Dance Into Destiny (24 page)

M
ark drove quietly the entire ride to the restaurant. Keeva wondered what was on his mind. He pulled up at one of their favorite places, Anis. She was impressed. They usually only came here on special occasions like her birthday or their anniversaries.

They sat down at their table. The maitre'd came over and Mark ordered a bottle of expensive champagne.

Keeva raised her eyebrows. “What's the occasion?”

“Do I need a special occasion to treat my Princess well? Things have been strained between us lately and I wanted us to be able to have a good time together for a change.”

Even though she had been annoyed with his attitude at Shara's, Keeva vowed to have a good time. If she was going to think of ending the relationship after having invested so much time, she wanted to at least give it a fair chance first.

After the second glass of champagne, she began to relax. She laughed at his corny jokes as if he was straight off of
Def Comedy Jam
.

After dessert, they drove back to her apartment. Mark was quiet again for the entire ride.

“Is something wrong, Mark?”

He looked over at her. “I'm fine, Princess. Just glad to have you back.”

She smiled. This did feel like old times.

When they got to the apartment, he walked over to the CD player and put on a Sade CD. He turned down the lights. He was actually setting the mood for the first time in a long time. She realized where this was going. For a moment, she was angry that he was purposely ignoring her desire to be celibate. She relaxed a little though as she remembered his request to wean slowly. He had been behaving since their talk and hadn't even protested about being sent home every evening at 10:00 pm.

She felt a stirring deep inside. It startled her. She hadn't been “in the mood” for a long time.

He held out his hand and invited her to dance. They danced sensuously to the music as he showered her with kisses. She melted in his arms. They began to kiss passionately. He stopped. She gave him a questioning look. For the first time in forever, she didn't want him to stop. She was glad he had and was touched that he was trying to respect her wishes.

He stepped back and led her to the couch. She sat down. He took a deep breath and then fumbled around in his pocket. He pulled out a small, blue box and dropped to his knee. Keeva's eyes widened and her mouth fell open as he opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond marquis. It was huge. Had to be at least three carats. Her mouth hung locked open as her eyes went from the ring to his earnest face.

He rambled through an explanation of how long they had been together and how much he cared for her. Keeva realized she was barely listening to him when she noticed he had stopped talking and was now anxiously awaiting her reply. He looked so vulnerable, so serious, so intense.

He frowned as a large tear rolled down her cheek. “What's wrong? We talked about this. I thought this was what you wanted.” He looked like
he
was about to cry. “I thought we—”

“Of course this is what I want. I . . . I'm just surprised. I'm just so . . . happy. I . . . I didn't expect—”

He ended her stuttering with a kiss. “You just made me the happiest man in the world.” He looked into her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “I am going to make you so happy. We're going to be perfect, you'll see.”

He held her tightly and she hugged him back. She hoped that if she held on to him tight enough, the emotions raging inside her would go away. The hug became a kiss and the kiss became more passionate until she found herself being carried to her bedroom. Mark covered her body with kisses as he took off each article of her clothing.

She felt as if she were watching the two of them from the outside and could barely respond. Luckily he didn't seem to notice, probably because of her recent bar on sexual activity. Her mind kept drifting to her conversation with Shara earlier that afternoon. She tried to shut the thoughts out and tell herself this was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with—that she should be happy.

She realized Mark was finished when he gave her the usual kiss on the forehead, threw his arm over her waist, and lay facing the wall. In a moment, his breathing became labored and she knew he was asleep.

She stared up at the ceiling as hot tears stung her cheeks. She pried herself out from under his arm and went to the bathroom. She sat on the floor hugging her knees to her chest. There was something so comforting about the coldness of the ceramic tile beneath her bottom. She began to cry, slowly at first, but then began heaving as if the tears were coming from deep in her belly. When there were no tears left, she breathed heavily with her head propped up on her knees.

Her fingers traced circles around her perfectly manicured toenails as she stared forlornly into space. Why couldn't she be happy? She should be in bed, curled up next to Mark, dreaming about the life they would have together. Instead, she was sitting here crying.

