The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) (8 page)

Solomon’s and Selma’s gaze zoomed to each other, and another burst of laughter escaped their lips.

“You know, you’re eventually going to have to tell her the truth,” Selma said in between chuckles.

“Yeah, I know. But after tonight, I’m just starting to have a little fun.”

Chapter 10

J
onas’s harsh whisper brushed against his fiancée’s ear. “Can you believe them?”

As a matter of fact, Ophelia couldn’t. “It’s none of our business,” she reminded him.

“I know, but it’s the casualness these two have toward their affair. I mean, what the hell is this world coming to? Hey, you don’t think they’re swingers, do you?”

She choked. “Oh, give me a break. They aren’t the first people to have affairs.”

“Maybe not, but most people try to keep something like that on the down low.”

Crossing paths with Benton, Ophelia grabbed a new drink from his serving tray and tossed it back like a soldier who’d just cheated death.

In all the years she’d known Solomon, he’d never once hinted he was capable of living the type of dual life he was exhibiting tonight—and she didn’t like it one bit.

“This just settles it for me. After we’re married, you’re not allowed to hang with this dude. Sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. Humph. Not with my wife.”

Ophelia stopped, and then slowly faced him. “What do you mean I’m not
allowed?
You’re not my father.”

“I never said I was your father. But that man—”

“Is my best friend.”

“And marriage vows don’t mean a damn thing to him. I don’t trust him.”

Her eyes lowered to thin slits. “You don’t trust him, or me?”

Jonas’s face twisted into a frown. “What are you talking about? I didn’t say I didn’t trust you.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

His face darkened. “There most certainly is.”

“How do you know her husband isn’t completely okay with their relationship?”

“No man is okay with his wife sleeping around. Trust me.”

“I’ve heard of open marriages.”

“Open marriages were created for
men
to sleep around. Women turn a blind eye because the husband is a damn good provider. Unless it’s a mênage à trois, men don’t share.”

“What?”

Jonas quickly tossed up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Excuse me?”

Jonas and Ophelia jumped, and then faced Solomon.

“You two might want to lower your voices. We can sort of hear you,” he informed them.

Horrified, Ophelia gasped. “Oh, Sol. We didn’t mean—”

“Forget it. Just try to lower your voices.” He turned with a smirk, but before he disappeared from sight, he turned again and met Jonas’s stare. “And you don’t have to worry about your girl around me—the mênage à trois isn’t my thing—anymore.”

Jonas glanced at Ophelia.

“He’s kidding.” Ophelia suppressed a grin. Her gaze lowered to watch Solomon’s confident walk as he strolled back to the living room. An old sports injury caused his slight limp. She doubted anyone truly noticed, but she did. In fact, she remembered just about every story behind every scar, nick, or broken bone.

Solomon always had great stories—and she wondered what the real one was between him and Selma.

“Honey?”

“Huh? What?” She glanced at her fiancé and was stunned by the intensity of his stare. “What were you saying, sweetie?”

His shoulders slumped. “Nothing.”

She wasn’t buying it. She apparently had done something wrong. “Jonas—”

“We’d better get back in there,” he said, offering his arm.

She abandoned her speech. What was the use? The night was a disaster. The whole purpose in inviting Solomon to dinner was to get two of the most important men in her life to at least tolerate one another.

Ophelia sighed, looped her arm through Jonas’s, and brushed a kiss against his stiff lips.

Nothing.

No magic, no sparks, and definitely no butterflies.

When she pulled back, she beamed her best smile. It was becoming easier to hide her disappointment. And why not? It was such a small issue…or more like some crazy childhood fantasy about knights in shining armor, glass slippers, and bellies filled with butterflies. None of that stuff really happened. Well, it had happened once—twice—but that was long ago.

Arm in arm, Jonas led Ophelia back to the living room where everyone danced on eggshells. Ophelia tried her best not to like Selma, but the task was impossible. She was funny, smart, and kind. It was just this small issue of her being married with children that was throwing things off-kilter.

She cringed each time Solomon showed any type of affection toward Selma, and Ophelia hated how comfortable the two were around each other.

