“You loved her that much?” I asked quietly.
“More than I knew how to handle. Please don’t make my mistakes, son. Don’t wait until it’s too late to say what you feel and what you want.”
He was right. She’d become the calm to my storm. Coco was routine in a life that had never known peace. We’d fallen intothis rhythm—her cooking because she loved to, me making sure she had everything she needed. Before my time away, we’d even started texting throughout the day, little jokes and check-ins that had me looking forward to my phone buzzing.
I didn’t take her out often, my life wasn’t built for date nights and photo ops. But when I did, the air shifted. Heads turned. Conversations cut short. Niggas clocked her and then clocked me, realizing real quick she was untouchable. Not a prize to chase, not a weakness to exploit. Mine. Chosen. And I’d put anybody in the ground who tested that.
She never flinched at the attention. Never overdid it either. She just…was.Confident. Sharp. That chocolate skin glowing under every light, carrying herself like she’d been built for rooms full of power and money. She didn’t need me to validate her.
She didn’t even know half of what I would do for her, what I’d give up, what I’d burn down to make sure she felt safe in a world that had tried to swallow her whole. This had crept up on me like smoke, invisible until it was everywhere.
When this arrangement first began, I’d imagined I would be counting down the days until it was over. Now I was doing the opposite, wishing time would slow down. Pretending that she was just another business transaction was childish on my part. Tonight, felt different. Tonight, I felt like all of that bullshit was about to change.
Don’t wait until it’s too late.
My father’s voice echoed in my head as I pulled into the penthouse garage, but so did hers. That conversation at the wedding, when she’d said she didn't have family to invite. No bridesmaids who’d known her since childhood, no father to walk her down the aisle. The way she’d shrugged it off like it didn't matter, but her voice had told a different story.
She’d signed papers in a restaurant and called it marriage. But that wasn’t what she deserved.
The idea had been brewing, but now it felt urgent. I was going to pull the trigger on Turks and Caicos. Blue water, white sand, somewhere beautiful enough to match her. I could fly in her friends—Rebecca and Yaslynn—to give her the celebration she’d never had.
She’d said she didn’t need a big wedding because it was just her. But it wasn’t just her anymore. She had me. And I wanted to show her what that meant.
I pulled out my phone and called my travel coordinator. “I need a villa in Turks. Private beach, big enough for a small wedding party. And I need it fast.”
The elevator hummed as it climbed toward the penthouse. Thirty-five years old, and I was about to take the biggest risk of my life. Not with money or territory, but with my heart—the one thing my father had taught me never to gamble with.
When the doors opened, her scent hit me first, wrapping around me. I wanted to stay in it forever.
I rounded the corner and stopped. Candlelight flickered against the walls, casting dancing shadows. The table was set to perfection—featuring white linen, crystal holders, red roses, and plates that matched the color scheme perfectly. She’d gone all out, and the sight hit me harder than expected.
But this was Coco. She enjoyed doing the most for people. And she was able to read people and situations better than most men I knew. She knew her worth and wasn’t afraid to remind you when you forgot. She’d done that this morning without saying the words.
“Grim, I’m in here,” her voice carried from the kitchen, smooth and melodic.
I followed the sound of her voice straight to the kitchen.
When I stepped into the kitchen, I stopped dead. That black halter dress clung to her curves, the fabric flowing in ways that made my dick jump. Black heels with delicate straps wrappedaround her ankles, red pedicure catching the light. She looked so good standing at my stove that I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and saying fuck dinner.
“Coco,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “Stop calling me Grim when we’re like this. And you look incredible. I like that classy shit.”
Her eyes went wide, surprise flickering across her features before her whole face softened. She pulled the pot from the burner, dropped the oven mitts on the counter, and turned to face me fully. I extended my hand, and when she took it, electricity shot up my arm.
I led her to the dining room and pulled out her chair like a gentleman. We’d eat her cooking later—it was probably perfect, like everything else she did—but first, we needed to have the conversation I’d… Nah, that we’d been avoiding.
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” the words spilled out as soon as she sat down, raw and unfiltered. She giggled. “You know what I mean. But I didn’t know how you felt about that, if it was something you even wanted. Talk to me, Colecion.”
She blinked, those full lips parting slightly before closing again. She was testing words before letting them out.
“I want that too,” she said finally. “I didn’t think you saw me that way. You’ve kept your distance, stuck to our agreement. Your mixed signals never made me feel like you wanted more. But I like you, Lesley. I like what you’ve shown me.”
“I never sent those papers,” I said, reassuring her.
“Okay.”
“My pops did that behind my back. I hadn’t planned any of that shit.” I paused, running my hand over my face. “I can handle business, handle the streets, but this? Being somebody’s man? I don’t have any experience with that. I’m learning as I go.”
Her expression softened. “Do you want to start over?”
