“Did you say you love me?”
“I did ’cause I do. I love you and don’t want you feeling pressured to say it just because I did.”
Her head drops again and she rests the side of her face on his chest. This feeling is so new and foreign to her, receiving and reciprocating it. In fact, the last time she felt anything close to this she was fifteen in high school, but she was a child then and Emmanuel was just a boy. This is different, this is real. She’s a grown ass woman and Akeem is a man, the first man to ever express real love to her.
So what do I tell him? How can I explain to him that I don’t know what love is?
“But I want to say it,” she finally admits. “I’m just scared because I honestly don’t know if I know how to love you back. I’m fucked up, Akeem. Really fucked up. Since I can remember, I’ve been living in third person, just surviving. When all you have lived or experienced is bad shit, you don’t have a real life. You just go minute by minute trying to survive, praying whatever bad shit you’re in at the moment moves the hell on,” she says.
Tears fill her eyes as she reveals her hard truth. She does her best to hold them in but they fall on his bare chest. He feels them and hears the tremble in her voice. His entire body stiffens and he holds her tighter. There’s so much he wants to say to comfort her but he’s cautious to not interrupt.
After wiping her tears, she continues. “I haven’t been surviving with you. At least not after the first day,” she says, then finds herself smiling a little. “I’ve been living, having fun, meeting your son and family, and just being with you. I’m happy, like genuinely happy, and that’s new but feels good. I’m different with you but still myself, if that makes sense. Hell, nothing I’m saying probably makes sense but I’m trying to explain it. I love you. I may not know how to love you the right way, so don’t hold that against me. When I’m not doing it right, don’t stop loving me. Okay?” she asks, then lifts her head.
Before responding, he sits up, lifting her with him. While one hand caresses her back, the other grazes the side of her face and lands under her chin. With her attention captured, he stares lovingly into her tear-filled eyes.
“I love you, Sunjiya, all of you. Just knowing you love me is enough, so you can’t do it wrong. Besides, I’ll love you enough for both of us. I just need you to let me,” he says and she nods while soaking up the sincerity in his words.
After thumbing tears from her face, he kisses her softly then eases them back into the bed. His arms engulf her and she snuggles into his warm body. Comforted, loved, and at peace, she closes her eyes.
“I love you, Akeem,” she utters before drifting to sleep.
Chapter
Nineteen
Sunjiya: About to board
Akeem: I still wish you would wait for me to come back.
Sunjiya: I told you that doesn’t make sense. I’m going to pack up what I need. My place is furnished so I don’t have to move any furniture. I just have a few boxes. I’m going to pack and ship them. I’ll be back in Austin before you. I got it.
Sunjiya: You just be safe.
Akeem: Always but you too. If it’s too much in ATL, wait for me. We can go back together to get your stuff.
Sunjiya: It’s not. I gotta go. I love you.
Akeem: Love you 2
Akeem leftthe beach house in Fort Lauderdale for his job at five o’clock this morning. Sunjiya’s flight wasn’t until two, so sheslept in and spent the rest of her morning stressing and eating ice. She lied to Akeem about her true destination. It isn’t Atlanta, she’s heading to confront the person behind the texts.
As soon as Sunjiya unplugs her phone from the charger, the Federal Airlines International gate agent starts the boarding announcement.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Federal Airlines International flight seven seventy-one with service to Antigua. We are now inviting our passengers who need special assistance, families traveling with young children, and first-class customers to begin pre-boarding at gate twenty-three,” the woman says.
Once her phone, book, and cup of ice are in her tote, she places her travel pillow around her neck and rolls her carry-on bag to the gate. Her journey ahead is long but necessary. Because she booked it less than forty-eight before departure, she was unable to find a straight flight. She has a seven hour and twenty-five minute flight with a one hour and four minute layover in Charlotte.
The lie to Akeem about her flight, the conversation she’s dreading having once she lands, and the flight itself all have her nerves frazzled. Ice alone isn’t going to calm her. As the pilot turns the seat belt sign off, Sunjiya scrolls the airline seatback screen. She bypasses the flight map, music, games, and movies, and presses for service. She orders a canned, premade tequila drink, a shot of tequila, a cup of ice, and a bag of trail mix to have something in her stomach to welcome the much-needed liquor.
About ten minutes after placing her order, an airline attendant brings her items. The shot is first, straight to the head, followed by the trail mix and drink. The tequila fulfills its intended purpose and halfway through her bag of trail mix, Sunjiya’s anxiety starts to subside and she dozes off. She doesn’t reopen her eyes until the wheels of the plane touch the tarmac.
Between deboarding the plane, making a pit stop in the restroom, and making her way to the gate for her connecting flight, Sunjiya’s layover flies by and she’s on her final flight to Antigua a few minutes after five. Another drink is needed to keep her sane and calm for the last hours of her trip.
Antigua is an island paradise with pristine, white sand beaches, turquoise waters, and immense culture.It’s known for its relaxing vibes, picturesque coastlines, savory cuisine, and warm hospitality. A great added bonus, it’s a tax haven. Zero personal income, capital gains, or inheritance taxes for residents, making it a top choice for tax-efficient offshore accounts.
Although it is almost eleven at night, the temperature is in the eighties, hot and humid. At the airport, Sunjiya erroneously hopped in a taxi with no working AC. The twenty-five minute journey to The Inn at English Harbour is a scorcher and she’s dying to shower, change into something lighter and comfortable, and see who she flew here for.
“Whey ya stay?” the driver asks in his thick creole dialect. He nods toward the main entrance then points toward the back.