Something in her head, or heart, refused to let her believe the lie she had been living for the past three and a half years. Whatever it was, it let her know she couldn't marry Mark. What was she going to do? She had already told him yes—or let him
think
she said yes, and he was so happy. She couldn't bear the thought of breaking his heart. She wouldn't even know what to tell him. It wasn't like she had a real reason.

She slowly pulled herself off the floor and stood to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and red. She had black tear streaks down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, washed her face and slipped quietly back into the bed. As she fell asleep, she said, “God, help me—please.”

 

At 6:30 the next morning, Mark awoke with a start. He cursed and squinted to see what time it was. He had an obsession with being at the airport two hours before any flight and was scheduled to leave at 8:30. He liked to leave his car at the airport because he hated it whenever Keeva was late picking him up.

After he showered and dressed, he came over to her and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Princess, I'm leaving.”

She used the sleep-feigning act she had perfected as a child when she didn't want to get up. “Hmmmmm?” She rolled over and dug deeper under the covers.

“I said I'm leaving. I don't want to be late for my flight. Jade's gonna pick you up later to go get your car. I'll call you this afternoon, okay?”

She turned further away from him and made some mumbly sounds. He laughed and kissed her one more time before he left.

When she was sure he was gone, she got up and went to the window. She saw him emerge from the building and practically skip to his car. He looked so happy.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

How was she going to tell him she couldn't marry him?

“K
eeva, are you avoiding me? I've barely seen you in the last month.” Shara was glad she caught Keeva on the phone early on Saturday before she went to one of her dance classes.

“Of course I'm not avoiding you, silly. Don't act like it's my fault. You're the one who's always busy. Every time I call you, you're gone or on your way out the door. What's up? Wanna hang out today?”

“Well, Quinton and I are about to get together for a run and then he's all jazzed about taking me somewhere special for lunch.”

“Quinton, Quinton, Quinton—seems to be all you talk about and all you have time for these days.”

“Cut me some slack. I have a lot of dateless years to make up for. I do miss you, though. We can get together this evening. Quinton is taking his ‘boys' out for pizza.”

“Oh I see. Quinton's busy tonight so you call me.”

“Girl, stop tripping.”

“You know I'm joking, Shara. I couldn't be happier for you. So when's the wedding?”

“Now you're really tripping. We've only been seeing each other for a month.”

“Yeah, but every day for a month is equivalent to about six months of normal dating.”

“It hasn't been every day.” Shara added sheepishly, “Just every other day.”

The last few weeks had been wonderful. Running with Quinton almost daily, dinner at fancy restaurants, a jazz concert at Chastain Park, putt-putt golfing, movies and
hours
of talking. He had taken her bowling again and given her real lessons. She had even bowled a strike and a few spares. The best part had been studying the Bible and praying together.

“You're pitiful,” Keeva said. “You deserve it, though. You held out and waited for the right one without compromising your standards and God sent you exactly what you wanted . . .”

Something in her voice didn't sound right. Shara felt guilty for neglecting her friend. She thought about the fact that Keeva had missed a few Sundays and all the Wednesday night services over the past month. Before that, she had been faithfully attending every Sunday and Wednesday since she had gotten saved. She had even been coming to intercessory prayer some Friday mornings before class. Shara knew better than to believe her when she said school was getting busier, but she had been too caught up in Quinton to press Keeva for the truth.

“Are you okay?” Shara asked. She heard Keeva sigh loudly. “Oh boy—that bad, huh?”

“You know me. Always some drama,” Keeva said. “Speaking of drama, how 'bout I cook dinner here tonight? I wouldn't want to burst into tears in a restaurant.”

“Tears? Keeva, what's going on?”

“I'll tell you when I see you. 7:00?”

“I'll be there.”

 

“This is my special lunch?”

Quinton pulled up at a building a few blocks from the church. There was scaffolding on the front and some construction workers putting in windows. Compared to the other buildings on the block, it looked great.

“Yep, this is it,” he said.

“Oh!” Shara's eyes widened as the identity of their location dawned on her. “This is your place?”

“Yep. Come on up. Jenell had all the stuff delivered this week. She has some serious skills when it comes to decorating.”

