her surprise, Yifeng, the girl from the previous day’s limousine excursion.

“Almasi!” exclaimed Yifeng, who ran to hug her. “Guess who’s going to style you up? Me! I’m going to be your stylist from now on!” She was grinning from ear to ear, and Almasi couldn’t help but grin back.

“Okay, first things first,” said Yifeng enthusiastically. “What do you want to wear for the engagement photos? I wouldn’t recommend that you go with white, because that is just so boring, and it’s not the wedding. Not yet, that is. Oh my god, I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited? It’s going to just be a small little ceremony. I won’t even get to be there. But then you’ll be married! Can you imagine?”

Hardly
, thought Almasi. Out loud, she said, “I know!” and then added, “I think the yellow dress would be nice.”

Yifeng positively beamed. “I
love
yellow! And that dress makes you look like an elegant sunflower. So tall, so beautiful. It’s completely perfect, because Mr. Adamson is tall as well. You two really are the perfect couple. It must be so romantic.” Yifeng smiled dreamily, and Almasi just nodded, hoping the other woman would fail to notice her mild discomfort at the subject. “Now, let me open up the wardrobe, and we can get started!”

Within half an hour, Almasi was dressed and ready. Then came the matter of her hair. Yifeng apologized in advance. “I’ve worked with lots of different textures of hair, but never anything like yours. Most of the black women I’ve attended have had relaxers.”

“That’s fine,” said Almasi, and she meant it. “I’ve got enough experience for the both of us.” So she showed Yifeng how to work with her tight curls, and then everything was set and ready for the engagement photos.

“They don’t want to cause too much of a media stir, so the photographer will just be taking you and Mr. Adamson out to the back of the mansion property. There are lots of gardens there. Pretty sunflowers,” she added, “just like you. I have no idea why everything about this is so hush hush.” She saw the expression on Almasi’s face and laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to worry! I would never ask you anything. If you need to keep things private, that is totally your prerogative.”

Almasi smiled. “Thank you,” she said, quietly and earnestly.

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” Yifeng took her hand. “Now come with me, I’ll show you the way to the back garden!” And with that, Almasi was led out of her guest room, down the stairs, and out into the bright summer day.

Jacob stood out by the door, feeling a little nervous. It didn’t help that Mrs. Nettle, the bridal consultant, was fussing over him so much.

“Where is that girl?” she clucked. “We need to pick you out a pocket square that matches her dress, and I’ve heard nothing from that Yifeng yet. Does she never use her damned phone?”

Just as Jacob was about to respond with some platitude or another, the door opened, and out came Almasi. She was beautiful, as he had come to expect by now, but his breath still caught for a moment. His reverie was interrupted by Mrs. Nettle’s fussing.

“Yellow? I was not informed that I was supposed to bring the selection of yellow pocket squares!” she exclaimed. “Yifeng, have you lost your mind?”

“Ma’am, I—” Yifeng began.

“She wasn’t responsible for the dress choice,” interrupted Almasi. “I was. And I think it looks beautiful. In any case, why does everything need to be so perfectly matched?” She strode confidently over to the pile of pocket squares  on the table, ignoring Mrs. Nettle’s squawk of disapproval. After a moment, she lifted up a bright orange pocket square. “Look, see? This complements the stitching on the bodice.”

Almasi was right.
Interesting
, thought Jacob.
She may be a little too strong-willed for Mrs. Nettle or the Ghanaian visitors’ taste, but she does always seem to know what she’s saying.
Not that he knew much about fashion, nor did he particularly care, but he had to agree that the selection Almasi  made was smart. He glanced at his watch. It was time for them to get going. “If that problem is solved, we should be on our way, then,” he said, and he took Almasi’s hand and began to lead her to the spot where they were going to meet the photographer.

“Thank you again, Yifeng,” called Almasi. “And Mrs. Nettle,” she added. Yifeng smiled and waved, and Mrs. Nettle gave her a surly, half-nod. That would do, thought Almasi. She had plenty of time to get into the woman’s good graces.

Jacob and Almasi walked about a quarter of a mile down a lush hill covered in healthy emerald grass and clover. The photographer was to meet them at the gate. When they got to the bottom, Almasi caught site of the beautiful garden below. As Yifeng had mentioned earlier, there were indeed lots of sunflowers. Almasi could also see petunias, pansies, a few hydrangea bushes, lavender, lamb’s ears, a bright and colorful bed of tulips, and some wild violets peeking along the sides.

There were even what looked like red and black currant bushes, and around the corner was some milkweed, which would attract butterflies in August. This was like being in Heaven on Earth. Almasi turned to look where she was going, and she caught Jacob watching her with a rather peculiar expression on his face. “What?” she asked.

Jacob blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking… you really did make a fantastic selection with the dress and with matching the pocket square. You blend into the garden here as if you were a flower yourself.”
And not just any flower, the queen of them all
. Jacob wanted to add that last bit, but he was afraid that it would come off sounding strange, since he still barely knew this woman he was complimenting so poetically already.

So he kept the thought to himself, instead.  He looked ahead, and saw the photographer waving. He waved back, and put his arm around Almasi’s waist. It was show time.

The photographer was a middle-aged man with a large bald spot and sweat stains at the pits of his white dress shirt. He looked cheerful, if a bit overheated. His nose was peeling from what was probably a bad sunburn on his face. Almasi was immediately thankful that because of her dark skin, she could never get burnt like that. It looked uncomfortable, not to mention really, really gross.

In spite of his unappealing appearance, the photographer was energetic and enthusiastic, and he bounded around as he found places for Jacob and Almasi to pose, shouting out commands as he went. They posed standing, sitting, smiling, holding hands, and at one point, kissing, their lips pressed together for the very first time. “Put some more passion into it, lovebirds!” cried the zealous photographer.

“You would think you two have never kissed one another before! She is a woman, damn it, not a prop!” At that last statement, Almasi raised her eyebrows and glanced at Jacob, who could no longer contain himself, and the two of them began to laugh hysterically. Later, when the prints were all completed, there would be a beautiful shot of the happy couple laughing together. It was the best picture from that whole day, and it would be the one selected to be framed and put on the mantel in the foyer.