The Eternal Engagement (14 page)

CHAPTER 31

Mona

 

 

“W
hy do you love me so much?” she asked, not feeling worthy of his affection.

For a moment, Mona missed her mother. Now that she was older, she understood that her mother had done great things, had good intentions. Instilling confidence, self-respect, and self-worthiness in her was something Mona couldn't put a price tag on.

“Forget about how Steven acted a fool earlier,” she thought while relaxing on Davis's couch. Steven should be grateful she'd given him over five consecutive years of her life. Perhaps the best years, but she was in her prime and fertile enough to have a baby by Lincoln. Was that a smart way to show she loved him? Not really.

She smiled at Davis, thankful he couldn't read her mind. Davis was so enamored with her he overlooked her lies, or outright missed her sudden interest in another man.

The six months she'd dated Davis, he'd showered her with flowers and gifts every week. He loved surprising her and she enjoyed letting him. She smiled at Davis. He probably had a Thanksgiving present that he'd give her tomorrow, that was if she was around to get it.

Three artificial orchids, pink, brown, with a hint of white, dangled from his mantel above the wood-burning fireplace. He said he'd put them there because those orchids reminded him of her pussy. Framed in silver, their picture was neatly placed beside the plant.

She sat at the opposite end of the sofa. His foot was nestled between her thighs, cradled in her crotch. She pressed the tip of her clit deep into the arch of his foot.

He wiggled his toes, then said, “You've been awfully quiet since that incident with Steven.”

Mona knew she shouldn't have told Davis Steven's name. She hadn't done so until today. Davis and Steven seeing one another was not her decision. But she had decided there was no way she was going to Steven's house tonight. And her relationship with Davis had to end tomorrow.

“You wanna talk about—” He paused, then said, “You let me know if you want to discuss him or what was in that note, wherever that is.”

She shook her head. She was pissed that Steven's shenanigans overshadowed her excitement about Lincoln's text. Maybe relocating to Seattle was perfect timing. She'd reply to Lincoln in the morning when Davis dropped her off at her house.

“You're special. You're good to me. No, make that great. I love the way you spoil me. How you massaged my feet the first day we met, wow. And you pamper me all the time. Your spirit is wholesome, so pure. Like the essence of an angel.”

Mona hadn't given Davis any special treatment; she was just being herself. But since most women didn't do the extras, she understood how he felt.

“I can't say no to you, Mona. Your smile makes me smile. Your dreams encourage me to dream. Your zest for life energizes me. Your Southern drawl, your hospitality, and those delicious dishes you cook make me happy, especially that filé gumbo. Not to mention how you do those naughty things to me that no woman has ever done.” He paused, then continued, “You're the only woman I've dated whom I can't find one thing about that I don't like. Not a one. Does that answer why I love you?”

“I know you do, Davis,” Mona said before squeezing his big toe.

“Mmmm. See. That's what I'm talking about. After six months, you still do that. Your touch feels so good, honey. I was going to wait until tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents', but I can't.”

Davis hurried to his bedroom, retuned to the living room, knelt beside the sofa. Holding her hand, he frantically opened the black box, then gazed into her eyes. “Mona, marry me?”

Was his proposal rhetorical? She wanted the Denzel Washington proposal in
American Gangster.
Life was all about the fairy tale. Death was always looming in the background. For all she knew, Steven could've killed another person since she last saw him. It'd be better if someone, anyone, killed Steven. Then she wouldn't say “Yes” to Davis's proposal, but she would say “Yes” if it were Lincoln asking again.

Mona stood, placed the ring inside the box, then snapped it shut. She interlocked her fingers with his, then led him to his bedroom. She placed the box on his dresser as she stared into his eyes.

Davis eased the spaghetti straps of her silk nightgown over her shoulders. The pink baby-doll gently fell to the floor and draped around her ankles.

“I wanted to surprise you. Ask in front of my family tomorrow. But I love you so much, Mona, I can't wait, I . . .” he said, turning to reach for the box. “I'll make the announcement to my family at dinner while I'm saying what I'm thankful for.”