They climbed four floors to the top floor apartment.

“Sorry. The owner is figuring out how much it would cost to put an elevator in.” Quinton opened the door and Shara's mouth flew open as she walked in.

The space was huge and open, much like Keeva's loft. The living area was decorated in earth tones accented with African décor. There was a large television with a lot of electronic equipment attached to it.

“What's all this?”

Quinton pointed at the entertainment center. “DVD, CD player and stereo with surround sound. Oh and a PlayStation for when my boy, Jamil, comes over.” Shara gave him a stern look, but he waved it away. “I know, I know. I spoil him too much.”

The dining area had a large table with fresh flowers in a vase on it. Two places were set. “We're dining in? Who's cooking?”

“We are—together. I thought it might be fun.”

Shara walked into the kitchen. It was quite spacious with an island and every kitchen appliance available. “Like gadgets, do we?”

“I don't want to hear it. I already told you I was extravagant when it comes to my castle.”

Shara looked around as if something was missing. “Where's your bedroom?”

“Why Sister Shara, I'm appalled that you asked me that.”

She swatted at him playfully.

He led her through a door out of the apartment. “It would have cost too much and taken too long to join it all together, so I had them do it as a separate suite.” He opened a door across the hall. They walked into an office with a large desk, computer, and bookshelves lining the walls filled with books. Quinton opened another door to a huge bedroom with a sitting area and a large walk-in closet. His bathroom had a step down Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. A second door led to a guest bedroom and guest bath. The last door was locked.

“What's in here?”

“Another guest room. I can't find the key.”

“Quinton, this ain't no apartment. It's a house.”

He led her back to the living area. “Do you like it?”

Shara smiled and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I love it. It's beautiful. Definitely worth the wait.”

They walked into the kitchen.

“You can do the salad and the bread. Leave everything else to me.” Quinton began pulling vegetables out of the refrigerator.

“What are we having?”

“Seafood Alfredo over angel hair pasta, salad, and garlic bread.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.” He walked back into the living room over to the stereo and pulled out a CD. He handed it to her.

She gasped. “Fred Hammond has a new CD out? How could I not know that?”

“What—does he call you before he releases them or something?”

“Yes, actually,” she joked. “Seriously though, I always know what Fred is up to. He snuck this one in on me.”

“Well, here's the skip button on the CD player. Check it out.”

Shara hugged the CD to her chest. “Oh no—listening to a Fred Hammond CD for the first time is a special experience, not to be shared.”

Quinton pretended to be hurt. “Is there something going on between you and Fred I should know about?”

She laughed. “It's not like that, silly. I just love his music. I like to listen to it and read the words and be with God. His music has helped me overcome many a depressed day. It's always guaranteed to take you—”

“Straight to the throne room? I know. It's like he has this key to a room in heaven with nothing but songs in it, and every time he releases a CD, he opens a door and lets a few of those songs out. The lyrics strike a cord deep in your spirit.”

Shara stared at him. “It scares me when you—”

“Say what's in your head? Yeah, you scare me too when you think what's in mine.” He kissed her. His lips lingered.

“Ummmm.” She smiled. “You have the sweetest lips in the world.”

“Unh uh, you do.” He kissed her again softly.

“Unh uh, you do.” She kissed him back.

He pulled away from her and walked back to the kitchen. She put the CD in and followed him, bringing the insert with her.

Quinton grinned when he heard the first song play. “Oh, so I'm Fred Hammond worthy now?”

She giggled and hopped up on the counter to sit, turning through the album insert, scanning the songs.

“What do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be making the salad.”

“You invited
me,
remember?”

Quinton scowled, but started chopping a red bell pepper. “Don't think this is how it's gonna be when we . . .”

She lowered the insert and looked at him. “When we what?”

“. . . when we uh . . . have our next eat-in date.”

She studied his face for a moment, then said, “I expect the food to be ready when I get here next time. I'm starving.”

Quinton stood with his mouth open. “You're something, you know that?”

“Yep.”

He pulled a peach out of the refrigerator. “Here, I don't want you to spoil your appetite, not that that's possible.”