Dinner was finally served, not a moment too soon as far as Ophelia was concerned. She had already downed three drinks and was getting looser by the second.

“So where are you two going for your honeymoon?” Selma asked, once everyone had settled into the seats.

“We haven’t really decided on a place,” Jonas answered. “I’m a little partial to Mexico.”

Ophelia and Solomon gazes crashed seconds before laughter filled the room.

Jonas and Selma’s brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Sounds like we’re missing something,” Selma said.

“Let’s just say that we have some pretty questionable memories about Mexico.” Ophelia laughed.

“Questionable, hell,” Solomon barked. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. You’re the one who got trashed and thought you were a mermaid.”

Another squeal of laughter peeled from Ophelia. “Oh, Lord.”

Jonas’s congenial smile slowly lowered to a thin, flat line. “Well, I can’t wait to hear this one.”

“No, no.” Ophelia held up her hand. “Please, Sol. Don’t say a word,” she begged halfheartedly.

“But it’s such a good story,” Solomon said, dabbing his lips and carefully returning his napkin to his lap.

“Then I want to hear it, too,” Selma said, smiling.

“Sorry, Ophelia.” Solomon shrugged. “That makes three to one.” He glanced at the other two. “Well, it was our high school senior trip to Cancun…”

Te Quiero

Chapter 11

T
he summer of ’88 was perfect, and Cancun was the closest thing to heaven on earth, not just because of the white beaches and the clear blue ocean, but because the drinking age was eighteen.

Solomon, Ophelia, and Marcel checked into their room at the Omni Hotel and quickly prepared to create some great memories.

Marcel’s plan was to simply stroll the beaches, hit the bars, and gather as many tenderonies as he could.

Ophelia had a list of activities—parasailing, deep-sea diving, and bungee jumping.

Solomon was just excited at the chance to finally put his four years of high-school Spanish to good use. Since he was also known for being the responsible one, he made sure he stopped his two best friends long enough to remind them to be careful with their money—to never take too much cash and always know where it is located. There were already rumors of other students losing their wallets.

“Yeah, yeah. We got it,” Marcel said, rolling his eyes. “Man, try to relax. We’re on vacation, remember?” He headed for the door.

“And don’t drink the water,” Solomon shouted toward his buddy’s back.

“You worry too much,” Ophelia said, withdrawing a yellow string bikini from her bag.

Solomon’s brows arched. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

“After enduring a hundred crunches a day for the past three months, you’re lucky I’m not running through this place butt naked.”

Solomon swallowed a painful lump in his throat at the instant imagery. “The suit is fine.”

“I’m glad you approve.” She winked and rushed to the bathroom.

He waited for her, not sure why. Most likely, she was going to hang out with Tamara and Rachel. However, he never liked those two. He’d heard too many stories in the boy’s locker room at school. The last thing he wanted was to have Ophelia’s name added to the mix.

“So.” He moved closer to the bathroom’s door and crossed his arms. “What are you going to do first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she shouted back. “I hear a few people are going up to Fat Tuesday’s. Maybe I’ll go there. What about you?”

He shrugged and leaned against the door frame. He could easily catch up with Marcel and hang with the guys…but he didn’t want to do that and be constantly worried about her. “I haven’t decided.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to hang with me.”

When she opened the door, Solomon’s eyes bulged in surprise. Her body curved in all the right places and caused his most primal instincts to come alive.

“But if you’re coming, you have to promise there won’t be any blocking.”

“What?” He had only caught the last word of her sentence.

“No blocking.” She wrapped a sarong around her waist. “You and Marcel have a habit of chasing off guys who want to talk to me.”

“Guys we know who are only after one thing.”

“On this trip, I might just want one thing, too.” She winked.

Solomon frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ophelia locked her lips and pulled out her favorite pair of sandals.

“That settles it. I’m sticking with you.”

“You’re more than welcome to come,” she said, checking her appearance in the closet mirror. “But I don’t need a babysitter.” Their gazes locked. “Catch my drift?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak as he watched her sashay toward the door, but he followed as if in a trance.

It was one continuous party as the day morphed into night. Between bar hopping and tequila body shots, Solomon discovered it was a full-time job peeling men off his beautiful best friend.

