Six Centimetres Away From My Heart

IV

“Master Falade please get up,” Emmanuel pleaded as he nudged Niifẹ’s shoulder.

The boy had engulfed himself in the duvet and silenced himself in his bedroom for the past few days. Yet, he couldn’t hide away from the event that was to occur that day—his engagement ceremony.

“Cover for me,” he grumbled into his pillow.

“I’ve been—” Emmanuel cleared his throat. “I have been doing that for days now.” He tugged on the duvet. “Please, get up so I may prepare you Master Falade.”

Niifẹ threw away the duvet and shot up. He pouted and stared straight ahead of him. “I hate this.” He stretched out his hands and Emmanuel picked him up—hands round his back and under his legs—and he placed his heads against Emnanuel’s shoulder. “I’m doing this on one condition. You’ll take me to the pool and practically teach me how to swim.”

“Yes Master Falade.” He heaved a sigh. “And language Sir.”

“I know Emma.” He slapped Emnanuel’s chest lightly with a frown. “I told you to never call me ‘sir’. It makes you sound like we are practising BDSM... O-or something.” His cheeks suddenly felt warm due to his self-made embarrassment.

Emmanuel’s mask cracked at that moment, falling invisibly to the floor with a quipping shriek, exposing him bare and infant to the world.

He sighed in ultimate defeat. “Yes Master Falade.”

And it is I who is expected to teach him how to swim. I should rather teach him how to not kill me with embarrassment, he sighed internally. Sweet mother of all innocence, save me.

*

After several hours of greeting guests and the hall getting filled up, Niifẹ lost count after the hundredth boy and second girl, including with the interest in the people he was supposed to get acquainted with.

Where’s Emma? he thought as he fiddled with his fingers, I thought he promised he’ll find a way to escape serving duties and take me to the po—

The clearing of a throat drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up and met the happy gaze of his father.

“Baba, good afternoon,”  Niifẹ greeted with a dip.

His father, Ori, nodded in response and averted his gaze to watch the group of performers as they danced to a traditional tune. “You seem lonely and confused Niifẹ.”

Niifẹ coughed lightly and scratched the back of his neck. “Nobody has triggered my interest Baba.”

Ori hummed faintly as he crossed his arms. “Are you sure?” He looked blankly at his son. “Your mother told me that you have been learning how to swim”—he smiled faintly as Niifẹ’s eyes widened in fear—“and that you made Emmanuel lie for your sake, because you were afraid of talking to Rita.”

Niifẹ fiddled with his fingers. His cheeks felt hot together with the breath that escaped his lips. “I... I...” He bit his bottom lip so tight that he thought he tasted blood. “I am very sorry Ba—”

“There is no need to apologize Niifẹ,” Ori sighed. He smoothened out his ankara suit and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Follow the voice of your heart, not your head Niifẹ.”

Niifẹ nodded in understanding as he watched his father walk away. That was close.

“Your butler stinks,” Rita voiced as she stood beside the boy, her bodyguards flanking her.

Niifẹ rolled his eyes. He placed his cheek against his fist and his eyes drooped. “And how does that concern me Rita?”

Rita scoffed and flipped her hair over her bare shoulder. “Someone like you deserves a bunch of bodyguards,” she sassed and gestured to her bodyguards. “Like me.”

Niifẹ shook his head but brightened as Emmanuel approached them. He frowned a little as he noticed Emmanuel’s appearance—his waistcoat was gone, his sleeves rolled up, his gloves slack around his wrist, his hair bushy, and most of all his eyes were a very dull colour.

“Are you okay?” Niifẹ questioned as Emmanuel bowed in greeting. “You look... stressed.”

Emmanuel shook his head. “Everything is quite alright. Are you ready to go Master Falade?”

Niifẹ hummed then turned his chair towards the exit. “Just escort me to the swimming pool. You have done enough for one night.”

Emmanuel nodded and followed after Niifẹ as he wheeled his chair away from a furious yet disgusted Rita and her bodyguards.

She held her waist and watched them leave, anger and pain brewing around her heart like lava. She clicked her fingers and followed after the pair. “Let’s go,” she commanded her bodyguards.

“Yes Lady Rita.”