“I do. Two.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I felt the judgment in the way she held the silence after that. “Sincere doesn’t have any children. And you expect him to step into a situation where he’s raising another man’s kids?”
I instantly got pissed, but I didn’t let my voice rise. “My children have a father. And I’m not asking anyone to raise them.”
She held my gaze. “My son has worked very hard to be where he is.”
“I can see that.”
“And he has a future.”
“So do I,” I replied, still respectful, but very much standing on my shit.
Her lips pressed together as she studied me like she was trying to decide if I was worth the air that I was breathing. I felt my patience thinning. I also felt the sting of being reduced to where I came from and what I came with, instead of who I was.
I took a slow breath. “I respect that you want to protect your son. I would do the same. But I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated like I’m trying to take something from him.”
Her eyes flashed with offense. “I’m simply asking questions.”
“And I’ve answered them,” I replied. “But I’m uncomfortable with how you’re asking them.” I adjusted my posture as she blinked rapidly with offense. But before she could say anything further, I politely told her, “Excuse me. I’m going to get back to the party.”
I stepped around her before she could stop me again, and I walked back toward the party with my face composed, even though my hands were shaking.
19
SINCERE BELLAMY
The moment I saw Rhythm walking back into the party, I knew something was wrong. Her eyes looked different. Her smile was there, but it was forced.
I stood up immediately. As I started toward her, I saw my mother stepping out of the same hallway Rhythm was coming from. My mother’s expression was the same as Rhythm’s.
I knew then something had gone down.
My mother’s attitude had caught me off guard. My mother was not an overly friendly person, but she had never been disrespectful to anyone I brought around. I planned to keep Rhythm close, stay away from my mother as much as possible, and deal with whatever was going on with her later.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as soon as I walked up to Rhythm.
“Nothing,” she said too fast. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
She tried to smile again. “Sincere—”
I didn’t let her finish. Instead, I took her hand, then led her to the kitchen, where I had seen my mother go.
Inside, my mother was talking to the catering staff, pointing at trays and giving orders.
“Ma.” As I called for my mother, I could hear Rhythm sighing and groaning in protest and fear.
My mother glanced at me, then at Rhythm, then back at me. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“I need a minute,” I insisted.
Her eyes narrowed on me. “You’re being rude.”
“I’m not here to debate manners,” I replied. “What did you say to Rhythm?”
Rhythm stepped forward slightly. “Sincere, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