Somehow they’d caught up to Marcel and his legion of women—not to say that Solomon didn’t have his own choice of hotties, it was just none of them were Ophelia.

“Hey, man.” Marcel draped an arm around his good buddy and shouted above the music. “Frank and them are talking about taking a booze cruise to Isla de las Mujeres. You want to tag along?”

“What the hell is a booze cruise?”

“Just what it sounds like—a boat with a lot of liquor. You game?”

Solomon glanced over his shoulder at Ophelia and her dance partner. He stepped forward, ready to fight if the guy didn’t back off a couple of inches.

“Hey, hey.” Marcel laid a restraining hand against Solomon’s shoulders. “Let her have her fun.”

Solomon’s gaze swung in his direction and indicated with a slight nod for him to check their girl out.

A camera crew from something called
Girls Gone Wild
was headed in her direction.

Marcel blinked and headed toward her as well. “All right. We’ll take her with us.”

Minutes later, the three friends boarded a crowded yacht where the dancing and partying only intensified.

“You look like a great lay,” a girl murmured against Solomon’s ear.

“Excuse me?” He turned toward a stunning blonde.

“I said you look like a great lay.” She danced her way closer. “I’ve never been with a black guy before.”

Surely, Solomon misunderstood her. “Come again?”

“I just might.” She winked and wiggled her assless rump against him.

Very carefully, Solomon detached himself from his crazy dance partner and tried his luck with a group of ebony babes doin’ da butt.

Now he was having fun. After a while, Solomon’s Ophelia radar kicked in and he glanced up to see her perched over a rail.

Was she sick?

He remembered Ophelia’s low tolerance for alcohol, but he’d seen her drink like a fish for the better part of the day and night. Concerned about alcohol poisoning, Solomon moved away from his nest of delectable women and headed toward Ophelia.

She wavered from side to side and occasionally dipped farther over the rail.

“Ophelia,” he shouted, but he could barely hear himself over the loud music. He shouted again, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Marcel turn to see what was happening.

Ophelia held her head up, briefly, and then pitched forward and went over the railing.

“Ophelia!” Solomon and Marcel shouted in unison.

Solomon reached the spot where she had last stood and immediately climbed the rail and dove into the water without any thought to his own safety.

The ice-cold water was a shock to his system, but his arms and hands were already wading through the water in search of Ophelia.

He found her within seconds, and kicked his way up to the surface. As it turned out, their party boat had already docked at Isla de las Mujeres, and they were no more than a few yards from land.

“Ooh, look what my merman gave me,” Ophelia cooed.

Solomon glanced at her and the small seashells she held up.

“What?” he panted.

“My merman. I’m a mermaid, and my merman just gave me these beautiful shells.”

Oh, yeah, she was wasted.

Solomon swam them to shore, where a small crowd applauded his heroics and handed him another drink.

“Marcel, did I show you what my merman gave me?” Ophelia asked, slumping against him.

Marcel laughed as he caught her, and Solomon just rolled his eyes.

It was hours before the three friends returned to the hotel room. Marcel was barely standing, and Solomon was left to carry a knocked-out Ophelia into the room. He prayed the whole week wasn’t going to be like this. He had a sneaking suspicion that, indeed, it would. There were two beds in the room, and one cot. Of course, if Ophelia’s parents ever found out about their sleeping arrangements, there would undoubtedly be hell to pay. Marcel was supposed to take the cot, but he wasn’t in the room a full minute before he’d passed out on one of the beds.

Sighing, Solomon carried Ophelia to the last available bed. As he laid her down, a faint whisper fell from her lips. “Te quiero.”

He tensed and then stared at her sleeping form. “What did you say?” He waited for what seemed like forever, and just when he thought that she had fallen asleep, her eyes fluttered open.

A lazy smile eased across her lips as she lifted her hand and gently caressed the side of his face. “You always take such good care of me,” she whispered.

“I do what I can.” He kissed her hand. “You better get some sleep.”

Her smile widened briefly and then her eyelids slowly lowered. “Te quiero.”

Solomon leaned forward and brushed a paternal kiss against her forehead. “Yeah, I love you, too.”