All this time I’ve misunderstood what he’s been offering, what’s been taken place between us. Being with Azmir has conjured deficiencies that scared me once I recognized them. I realized a while back that I couldn’t recognize the essence of his desire for me because I didn’t love myself enough to feel worthy of it. I’d always thought when people who professed to love me were done, they simply moved on from my life; even my mother. She had escaped the world of parenting when she found something more compelling to occupy her time. No one other than Michelle stayed past my insecurities, my fears. Even her force of love that I’d grown comfortable with was snatched away from me.
Azmir has kept pushing, has kept fighting, kept holding the mirror to my marred soul. He’s chipped at that ice which surrounded my heart. I’ve been undoubtedly drawn to him, which gives him access. I’ve tried running. God, how many times have I run from this man who’s chased me down countless times! He’d always been clear about what he wanted, never asking for anything unreasonable. He’s only wanted the assurance of my commitment to protect his heart. To be a stable being in life. When I thought it was him trying to impress me with luxury gifts, trips, and a car, it had been about him trying to gain my attention. When I thought it was about sex, it had really been about him wanting a connection. When I’d thought it been about control or possession, it was really about him fighting for permanency in my heart.
My god, he’s been clear all this time.
Yeah, he’s thrown me by not telling me loves me and giving me the coveted title of his girlfriend, but hell—when had I earned his trust to be given such a title? And with all the frantic running I’ve done, how could he have trusted me with the depths of his feelings? The revelations don’t end. They follow me to the marina, through dinner, into the shower and to bed.
And before closing my eyes to slumber, I make a decree within my heart. No more running. I will love Azmir the way the he deserves. I’ll give him the devotion and staying power I’ve never been granted. He’s mine—something he demonstrated when he asked me to move into a home that he’d never even had his best friends in. And from here on out, I will certainly be his.
Chapter 2
Rayna
“Are you nervous?” Ray asks from the front seat of the Bentley.
I’m toying with the massage controls of the console, discerning the various settings. Who needs this in a car? Just a minute ago I was exploring the television, flipping through the available channels.
I can’t understand for the life of me why Azmir would purchase a new Bentley. What’s the difference between this one and the last? Yeah, he’s gone from some variation of brown to a classic black shade called black crystal, according to him. And he’s explained the new sharp edges to the body, the oval exhaust pipe, and the jeweled front headlamps, but who cares about those insignificant details. The last car was perfectly functional under the hood, sleek in appearance, and came with the same pretentious accessory of a chauffeur. It wasn’t enough, so he had to upgrade an already luxuriant car.
“Just ride in it. You’ll appreciate the indulgence during the experience,” is what he offered as an answer when I’d asked him the reason for the new purchase this morning as we dressed for work. He’d packed his clothes for his overnight stay in Seattle, where he has a series of meetings that will run late into the evening.
“You know what? I’ll have Ray drive you today. This way you’ll get the experience right away. Trust, you’ll understand,” he insisted.
“Azmir, don’t forget, I have that thing,” I reminded him. “I’d like to go alone.”
“Ray understands discretion, Brimm. How many times must we visit this topic of privacy and professionalism? And besides, Ray is more like family. He’ll look out for you. I won’t even send John along,” he covertly issued an edict. And of course, he employed his coochie-creaming smile. The one that had us both late for the start of our day.
Now, I’m checking out the features, trying to circumvent my anxiety.
“No,” I answer Ray.
I’m not sure if he believes me or not. I don’t even care. I’m upset at having to be babysat once again and during such a personal time. A desperate plea.
“Is this them?” Ray calls out, causing my head to sprout from middle console.
My mouth dries and a spike of bitter film coats my tongue as I see Amber’s weathered turquoise Accord pull into the driveway. When the brake lights appear just before she turns the engine off, I see a little head bounce up and down from the rear seats.
It’s now or never, Rayna.
On tenterhooks, I grab the bag to the left of me on the floorboard, and use my other shaky and suddenly moist hand to grab the chrome handle of the right side door. Blowing out a cool breath, I step outside onto the curb. I pinch the plastic mailbox posted across from the lawn between my index finger and thumb in dither as I stride past it. I don’t realize I’m doing it until I feel the clench of my fingers. In fact, I don’t process walking; it feels more like I’m floating. With all of my nervousness, I can’t cognitively coordinate body functions. I feel like Spike Lee’s distinguished camera shots when the characters are gliding to their destination instead of actually walking.