The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) (16 page)

Chapter 21

“I
’m having a lot of chest pain,” Ophelia complained to her doctor while perched on an examining table.

Dr. Thomas, a handsome African-American internist, scrunched up his face with instant concern and asked, “Show me where you’re having the pain.”

Ophelia obligingly pointed to the area just above her heart. “It doesn’t hurt all the time, which is why it might be indigestion.”

“Are you feeling any pain right now?” the doctor asked, flipping open her chart.

“No, not right now. It sort of comes and goes.” Suddenly, she felt silly for even bringing it up; but as long as she was there for a physical, she might as well mention it.

“Are you under any type of stress—maybe work related—?”

“I’m getting married in less than a month,” Ophelia offered.

“That will do it.” Dr. Thomas’s expression relaxed to an easy smile. “What you’re experiencing is likely a combination of stress and anxiety. It’s actually pretty normal, but do try to do some activities that are going to relax you. Stress can cause major damage to your body.”

Ophelia nodded.
Stress, yeah.
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Maybe she would relieve some stress if she could decide on a dress. Four weeks until the wedding, and she had two wedding dresses. Actually, she seemed to have trouble deciding on everything. Jonas had picked out the wedding colors (blue and white), the wedding location (Château Élan), the menus, and the cake.

And sad to say, her mother and Kailua had picked out Jonas’s wedding band—though she had narrowed it down to four. The whole thing was pathetic. All her life, she had been praised for her organizational and managing skills, but when it came to her own wedding, she was a blank and more than willing to let others take over.

All she had to do was show up.

Of course, sex was a great stress reliever, too. Maybe she was tense because she wasn’t getting any until her wedding night.

“Now, there’s a thought,” she mumbled under her breath. Driving through downtown, Ophelia’s eyes were drawn to T & B Entertainment’s office building. Fleetingly, she wondered what the guys were doing—more specifically, what Solomon was doing.

Three months, she thought sadly. She didn’t intend for so much time to pass, despite the ultimatum from her fiancé. It’s just that each day it grew harder to muster an apology. Then she began to hope that Solomon would call her.

He never did.

Solomon wasn’t going to be a part of the wedding—hell, he’d failed to RSVP after receiving his invite. Then again, what did she expect?

Ophelia turned her gaze from the glass office building and then slammed on her brakes. Despite the loud screeching, she still managed to tap the bumper of the car ahead of her. She cringed when she noticed it was a black S-series Mercedes, but her gaze also skimmed across the personalized license plate: SGRDADY.

“Uncle Willy.”

The Mercedes’s door opened, and the familiar profile of the often rude and crass but lovable Uncle Willy squeezed out of his car. He strolled to the back while the rest of the traffic maneuvered around them.

As he inspected his bumper, Ophelia also climbed out of her car, wearing a wide smile.

“Well, well, well,” Willy boasted and stretched his arms wide. “It’s the little filly that got away.”

Unsure of what he meant, she still allowed him to sweep her into a bear hug.

“You know, I still haven’t received my invitation to this glamorous wedding I keep hearing about. Don’t make me lay you across my lap and give a good spanking. You know how much I like parties.”

Laughing, Ophelia pushed out of his embrace. “Then consider yourself personally invited.”

Willy’s smile broadened. “Well, can I put you over my lap anyway?”

She tossed her head back with a hearty laugh. “You’re still a riot,” she complimented. “Don’t ever change.”

“You have my word on it.” He winked. “So how do you want to work off the damage to my car?”

“Is it bad?” She rushed around him to take a peek for herself. Yet, when she leaned forward for an inspection, she couldn’t find so much as a scratch. “I don’t see any damage.” She stood and glanced over at him.

“Damn. I could’ve used a personal sex slave,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

“I thought you had plenty of those.”

“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

“You can try, but it’s never gonna happen, old man.” Chuckling, Ophelia rolled her eyes and headed back to her car.

“Are you on your way to see my nephew?”

Her knees weakened and she hurried to slide behind the wheel. “I’m afraid not.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

She blinked and stammered for a moment. “I—I’m running some errands today. I’m sure I’ll catch up with him another time.” Ophelia closed her door.

Willy leaned against it, until she rolled down the window. “You know, I’m a firm believer that you should never put off till tomorrow who you can screw today.”

Ophelia laughed and shook her head.

“C’mon. You’re here, he’s right over there.” He held her gaze. “What’s a little harmless visit?”

* * *

For months now, Jonas had subjected himself to private dance lessons. So far he had learned the waltz, mambo, rumba, and the tango. He wasn’t going to win any dance contest, but he was definitely going to be able to impress his wife on their wedding day.

Wife.
His chest ballooned with hope for the future. He didn’t want to waste any time waiting to have children. He desperately wanted a little girl with Ophelia’s beautiful eyes, and a boy who would one day take over his financial empire.

