BWWM Romance: Crossing The Line: Interracial Romance / Wealthy Love Interest (6 page)

It was obvious that Virgil didn't cook. The house smelled like a ritzy hotel lobby, without any lingering food smells. She looked at all of the enlarged photographs. They were mostly artsy black and white shots of random objects. The wide perspective on some of them took Shawna's breath away.

"These are awesome."

"A . . . friend took them."

"A friend?"

Virgil shrugged. "Would you like something to drink or a pre-dinner snack?"

"No, I'm good."

Virgil led Shawna into his studio and had her sit on the sofa. He swung his guitar off the wall and slid the strap over his shoulder. After flipping several switches, Virgil tapped the microphone in front of him, testing to see if it was on. As he began to play, Shawna's heart quickened. His fingers glided over the strings effortlessly, and the more he got into it, the more the guitar sang to her. He played a few blues riffs to warm up before breaking into an original composition.

He had clearly written the song
about
her, but not necessarily
for
her. The haunting sound filled the room like a billowing hot air balloon. Shawna rocked to the beat for a while, and then Virgil began to sing. Nothing she had listened to previously could have ever prepared Shawna for the rich sound of Virgil's voice. It shook her to her core and made her quiver. His lyrics sent chills down her spine and it wasn't long before she understood the crying girl from the restaurant. Shawna could only imagine what Virgil sounded like with a full band.

When he finished and opened his eyes, Virgil swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, the look on his face making it clear that he expected any look
except
one of absolute admiration. Putting his guitar down, he joined Shawna on the couch.

"That was incredible," she said, wiping away a stray tear, careful not to smudge her makeup.

"It was for you."

"I don't know what to say." Shawna crushed her skirt in her hands and stared down at the floor. Heat rushed to her cheeks and a warm sensation crept through her body. The sensation of Virgil’s gaze raced on electrical currents through her veins. He was still the same man who swept her away from the charity event, and yet different in some way that she had a hard time nailing down. Either way, the intimate moment took Shawna by surprise. She touched her stomach where the butterflies were going wild.

Virgil pulled Shawna by her chin to meet his lips and kissed her. "I need you to promise me something,” he said, pulling away from the soft touch of her mouth.

"Sure."

"Whatever happens tonight, you'll give me a chance to explain."

Shawna shook her head and pulled away. This wasn't the first cryptic request Virgil had made. He wanted a blind devotion from her that she wasn't sure she could give. She didn’t
want
to give it. He had more secrets than anyone she had ever known, and even though he seemed like he wanted them to stay together, he was incredibly unwilling to share. She knew he was afraid 0f something but it hurt that he didn’t trust her. It scared her that he might have reason not to trust anyone.

"You could explain everything now and avoid all of this mystery. I don't really think I'll appreciate this particular surprise."

"I know I'm asking a lot of you, but I am so fucked up, and I don’t want you to judge me when I’m not even done putting myself together.”

“I can try to help you,” Shawna said, standing. “But you’re going to have to let me in, Virgil. This wall you have up is so hard to deal with. I feel like I don’t know who you are or what you’re about. You’re a nice guy, but I’m not sure how much of that is even real and how much is an act. What do you want from me?”

Virgil rested his chin on his clasped hands and bit his bottom lip. He could only look up at her and shake his head.

“I wish that I was every inch the man you want me to be. I wish I knew how to transform into the man you need.”

“I don’t
need
anything,” she said in exasperation. “I can take care of myself. What I want is for you to be okay. I want you to be honest with me.”

“I know.”

Shawna sighed, and stood in front of Virgil. Rubbing his shoulders, she allowed him to rest his head against her stomach. She smoothed his hair with one hand and squeezed his hand with the other.

“I’d never hurt you,” Virgil said. “Know that much.”

“I know,” Shawna said. “I don’t know how, but I know.”

S
hawna shook her head
, dreading what could possibly happen at dinner, especially after Virgil's cryptic warnings. The worst that she could imagine was that Virgil's parents' were horrible, old racists, but they had already failed at that since they invited her over to their house to eat dinner,
not
to come cook it. Being able to use the front door was a plus. In her heart of hearts, she hoped that Virgil had more sense than to expose her to some bigoted nonsense.