Mona pulled him toward her, kissed the rest of his words into her drooling mouth. She scooted onto his flannel sheet, then spread her thighs. “Show me how much you love me.” She waited for Davis to join her. He removed his pajama pants, then lay his naked body atop hers.

Sadly he said, “You didn't answer me, Mona. I want you to be my wife.” His eyes fixated on hers. The wide head of his manhood lightly touched the spot where the arch of his foot was moments ago, then slid into the opening of her vagina.

Mona held Davis close, put her chin on his shoulder, trembled as she climaxed all over his dick. Her ankles instantly locked around his waist. Staring at the ceiling, she said, “Let's not talk about marriage right now. Take me slowly. I need to feel every inch of you inside of me”
for the last time
.

Marriage for Mona wasn't an option. Not that she wouldn't have divorced Steven to marry Davis, that was, if Lincoln hadn't resurfaced. But even if Lincoln had never texted her, she still wasn't in love with Davis.

CHAPTER 32

Steven

 

 

D
ressed in all black, Steven sat in his recliner missing his family, who were miles away in Selma. Family holidays were sentimental for him. Every Thanksgiving he sat at the table with the ones or the one he loved. For the first time in his life, this year was different. He knew he'd have to drag Mona by her hair, tie her to their dining room chair, and force-feed her if she were going to dine with him tomorrow. Perhaps he should move back to Selma.

Maybe hearing his mother's voice would erase the thoughts of what he'd planned to do in a half hour. He checked the time on his cell phone—eleven-thirty p.m. in Bakersfield, one-thirty a.m. in Alabama. “What the hell,” he said, deciding to phone home.

On the third ring, his mom sleepily answered, “Buttercup, you okay?”

“Yeah, Ma. I'm good. Just needed to hear your voice.”

“You haven't been laid off because of that oil spill over in the Gulf, have you? I heard y'all got a new governor. Thank the Lord that rich lady didn't win. Buttercup, did you know that Meg lady spent over one hundred and seventy-eight million dollars and a hundred and forty-four million was of her own money and she still lost that race. People with all that money shouldn't have all that power to control people's lives, especially if they ain't living right. You sure you doing good, Buttercup? You don't sound like yourself.”

He laughed out loud. Only his mom was allowed to call him by the nickname she'd given him. He'd fallen in love with both peanut butter cups and Mona Lisa before his tenth birthday.

“Yeah, Ma. I still got my job at the oil company,” he lied. He'd have to lie about having his job or explain how he earned his money. If his mom knew he'd killed several people she wouldn't kill him, but the shock would cause her to nearly beat him to death.

“How's Mona? It's been six months. That's why you calling me. To tell me she's home.”

He wished. “Nah, Ma. She ain't back.”

“I saw her mother the other day at the grocery store. We were both getting the trimmings for our turkeys. She said that William Lincoln boy was discharged from the Marines two years ago. Told me he had PTS or PST, you know that disorder when you ain't quite right in the head. Said she wished she'd known that before she gave him Mona Lisa's number. Anyways, you tell Mona hi for me when you see her. I love you, Buttercup.”

That bitch.
Now he hated Mona even more. His flesh crawled like he was burning in hell. Sweat drenched his face, soaked his shirt. He didn't care.

“I love you too, Ma,” he said, ending the call. Steven picked up the bottle beside his recliner, guzzled the remaining whiskey, then hurled the bottle at Mona's picture hanging on the wall.

The bottle and the frame shattered into small pieces. His heart weighed heavy like a flock of birds in the Gulf drenched in petroleum. “That bitch ain't slick. Davis is her decoy. The whole time she's been claiming to be unhappy with me, she's been plotting to leave me for Lincoln.” Mona had made his decision easy.

Polishing his gun, he stared at her dented picture. Mona Lisa was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever held. She was a Southern belle with hypnotic charm. Her flesh was smoother than butter.

He rewound in his mind to the first time he'd had sex with her. It was his first unforgettable blow job. The second he released himself inside of Mona's mouth, and she swallowed every seed, he'd instantly fallen in love with her. No girl had done that.

