What Wifey Wants Read online

  I open the back passenger side door and get inside. “Hey, Wendell. Meghan.”

  “Hey, sis,” Wendell says, backing up.

  “Hey, girl,” Meghan says to me like I’m one of her friends instead of her sister. We’ve been separated for so long, I guess I don’t feel like a sister to her. We have no sisterly bond. We’re strangers. Funny how my foster sister, Laney and I, were strangers but we seemed a lot closer in a few months than Meghan and I are. But Laney’s gone now. Her death still rattles me.

  Before I can go off into a daydream about the past, Meghan twists her body to turn around.

  “You look beautiful, by the way,” I tell her.

  “So, do you,” she says. “That red lipstick really shows off those plump lips, girl.”

  “You don’t think it’s too much?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Okay, because I didn’t know if I should or shouldn’t. I normally don’t wear makeup. Royce says I look just fine without it.”

  “Well, it looks good, girlie.”

  She turns around again. I’m amazed at how similar we look, close in age, yet so different. She’s a little on the wild side and I’m more conservative. I had to mature early in life. She had the luxury of being a carefree teenager and growing up in a normal household with loving parents. All I had were my foster brothers and sisters and a woman named Gertrude.

  Once we arrive at the museum, Wendell is busy looking for his friend. Meghan is scoping out the scene. I’m checking my phone, looking for a phone call from Royce.

  “Hey, Makeena, come here,” Meghan says.

  I was so into my phone, I didn’t realize she’d walked away. Now she’s waving me over to where she and Wendell are standing with a tall, dark-skinned man standing next to her. He looks about as old as Wendell. Same build and height.

  When I walk up to them, Wendell says, “Uriah, this is my sister, Makeena. Makeena, this is Uriah, my friend who happens to be the talented artist displaying his work tonight.”

  “Hi,” I tell him. He reaches to shake my hand. I accept, but when he attempts to lower his mouth to kiss the back of my hand, I snatch it away.

  “It’s good to meet you, Makeena,” Uriah says, sounding sophisticated. “Wendell’s told me all about you and how far you’ve come. I can’t wait to see some of your art.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing yours,” I say, glancing around. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re very talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, glancing away from his acute stare. The man is looking at me like I’m a blank canvas that he’d love to create into a work of art.

  “Have a look around,” he says. “Grab some champagne and enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

  “We will,” Meghan says excitedly.

  I give him a quick smile before we walk away, all the while wondering why Uriah’s eyes are fixated on my lips.

  Meghan grabs two glasses of champagne, from a tray when a waiter passes us and hands one to me, but I don’t accept it.

  “No?” she says, almost like she’s disappointed that I’m not partaking in alcohol.

  “No. I’m not much of a drinker and you shouldn’t be drinking either. You’re eighteen.”

  “Yeah, but I look twenty-one.” She takes a sip from her flute before Wendell snatches both glasses out of her hand.

  “Don’t let me catch you with another one, Meghan,” he tells her.

  “Ugh…you’re such a vibe killer,” she tells him and darts her tongue out. When Wendell walks away, she says, “He’s so stuffy with his snooty friends. But his friend Uriah, though…girl, he can get the business. What did you think of him?”

  I shrug, unaware I was going to be quizzed on some strange guy I don’t know. “He’s…um…tall,” I say.

  She cackles. “He’s cute, though, right? Right?” she asks, nudging me. “He’s the only reason I wanted to come here. I’m not into all this artsy, fartsy stuff.”

  Wendell catches up to us after he finished a conversation with a woman. “So, what made you get into art, Makeena?” he asks me.

  “I guess I always liked it. No matter what was going on in my life, it helped to calm my spirit. It’s a true stress reliever.”

  “Ugh, you’re starting to sound like them,” Meghan croons.

  “Don’t pay Meghan any attention. You’re good at painting. That’s for sure.”

  “How do you know?” I ask since I don’t recall showing him my artwork.

  “Royce showed me some of your work. He brags about you all the time.”

  I smile, thinking about him, then check my phone once more to see if he’s called or texted me.

  Nothing.

  Meghan runs off, probably looking to switch her rear end in hopes of getting Uriah’s attention, and I’m alone with my sane sibling. Wendell.

  We peruse through the gallery, looking at various paintings and that’s when I ask, “Wendell, has Royce said anything to you about living here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know…um…has he expressed any regrets about moving here or given you any indication that he doesn’t like living here.”

  “No. Why?”

  “I have a hunch that something’s wrong.”

  “And he didn’t tell you anything was wrong?”

  “No, but sometimes, he doesn’t tell me things. He doesn’t want me to worry. That’s why I thought maybe he’d said something to you.”

  “Nah. You should check with pops, though. He sees him every day. He’s more likely to say something to him than he is to me.”

  ‘‘Yeah. Maybe so.”

  “Don’t count on it, though. Royce is not the most talkative person I know. To be honest, he seems like a loner.”

  “He was a loner before me.”

  “Then maybe that’s what’s wrong.”

  I study another piece of art, attempting to decipher it. Just when I think I see a face in the image, it seems to transition into something else.

  “Do you think that could be it?” Wendell asks.

