What if Cinderella didn't want prince charming?
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When Emily Odita was forced to visit her father and his new family in Lagos, she thought things couldn't get any worse until sh...
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The smell of food woke me up the next morning. I turned to the other side, stretching my arms out. All I felt were cold sheets, meaning he’d been out of bed for quite some time.
Wait, he slept over at my place? I sat up, sleep now miles away from me. Did anything happen?
I wiggled my legs while looking down at what I was wearing. There was no soreness between my legs and the buttons on my pajamas top were still intact, my pajamas shorts also sat firm on my waist. I heaved a breath of relief before a short laugh left my lips.
I slowly got out of bed, the smell of food intensifying as every second passed. I quickly brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face before heading downstairs. Amapiano softly played in the background and there was a shirtless Chima dancing. He stopped whisking whatever he was whisking, dropping the bowl on the counter, then he started busting some TikTok moves I’d seen around recently. I watched him dance and I wondered when he had the time to learn the dance moves.
He made a 360 degree turn, and our eyes met for a brief second. He went back to dancing but a few seconds after he froze and slowly turned to me.
“How long have you been standing there?” He questioned, surprise written on his face.
“Since you started bursting those moves.” I stepped into the kitchen, making a beeline for the gas cooker to see what was on the fire.
“Pancakes,” I smiled.
“Hope that’s okay.” He used the spatula to flip it over.
“Yes it is, thank you.” I got on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek.
“What are your plans for today?” He asked
“Apart from work that I intend to do, I have nothing else planned.” I shrugged before sitting on one of the kitchen stools.
“What’s your social life like?” He poured a new batch of patter into the pan.
“I’ve never been a social person. Back in New Orleans, I have a best friend, Joan. Then I have some other close friends, Helen, Frank and Gemma, but I haven’t spoken to them much since I got to Lagos. I don’t have any friends in Lagos, but you.” I explained, sadness washing over me at the realization that most of my life recently had been work centered.
“A friend of mine is hosting an art exhibition tonight, I wasn’t sure if I’d attend, but I guess we can go together, if you want.” He turned back to the pan, flipping the pancakes.
“An art exhibition, I haven’t been to one in years. Alright, let’s go.” I agreed “What time is it?”
“Five pm. The theme is African and Elegant. Do you have something fitting?”
“By that you mean something African styled but still red carpet worthy?” I asked.