“Whatever, Quinton.” Shara pouted.

He bit his lip. “You shouldn't pout like that.”

“Why not?” She poked her lips out even further.

“Because . . . it makes me want to kiss you.” He walked over and kissed her pouting lips.

“Is that such a bad thing?” She kissed him back. “Hey, I like sitting up here. I'm as tall as you are.” She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him again. He pulled away and walked back over to his chopping board, smiling.

She heard him let out a deep sigh. “What?”

“Nothing. I like you here in my space. Maybe too much,” Quinton said.

Shara went back to reading the CD cover as he chopped the vegetables.

Shara was impressed with Quinton's culinary skills. After lunch, she helped him clear the dishes and clean the kitchen. “Oh God, I'm stuffed. I think I just committed a sin. You can't cook like this when we . . .”

“When we what?” Quinton turned around from the sink.

“When we . . . uh have our next eat-in date.”

He stared at her for a minute. She stared back. They both smiled.

They finished cleaning and went to the living room. Shara plopped down on the leather couch. Quinton sat in the armchair.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He moved over to the couch, but sat at the other end.

“Hey, I have a CD I want you to hear.” He put on the CD and brought the insert to her.

“Nancey Jackson,
Relationships
,” she read.

“It's not new, but I don't think you have it in your collection. The theme of the album is having an intimate relationship with God. I pulled it out the other day and it made me think of you.”

Shara listened to the lyrics. “Oh, yeah. This is nice. More throne room music.” She closed her eyes. They listened until the first song ended. “Where's mine?”

“How do you know I got you one?”

She pouted again.

“Don't start that.” He walked over to the entertainment center and pulled out another copy of the CD.

“Thanks, Quint.”

“You're getting spoiled, you know that?”

“And whose fault is that?”

He smiled. “Guilty.”

Her CD collection had grown exponentially since they'd started seeing each other. He had introduced her to a lot of artists—gospel and jazz. At first she'd felt funny with him buying her things and paying for everything when they went out. When she saw how insulted he got when she mentioned it, she vowed never to bring it up again. She was actually starting to like it.

When he came back over to the couch, she scooted next to him. He put an arm around her and they listened to the music for a while. She sighed.

“What was that for?” He glanced down at her.

“I don't know. Just feel good I guess. Great atmosphere, great good, good music, comfortable couch . . .”

“That's all?”

“Oh, yeah, the company's not too bad either.”

He laughed.

She turned to kiss him. The kiss became a little more passionate than usual and he pulled himself away from her and walked into the kitchen.

“Want something to drink? I'm thirsty all of a sudden.”

She followed him into the kitchen with a questioning look on her face. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Run away from me all the time.”

He looked at her and chuckled. “Ummm, if you have to ask that question, then my suspicions about you must be true.”

“What suspicions?”

“Gee. Now I know I'm blessed.” He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “I'm the man in this relationship, so I'm responsible for keeping us out of trouble.”

“Trouble?”

He looked at her and allowed time for his meaning to register.

“Ooooohhhhh . . . trouble.”

“Yeah . . . trouble.”

She squirmed for a second under his gaze.

“I promise to, you know, keep things holy, but you have to promise never to kiss me like that again until . . .”

“Until what?” She traced circles around one of the buttons on his shirt.

He grabbed her hand. “Shara.” He let out an exasperated breath. “I don't think you realize the effect you have on me. You can't—”

“Stop worrying, silly.” She waved his frustration away. “Nothing's gonna happen. You love God and I love God.”

“I know, but . . .”

“But what?”

He bit his lower lip. “But I love you, too.”

Her mouth hung open with a slight smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good—'cause I . . . I uh.” She bit her upper lip. “I love you, too.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed her softly and then held her close. They both sighed together and then laughed.

The phone rang. He looked at the clock and picked up the phone, checking the caller-ID. “What's up, Jamilly-mil? . . . I ain't forgot. You my dog, man . . . All right, you get the crew together, I'll meet you there . . . Chill man, I'll be there in twenty.” He hung up the phone and walked back over to where Shara was standing. He kissed her on the nose.