  “When I met Royce, he wasn’t the most social person I knew. He had his ways, but he never harmed me. Never took advantage of me like Gertrude.”

  “Ugh…don’t even mention that witch. I get angry just hearing that psycho’s name. She ruined our lives. I’m surprised mom and dad made it through all those years with you missing. I was certain they were headed for divorce. Mom kept to herself a lot and it got so depressing to see her crying all the time. It was bad, Makeena. Dad took her to therapy, but that didn’t offer much solace. Then the blame game began. They blamed each other. She said it was rough taking care of three kids while he was working all the time. He said it was her fault since you were in her care. It went on and on like that for years, then they tried marriage counseling. It helped, but not much. They—we—just wanted to know where you were and if you were alive.”

  “Wow. I can’t begin to imagine the stress you all were under.”

  “It was bad,” Wendell says again, shaking his head. “Sorry for getting off topic, though. You were talking about Royce.”

  “It’s no biggie,” Makeena said strolling through the gallery with her brother beside her. “I know you’ve been making an effort to get to know him, and I thought I’d ask you if you’ve noticed anything peculiar. That’s all.”

  “Oh, look. There he is. You can ask him yourself.”

  “What?” I ask, following Wendell’s eyes to the side entrance of the gallery. “You see him? You see Royce?”

  Wendell frowned. “I thought I did. Where’d he go?”

  I smile. “I doubt it was Royce…probably just somebody who looks like him.”

  Wendell shrugs. “Maybe.” He continues to scan the area, looking confused. “Um…yeah, but dad, talk to dad,” Wendell says. “He should be able to give you a better idea on Royce. Whatever you do, don’t ask Meghan a thing. She’s inherited the wild child gene.”

  I grin. “I
’ve noticed.”

  “Boo!” Meghan says, throwing an arm around me and the other around Wendell, smacking bubble gum. She blows a bubble then pops it. Smells like watermelon.

  “Why are you so turned up tonight, Meghan?” Wendell asks her.

  “I’m just in a good mood. Why don’t you mosey on along so me and Makeena can have some girl talk.”

  “All right. I’ll catch up with y’all in a few minutes.”

  As Wendell walks away, Meghan asks, “Ugh, did he bore you to death?”

  “No. I enjoy getting to know the both of you.”

  “Well, I had to live with him. He’s so annoying,” she says, still smacking on gum.

  And she says Wendell’s annoying…

  “Hey, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why’d you get married so young? You’re twenty-one. Right?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “You’re supposed to be living it up, in college getting buck wild and learning what life is all about. Instead, you’re tied down to a man.”

  “I’ve never been buck wild and I’m not tied down to Royce. I love him. I want to be with him.”

  “Yeah, but what if there was someone else out there you were meant to be with and you don’t find him because you’re with Royce.”

  Now, she’s hit a nerve. I snap my head back and look at her. “There is no one else out there for me. Royce is my husband, and I love him. End of discussion.”

  “Okaaay. Sorry.”

  I glance up and see Uriah looking at us. “Why don’t we just focus on our relationship, Meghan? You’ll want to talk marriage one day when you find your one true love and I’ll be there to give you advice.”

  She nibbles on her lip, then says, “My one true love is walking this way.”

  I follow her line of sight to Uriah, but he’s not looking at her. He’s gazing at me. He stops in front of us and says, “So what do you think?”

  “About what?” I ask since he’s looking directly at me.

  He smiles. “My paintings.”

  “I think you’re a very talented artist. Your pieces are so original, so creative and I love, love, love your use of color.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Yes, they’re very nice, Uriah,” Meghan adds.

  I grin. About an hour ago, Meghan said she wasn’t into artsy fartsy stuff. Now, all of a sudden, the paintings are very nice.

  “Thanks, Meghan. I didn’t know you were into art.”

  “Are you kidding? I love art…stuff.”

  He smirks, then turns his attention back to me and says, “I would love to see your work one day, Makeena.”

  “Um, yeah. Maybe I can get a couple of pieces to Wendell to show you.”

  He smiles. “All right. Yeah. Set that up.”

  “Ready to go, Makeena?” Wendell asks walking up behind me. He’s right on time. I didn’t know how much more of a Uriah stare-down I could take. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Ay, Uriah, it’s been real, man. I’ll catch you later.”

  “All right, man.”

  “Bye, Uriah,” Meghan says.

  “Take care, Meghan.”

  When we’re back inside of the car and on the way home, Wendell says, “What did you think about Uriah’s work, Makeena?”

  “I thought it was nice. I’m sure he’s going to sell most of those paintings at a premium price.”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Hey, why did we bail early?” Meghan asked.

  “Because we were done. Did you not get to see everything?”

  “I did, but I wasn’t much interested in the art.”

  “Then why’d you come?” He glanced at his sister. “Don’t tell me you only came to see Uriah.”

  “Then I won’t say a word.”

  Wendell chuckled. “I told you, Uriah is into women who likes the same things he likes. Your idea of painting is the glitter you put on your fingernails.” Wendell laughs.

  I muffle a grin.

  “Ha, ha, ha…you ain’t funny,” Meghan says.

