1
Raya
Three months earlier…
I stare up at my beloved husband and feel my insides warming. Ace Taylor just does it for me, every single time, without fail.
“Do you like it when women call you Daddy?”
Ace’s eyes drop to his lap, where I lay, nestled and cozy and content. He loves when we cuddle up on the couch like this, tv on, bodies touching, the world left outside our door. I think it makes him feel like we’re normal.
“Where did that come from?” he says with a smirk.
He tries to play like he doesn’t understand me, but we’ve been married for a few months now. This man knows me inside out.
So he also knows my random questions are never really random.
“Do you?” I ask again.
He sighs, tapping his index finger against the tip of my nose. “I used to.”
“What changed?”
His brows crease with frustration. But he’s gonna answer. He’s patient like that with me. He knows what I need.
“I metyou,” he says softly. “And knowing what I know, I don’t wanna be associated with the motherfucker who caused you so much pain.”
I smile up at him. “All the times you be tearin’ my shit up, I’ve never once wanted to call you that.”
He returns my smile to me, and I melt a little. “Whatdoyou wanna call me, babe? I know you’re going somewhere with this.”
“Nothing,” I laugh. “I always think of you as my man. Or my husband. And I’m fine with that.”
“So am I.”
His eyes roam my face in a way that feels like a gentle caress. Ace is always gentle—until he’s not.
“Raya Taylor,” he says. “You still ain’t comfortable in the silences, are you?” He taps my forehead. “That little mind is racing, huh?”
I blow out a sigh and nod. “I finished all my assignments. The house is clean. There’s three more quarters of this stupid game…” I trail off, staring up at him, waiting for him to fix my problem.
“What’s Brenda up to lately?”
I suck my teeth at the mention of Brenda Malloy, the black woman I met at the White House a while back. She was supposed to be my mentor. In my head, anyway. I was gonna pattern my life after hers. But she’s turning out to be a disappointment.
“Brenda’s boring as fuck,” I say. “All she does is work and be fabulous.”
Ace laughs. “Go live on TikTok.”
“I don’t go live on Sundays,” I mumble. “Engagement isn’t good.”
He nods. “Well, you could give me some top.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying.” He mutes the game. “Doesn’t the princess have a new cooking show out or something?”
I sit up, staring intently at my husband so I can address this foolishness. “First of all, she’s not a princess. She’s a duchess. Two very different things, Ace. We’ve been over this.” I shake my head. “And second, you know I can’t stand that bitch.”
