The air smells like wild roses when you're around the one you love. At least it smells like that to me, like ruggedly placed flowers all tumbled over by the touch of a night's rain, still delicate under the gentle caress of morning dew.
Am certain Amari feels the same way too. After all, the world would say he belongs to her. Her husband by the legal rights and standing of the Hariban culture. But even time has it's way of setting right what has been warped along the way, smoothing the edges until a different reality arises.
My case with Kofi has always been like this, a reality I envision each night since I got home; his fingers wrapped in the tangle of my untamed hair, his lips on the skin of my neck, his moans of pleasure mixing with mine every break of dawn which would replace that of Amari's.
A sister coveting her sister's man is not a tale so new. And not as absurd as it may sound. No, not when all that's happening is I getting back what had been stolen. Yes. Because before he was hers, he had been mine. Mine and mine to claim alone.
And if fate hadn't been so cruel to us, then I wouldn't have to be seated here, watching her hands wrapped over his, struggling so hard to smile when she makes a joke in order not to raise suspicions in a banquet full of nosy relatives and friends.
I grasp at a cup full of beer and choke on it's entire content. The bitterness that comes afterwards, burning itself to my tongue and throat, whilst spreading, slowly, across the expanse of my chest is awfully comforting.
Ugh. What a clingy whore.
She doesn't even see the discomfort on his face, the way his eyes dart around when he's tossed into a situation he finds displeasing. His laugh is tight around the edges, not as pleasant, not as free as I recall.
"He's such an eye candy even after all this years, isn't he?" Bisola Tut's from beside me, "time definitely loves him." In one hand she's got a Calabash filled with palm wine. And all though her speech remains clear, from the amount of teeth she's letting out, I know the drink's already getting to her."Your Lord father might not be here, but words would reach him if you decide to make a fool of yourself," I say.
"What more can he do under the influence of that witch?" She replies, throwing another bright smile at a girl our age standing on the other side of the hall, "he's already sent me to the extreme ends of Zuwe because of the thing between her legs."
"He can make sure your second stay there becomes permanent," I quip, "then what would I do without you?"
"Oh, dear Hadassah," she curls her free hand around my shoulders and takes another long sip from the Calabash, "with the way you're swallowing down Kofi with your gaze, I can bet on my life you'll be making the trip back with me."
"You can keep dreaming," I sigh, seizing her cup and downing the contents within it, "no one can keep me far away from what I want again. I mean no one."
"I know that look, Hadassah," she says, untangling herself from me, "that look that says nothing's going to end well. By the way, is it just me or do I need to stash more drink for after this caricature of a party is done with?"
She's shaking her empty Calabash, tipping it from side to side as though listening for the gentle turn of wine within it. I personally think she's had enough. And what with the sneaking stares suddenly coming our way, a nasty scenario is the last thing on my list: at least not while Kofi is watching, not while those deep, dark eyes keep lingering my way, frequently washing me in the awareness of his presence.
I wonder if Amari feels it too; his wandering mind, too slippery to be caught, too precious to keep."Do you need help with her?" Someone suddenly asks. I turn my gaze to the speaker, a young man in early bloom, his eyes bright with ambition, his body filled with flesh only gotten from a life of ease. There is an ever hopeful air about him: one which I instantly loathe.
"I think I can do just fine with her," I reply, making sure my voice sounds just as uninterested as I am. But the gets none of it. Or pretends not to grasp my nonchalance.
"It seems as though she'd soon become too much of a handful–"
"Who are you calling a handful?" Bisola juts her chin at him. Oh heavens, I sigh inwardly, they are watching, all of them... these men whom my father invited over. These princes and nobles and heirs to the many prestigious lineages waiting to pounce on the carcass that has been set before them.
As though they've got a chance to play in my Lord father's delusional game? I see nothing of Kofi in them."I am Lord Ganto of the northern mountains of Zuwe," he introduces himself, "am sorry I arrived late so we couldn't be acquainted earlier on." He adds, when I remain silent, "and you are?"
"Am sure you're already aware of that," sarcasm streams out of me, "Lord Ganto of Zuwe's northern mountains."
And then he laughs. The thing laughs. As though I've made some sort of private joke between us.
"You are just as beautiful to behold as the rumors says," he continues, "a hibiscus amongst many flowers." His gaze stays transfixed to my face, like one on the edge of an obsession: I feel discomfort at his audacity."Am sure these aren't the only things you must have heard of me, my Lord. I should tell you that not one of them is without an iota of truth."
The Calabash falls out of Bimbo's hands when I seize her wrist in a firm grasp. "Where are we going?" She inquires."Away from the piranhas." I quip, a little too loudly. Something akin to shock dashes across his eyes as he takes me up, the meaning of my words sinking into his consciousness.
I know if mother wasn't so busy socializing with the women of her circle outside, if she was here to witness my speech then she would be totally flabbergasted. I imagine her mouth would flap open and close and open again like a dying fish –just as Amari's–if she knows I was already in motion of sabotaging father's exquisite plan.
A lady awaiting a man must learn to be comely, to be pleasant to both the eyes and the ears. Which sadly I seemed to be gravely lacking in the later. At least these are her never changing assessment of me.
I leave him standing there, the stranger with his surprise and distaste. For a moment, as I heave Bisola with me, just for an aeon of eternity, my eyes clash softly with Kofi, and the smile which dangles across his lips is enough to shoot stars across my vision.To hell with Amari, I think, to hell with a banquet full of potential suitors and the nauseating stench of my father's ever growing ambitions.
YOU ARE READING
WIVES OF SANENDA
ParanormalCaught in a scandal with a man not meant for her, Hadassah is whisked off into a marriage with a prince from a strange land. When she begins to feel that her heart can find rest again, new secrets meant to b...