They would have homes around the world, and he would see to it that they had the best of everything. The daydream brought a smile to his face, and a sudden rush of anxiousness for the first day of the rest of their lives together.

However, there was one man who threatened everything: Solomon. Sure, he hadn’t heard Ophelia so much as utter his name lately; but the man still had a tangible presence between them.

But for now, he’d gotten his wish. Solomon was out of the picture. Yet something in the back of his mind wondered for how long.

“So, are we ready, Mr. Hinton?” his dance instructor, Cici Castillo, asked, entering the studio.

Jonas stood, took a deep breath, and clapped his hands. “Sure. Let’s get started!”

* * *

Ophelia parked outside of Solomon’s office building and waited for her courage to build. What possible explanation could she offer for not speaking to him? She had decided to sever ties before Jonas’s ultimatum. She had made the selfish decision to throw away their twenty-five-year-old relationship.

And she missed him.

“Just go in there, ask for your slice of crow pie, and put everything behind you,” she instructed herself. However, she made no move toward the door.

Sighing, she lowered her head against the steering wheel and waded through a flood of emotions. This was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Minutes passed before she finally lifted her head, wiped her eyes dry, and stepped out of the car.

She strolled through the doors, flashing a bright smile to the staff as she made her way toward Solomon’s office. But Marcel crossed her path first.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stealing a hug and a quick kiss.

“I, uh, swung by to see Sol. Is he in?”

Marcel’s handsome face lit up. “Ah, finally. I’m glad to see one of you came to your senses.”

A rush of embarrassment heated her face, and she didn’t quite know what to say.

“Well, he should be in his office. If you want, I can walk down there with you.”

“No, no. That’s not necessary.” She shrugged when Marcel frowned. “This is sort of a…private matter. I’d rather not beg for forgiveness in front of an audience.”

Marcel didn’t appear to be offended. Instead, he gave her an encouraging wink. “I’m sure everything is going to be fine.”

I hope so.
She said her goodbyes to Marcel, and promised to see him and Diana later that evening for dinner. However, when she continued her journey toward Solomon’s office, she felt like a prisoner taking that final walk toward her execution.

She spotted Chelsea behind her desk and flashed her a quick smile. Since the secretary was on the phone, Ophelia whispered, “Is he in?” while stealthily moving toward Solomon’s closed door.

Chelsea quickly hung up the phone and jumped to her feet. “Ms. Missler, I’m sorry, but Mr. Bassett isn’t in his office.”

Ophelia blinked, taken aback by the woman’s forceful tone. “Well, do you mind if I go in and wait for him?”

“He’s gone for the day. He left a few minutes ago. I’ll make sure to tell him that you stopped by,” Chelsea said, with no trace of friendliness in her expression.

A strange tension lapsed between the two women before Ophelia forced herself to nod. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” A slow smile finally stretched across the secretary’s face.

Hackles high, Ophelia turned and strolled away. She kept her chin up and her plastic smile in place, but humiliation settled and soured in her stomach.

Once she pushed through the building’s glass door, she dropped her farcical mask and rushed to her car. She didn’t believe Chelsea. Solomon was there, and her guess was that he’d given strict instructions to get rid of her if she ever showed up. Of course, she had no proof of that. It was just an instinct she couldn’t shake.

Sliding in behind the steering wheel, she quickly started the car. But before she pulled out of her parking spot, she caught a glimpse of one of Solomon’s cars, a silver Porsche, parked in his reserved parking space.

The hole in Ophelia’s heart widened, and she feared the damage would never be repaired.

* * *

Solomon stood before his office window, staring down at Ophelia’s pecan-colored Jaguar. He’d done the right thing, he told himself. Sure, he could’ve seen her, buried the hatchet, gone back to being best friends. All of that would mean he’d have to stand on the sidelines and watch her marry Jonas, bear his children, and watch them live happily ever after.

Solomon couldn’t do that—he wouldn’t do that.

The only way to end the emotional roller coaster was to sever ties. In his heart, he knew he would always love Ophelia. But it was way past time to let go.

After he watched the Jag pull out of the parking lot and merge into traffic, he turned from the window and left the office. He found Marcel at Zandra’s cubicle. Both were searching madly for something on her desk.

“You have a minute?” Solomon asked.

“Sure.” Marcel sighed, seeming relieved for the interruption.

Zandra nervously braided her hands together. “I’ll keep looking for those budget reports, Mr. Taylor. I know they’re around here—somewhere.”

Marcel drew a weary breath and gestured for Solomon toward his office. Once the men entered and closed the door, Marcel nearly collapsed against it.

“I like Zandra, but she has to go,” he grumbled.

“Then fire her.”

“I’d love to, but she’s a good friend of Diana’s grandmother. Every time I even hint that things aren’t working out, I’m bombarded with pleas to give the woman another chance. But I don’t know how much more I can take.”