Virgil didn’t bother to give her a tour of the main property. He moved swiftly through the wide halls with her in tow. Shawna barely got a glimpse into the family room with its old school fireplace and a painting of some ancient family member surrounded by all of his valuable possessions. She spotted a stuffed bird of some sort in another room, and the family library was located close by as well. Virgil had to double back to drag her from the library with its ceiling-height shelves, packed with every conceivable volume from centuries past.

“What’s in the books?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

The dining room was something out of a movie. The long table was covered with an ironed and starched white tablecloth. The aroma of the red and orange floral centerpiece could be detected from out in the hallway and its colors matched those of the oriental rug. Tall white candles filled the empty spaces on the table. An elaborate gold chandelier hung from the high ceiling. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. Shawna smirked at the little silver domes over the plates. She had seen them in movies, but didn’t think they really existed.

No one else was in the dining room. Virgil mumbled something under his breath and headed for a different door. He was cut off by an older black woman in a maid’s uniform. She carried a large serving dish, which she shifted to the side to avoid running into Virgil.

“Where’s the fire, young man?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Hargrove. Have you seen my parents?”

“They’re in the sitting room waiting for you.”

Virgil looked over his shoulder at Shawna and back to Mrs. Hargrove. “Mrs. Hargrove, Miss Shawna Mills.”

“It’s nice to meet you, dear.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Shawna said.

“She’s cute,” Mrs. Hargrove told Virgil. “Keep her away from your mama.”

Shawna’s mouth fell open and she quickly closed it. Virgil and Mrs. Hargrove exchanged a look.

“Wait here,” Virgil told Shawna.

Shawna watched Mrs. Hargrove set down the serving dish and wipe a smudge from one of the silver domes. Shawna’s grandmother used to work in people’s houses. There was no shame in it, even though there were plenty of people who would say otherwise. It was an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Mrs. Hargrove didn’t seem too distraught over it. She hadn’t given Shawna one of those looks that unhappy folks exchange among themselves. The unspoken, unwritten language of facial expressions was common in black households. But the only vibe Shawna received from Mrs. Hargrove was one of mild concern.

“I don’t know how you got here, honey,” Mrs. Hargrove said, finally. “But you should get out while you can.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Who knows, but a pretty young thing like you can do better. Do it for your health. I love that knucklehead. He’s a sweet boy, but the rest of them are nuts. Like I said, I love the boy, but he ain’t worth it, honey.”

“I think Virgil is hiding something from me.”

“He sure is,” she said. “That ain’t even the child’s name. That’s his stage name.”

The door swung open again and Virgil re-entered the dining room. He stood behind a chair and beckoned Shawna to stand next to him. Mrs. Hargrove gave Virgil a look. “Be good to her, Alex, or you might regret it.”

“Alex?” Shawna asked when Mrs. Hargrove disappeared through the door.

“It’s my middle name . . . Virgil Alexander Dixon.”

She blew out a puff of air, glad that there was a logical explanation. The secrets she already had on her radar were bad enough.

“Don’t believe whatever Mrs. Hargrove told you.”

“Why?”

“She hates her job and, by extension, us.”

Shawna shook out her nerves. She had been absorbing Virgil's nervous energy and it made her antsy. Glancing over at him, she decided not to make anything out of his comment about Mrs. Hargrove. He could've said worse, and he probably didn't even mean it that way.

Melinda burst through the door first, followed by her husband. Virgil looked so much like his mother that there could be no doubt that he was related to these people. But Melinda had a wiry tautness―as if her skin had been ironed― that Shawna hoped never to see in her boyfriend. The older woman smiled at Shawna, showing perfect white teeth, and walked around Virgil to kiss Shawna on the cheek and get a good look at her.

"My, my, my. Aren't you darling?"

"Thank you," Shawna said.