“Now what do I have!” he shouted, then slammed her picture to the floor. “A wife that sucks every man's dick except mine. I hate you!”

He sat in his chair, checked the bullets in his gun. Never could be too sure. Worst thing he'd imagined was shooting to kill but getting shot because of a missing bullet. He screwed on the silencer. Opening a fresh bottle of bourbon, he gulped half of the contents, then placed the bottle on his coffee table. He'd save the other half for a nightcap with Mona. Whether he had to pour the whiskey down her throat or douse her dead body with it, either way her ass had a toast coming.

Mona's eight hours were up. He knew exactly where to find her. He stepped outside. What he was about to do might silence the gossip about the Harper family tragedy in Bakersfield. Whoever killed that wife, her mom, and children was a heartless murderer.

Maybe if he were heartless, he could forget Mona.

Steven concealed his gun in a fresh bubble envelope. He had a heart and a loving mother. And although he didn't have any kids, there was no way he could kill a defenseless living being. Five people lost their lives that day in Bakersfield. He'd watch the entire episode on
Dateline NBC: The Mystery of the Lost Weekend.

“Fucking coward.” The person who did that shit was a punk. The jury on the case wasn't much better. Whether the dude did it or not, how the hell do you convict anybody based on association of evidence but have no proof? Perhaps the same way he'd done with Sarah. Sarah not being able to prove where the money came from didn't make her guilty of murdering Calvin. But the police were so eager to pin the case on someone to make themselves look good, it didn't matter. Lots of innocent people went to jail because law enforcers were gunning to outdo one another.

Mona claimed she could prove him guilty. Tonight he'd give her another opportunity.

“That's it! Her ass was going to have me locked up so she could leave Davis and be with Lincoln and I'd be behind bars out of her way. Hell, no, bitch!” He was meant to call Katherine and his mother.

He stepped onto his porch, locked his door, then trotted across his lawn toward his SUV.

“Hey, Steven. Happy Thanksgiving,” Ms. Velma called out from her front yard.

No one in this town knew what he really did for a living except Mona. In a few minutes, no one alive would know his truth.

He smiled. Waved. “Happy Thanksgiving Eve to you, Ms. Velma.”

Mona had five minutes to make the right decision.

Ms. Velma was always happy. Anyone who needed food, clothing, or shelter could depend on her. If she had it to give, they didn't have to ask twice.

Well, Steven had something else to give, so he got in his truck, put the yellow envelope on the passenger seat, and headed to Davis's house.

CHAPTER 33

Mona

 

 

M
idnight.

Hot water showered their naked bodies. Mona lathered the cotton washcloth. In small circular motions she gently washed Davis's shoulders, kissed the center of his spine, then massaged his back.

His palms flattened against the tiles. “The hot water and your hands feels so good, baby,” he moaned, hanging his head forward. “Be honest. Do you love me, Mona?”

Thankful his back was to her, she kissed his spine again. It was more of a good-bye kiss for her. Davis was her transition man. He was there to help her escape from Steven. He was fun. He was great in bed. Davis was a good man. And if it weren't unladylike, she'd compliment him for a job well done. The alternative for her was to crush his heart or settle for being in bed with another man she wasn't in love with.

“Stay right here,” she said. “Close your eyes. I have a big surprise for you.”

He turned, looked down at her. “What now?”

“You know you love my surprises. Just do it, baby. I still have eleven hours. Remember, you started this twenty-four hours thing, not me.”

Melancholy dilated his pupils. His irises were hazed with desperation. “Put my ring on. That's what I want more than anything right now,” he said, then closed his eyes.

She faced Davis toward the white ceramic tiles. “And no peeking.”

As she got out of the shower, the memory of Steven's voice momentarily influenced her mood, shifting her thoughts. She wondered if she should tell Davis to take her home. She'd feel better if Steven had completed what came across as a threat earlier. “If you're not back in our house by midnight, Mona.” Then what? Forget Steven. He was not going to make her miserable in her own mind.

Hesitant, she slipped on her engagement ring, happily picked up her cell phone, then skipped to the kitchen to contact Lincoln.