  “Anyway, Uriah’s too old for you.”

  “No, he’s not. Makeena’s husband is thirty-three.”

  I frown. Why is she bringing Royce into this discussion?

  “Yeah, and Makeena’s a lot more mature than you,” Wendell says. “You just graduated high school, Meghan. Why don’t you get focused on your studies so you can go out into this world and make something of yourself?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Chasing after men and sneaking alcohol whenever you get the chance. You need to get a grip.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have come to this crap, anyway. I’ll know better for next time. Tell ya that.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Wendell snaps back.

  Chapter 4

  Makeena

  The rest of the drive to my house is a quiet one. When I finally get out of the tension-filled car, I wave to Wendell and Meghan. It’s after ten. The house is dark. Not a single light is on in the house. When I unlock the door, I flick on the porch light, then wave to my siblings again. Wendell toots the horn and begins to back out of the driveway and I go inside, secure the lock on the door and glance around the dark house.

  “Royce?”

  Royce’s car is parked in the driveway where he normally parks, so I know he’s home. I turn on a lamp in the living room. “Royce.”

  “Turn the light back off,” I hear him say, but I don’t see him.

  “Where are you?” I ask, heart thudding as I rotate the lamp’s switch back to an off position.

  “Follow the sound of my voice, baby.”

  I smile, beginning a slow journey down the hallway that seems to be getting longer by the minute – like I’m walking down an endless alley at midnight. It’s so dark, I can’t see a thing like my eyes are closed. I’m using the wall for balancing. My heart rate quickens. I’m scared – scared in my own house.

  “Royce, where are you?” I ask as I felt around for the doorknob to our bedroom. Well, I think it’s our bedroom. When I turn the knob, I realize it’s the bathroom. Not the bedroom.

  I grin to myself and at Royce for playing this game. He usually wouldn’t do something like this…must be feeling adventurous tonight. “Royce Pembroke, if you don’t—”

  “Shh, shh, shh,” he says, grabbing me from behind.

  “Royce—”

  “Shh,” he says again but I’m apprehensive because it’s dark and I can’t see him. I know it’s him – his scent is something that has become embedded in my nostrils. Still, I want to see him.

  He walks me closer to the bedroom and opens the door that I couldn’t find. I gasp as the door slowly opens. The room is filled with so many white pillar candles, I can’t count them. They’re all lit. Flames dancing.

  “Royce, what’s this?”

  “Today is our four-month anniversary.”

  “Oh my gosh, Royce. It is! We’ve been married for four full months.”

  “Mmm, hmm,” he hums as the tip of his nose brushes up against the right side of my face.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you, baby.”

  He takes my hand and spins me around and it is then that I finally lay eyes on him.

  “Hi,” he says. Smiles.

  In his eyes, I see unparalleled desire build and grow. “Hey.”

  He kisses me, lowers his mouth and takes a pull of my lips that leaves me moaning. While he’s kissing me, he begins to loosen the clasp of my jeans and maneuver them down pass my hips. He grabs a hold onto my backside. Squeezes. “I want you.”

  Succumbing to his advances, I step out of my jeans while he resumes kissing me and then he picks me up quickly and carries me to the bed. He lowers me, pulls his shirt up over his head and slides his boxers down the length of his legs.

  “I missed you.”

  “I was only gone for a few ho
urs.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, his warm breath and lips fluttering across my scorching flesh before he decides to take a taste, using his tongue to pull and tug on my softness.

  “Mmm,” I hum feeling my need for him amplify.

  “I want you so much, chiquita,” he growls, lowering himself on top of me. Seems every time we make love he finds a new way to make my body shiver with need and awaken with aspiration. His eyes were doing most of the work all on their own.

  He nibbled at my neck, then earlobe, teasing me. Whenever I whimpered, he’d kiss me until I was quiet again.

  His body, gosh I loved his thick, beefy body holding me as his prize while he feasted upon me to his content. With his fingertips, he strummed my quivering stomach.

  “Royce,” I say breathlessly, needing him to give me what I want most – a grand joining – a connection. I want him to own me this way. To love me deeply and ravenously until I forget my dilemma with him. I want to lose myself. I want to hide. Want him to seek.

  “Makeena,” he says.

  I open my eyes to look at him, seeing flames from the candles dance in his vision.

  “Yes, Royce?”

  He nestles between my legs and says, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Then I feel him driving into me. I close my eyes and brace myself for impact.

  “Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see me, sweetheart.”

  He inches forward.

  I hold on.

  See flames. In his eyes.

  Feel pressure down below.

  I hear myself moan with each painstakingly slow forward push.

  “Royce,” I pant. This feeling is too intense.

  “I want you to look at me while I’m settling inside of you, sweetheart. This is what you wanted, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, look at me.”

  “Okay,” I say, holding his gaze, feeling every slow push. I can’t close my eyes, so I nibble on my lip to help me contain the magnitude of his presence. Once he’s settled, he lowers the weight of his body down on top of me and extends my arms above my head. His hands are so big that with one hand, he’s able to lock it around both of my wrists.

  His other hand is free to roam. With his index finger, he traces my lips. Smiles.