“This is my mother, Melinda Dixon, and my father, Elliot Dixon. Mom and Dad, Shawna…” Virgil’s father was a tall, friendly looking man with graying dark hair and narrow, rectangular glasses.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Shawna.

"I'm sorry my son is such a mess. Whatever do you see in him?"

Shawna blinked. She had thought that they would at least be seated before the drama started. Virgil didn't even flinch. A film of tiredness lowered over his face like a veil and he looked as if he switched off everything but the essentials in his brain. Shawna took a step back from Melinda.

Melinda joined her husband at the other side of the table and Virgil pulled Shawna's chair out for her. She made the effort to squeeze his arm before lowering herself in the seat to let him know that she was still there and completely on his side. An older man came out of the kitchen and removed the lids from their plates.

"I hope you're not a vegetarian. I hate vegetarians," Melinda said. "They're such a whiny bunch."

"No, this looks delicious," Shawna said, trying to inject some positivity into the conversation.

"Don't tell
me
about it. I didn't cook it."

"Melinda," Virgil's father said. "Tone it down. What do you do, Shawna?"

"I'm a grad student. I'm studying to be a pharmacist."

Elliot raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Smart girl. Why not a doctor?"

Shawna tightened her lips. She hated this question. "I'm squeamish."

"Not as squeamish as Alex." Elliot broke into an embarrassing tale of the time Virgil refused to get into the bathtub at the age of six after his nanny told him that the little black things floating in the water were dead skin. "He's probably the only person I know who started showering at that age. I don't think we were able to get him into a swimming pool until he was 14 or something like that."

"Awww," Shawna said. She glanced over at Virgil and he smirked. Something about his father taking over the conversation had relaxed him.

"What does your father do?" Melinda asked.

"He's a pastor."

"Oh! They still make those?"

Her words left Shawna speechless. She didn't know how to reply to these acerbic, possibly rhetorical questions. Every sentence sounded like a trap. This woman was a spider, deftly weaving a web. Shawna didn't want to know what happened to the people who got caught.

"Alex says you like books," Elliot said, brushing off his wife's poor attempt at humor. She reached for her wine glass and he moved it to the other side of his own plate before she could grab it. Shawna intended to simply humor Elliot with a simple response, but it wasn't long before they found themselves in the depths of literary discourse. It amazed her that he had read her favorite books, including novels by Toni Morrison and Terry McMillan.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Melinda said. "That's exactly what this house needs. Another bookworm. You're not an artist of some sort too, are you? I started to have some hope when you said something about science."

"Don't mind my wife. She lacks imagination."

"I have rules," Melinda said, snatching her glass from the other side of her husband. "Those rules include not boring me half to death with nonsense, which means I don't care to hear anything further about your father or his church. I don't care about what
fascinating b
ook you've read. I don't care how well you beat a drum," she said, eying Virgil. "Or paint a picture," she said to her husband. "Elephants can paint pictures. Monkeys can beat drums."

"Well, what do you like, Mrs. Dixon?" Shawna asked. The edge in her voice made Virgil turn and stare at her. He readied himself to jump between them if Shawna's challenge was answered with one of Melinda's infamous outbursts.

"Money. Things that make me money and people who make me money. Which is why I like you."

Shawna narrowed her eyes and gripped the edge of the table. "Excuse me?"

"You have a head on your shoulders. You're in college trying to make something out of yourself. I doubt your parents raised you to be some sort of welfare queen. You don't have any plans to get knocked up by my son in an attempt to live on easy street, do you? Because if you do, we'll cut him off like gangrene. He's already a pain in my ass. No job, no future. Hopeless."

"If you don't want him," Shawna said coolly, "I'll be more than happy to take him off your hands."

Elliot sipped from his glass, eyes darting between the two women, and for a split second Shawna saw the resemblance between him and Virgil.

"So your hobbies are reading and garbage collection. That's good to know. It'll take you far. Alex, I've changed my mind."

"About what?" Virgil asked.

"Our deal. It's off. It's obviously not going to work. You went and found one of those bullheaded―"

"Bullheaded . . ?" Shawna repeated quietly.