The house smells like Mom’s southern roots. Pork shoulder roasting low and slow, black-eyed peas and rice simmering, collard greens and cornbread cooling on the counter.
She greets me with a big hug, then, thanking Dice for the bouquet, pulls him into one too. She’s always had a soft spot for him, said he had “good eyes” even back when he was running wild.
Maurice gives my dress the expectedhmph, but his embrace is warm. “It’s good to see you, Charlotte.” Then he looks at Dice.
“Dyson.”
“Maurice,” he answers, steady under a stare that can cut a man down. But Dice meets him right there. “Thanks for having me in your home.”
My father’s stare breaks and he nods, all thunder on the surface with nothing striking underneath.
Uncle Mo slaps Dice on the shoulder. “It’s been a while. You look good, son.”
“So do you.” Dice grins, clocking the pinstripe suit. “Dapper as ever.”
Rayne’s smile could power the whole house, same as at lunch.
“Girl, you need to take that wattage down a notch before you blind somebody.”
“Don’t rain on my shine, boo. I like seeing you and Dice together.Makes me wanna get turnt,” she adds, lowering her voice. “I’m thinking about using an escort service.”
“Girl, you know you don’t need to pay for sex.”
“Why not? It’s discreet. I order to my specifications. Big, and either milk or dark chocolate.”
“You shopping for a man or Godiva?”
“You know I love me some Godiva.” Then she quips, just for my ears, “I want the extra-large box with the nuts.”
I burst out laughing. “You so crazy.”
Mom calls us to the table then. The dining room looks fit for royalty. Great grandmama’s china on white linen, crystal flutes, tapered candles flanking the vase of Dice’s flowers. She even pulled out the gold threaded napkins and polished silverware. The whole nine.
Conversation flows easily. Uncle Mo keeps it going with his natural flair. Rayne shoots me heart eyes every time Dice refills my glass, and Mom glows whenever he compliments her cooking.
But Dice… he’s quiet. Not his usual smooth, joking self. He laughs in the right places, answers questions, but I can feel the tension rolling through him like a current. Strange, since the dinner is going so well. Even my father’s being pleasant. No grunts or piercing glares. We talk about Dice moving to New York, and he sounds eager about it, so it can’t be that. At least, I hope not.
Halfway through dessert—a peach cobbler my mother thankfully did not bake—Dice clears his throat. And stands.
My fork stills. What is he doing?
“Maurice, Belinda,” he begins, “thank you for making me feel welcome, and for sharing your incredible daughter with me. That means more than I can say.”
Mom presses her hand to her chest. Maurice narrows his eyes. Rayne leans so far forward I think she might fall straight into the pie.
Dice’s gaze remains on my parents. “I’ve known Lot more than half my life. She was my shelter in the storm. Always there. I didn’t appreciate her nearly enough until she was gone. Losing her was… well, it was devastating to put it mildly. I didn’t think I’d ever get a second chance. And then she was back. Beautiful and tough as ever. In true Lot fashion, she made me work for her affection.”
Laughter ripples around the table, Rayne chiming, “You know that’s right.”
But I can’t laugh. I can hardly breathe.
“She scared the hell out of me,” Dice continues. “I didn’t know if I could be the man she needed. Didn’t know if I had that in me. But Lot showed me love. She showed me softness. She showed me that I was worth more than I ever believed.” His eyes finally break from my parents and land gently on me.
“Lot, my queen, my spiderweb girl, looking at you for a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough. I want to spend every day waking up to your face and loving you as hard as you love me.”
He drops beside my chair, going down on one knee.
My stomach plummets even as my heart soars.
