DARKEST DESIRES

16

The mirror reflected her effortlessly stylish look. Her sleek back puff framed her face, her edges neatly laid, adding a touch of elegance to her youthful vibe. The high-waist ripped jeans hugged her frame, paired with a black stretch ribbed long-sleeve high-neck cropped top. The oversized black-and-white plaid shirt she had thrown over added a casual, yet chic, layer. Small diamond-shaped studs glinted from her ears, while a tiny black diamond nose stud subtly complemented the ensemble. Her pristine white Nike Air Force high-tops completed the look with a touch of street style.

She fished her phone out of her bag, angling it just right to capture her outfit in a few mirror selfies. Satisfied with the results, she glanced at the time, knowing she couldn’t linger.

“Money!!” Her grandfather’s impatient call echoed from downstairs, snapping her out of her moment.

"Coming, Papa," she called, hastily shoving her phone into her black Louis Vuitton underarm sling purse. She slung it over her shoulder and grabbed her two suitcases—a huge hot-pink hard-shell case and a smaller suit bag. Both were stuffed to the brim, making them unbearably heavy as she dragged them out of her room, struggling with every step.

"Why are you carrying all that?" Mr. Jackson's voice carried a tone of confusion as he eyed her load.

"These are just two suitcases," she replied, slightly breathless.

"One is enough."

"For a man," she shot back, finally pausing to catch her breath. She glanced up at him, only to stop mid-motion, her lips parting in sheer disbelief.

Her grandfather stood there, still in his blue-and-red striped night outfit, complete with black bed slippers. His disheveled appearance clashed comically with the urgency in his voice earlier.

"Are you being serious? You’re rushing me, and you haven’t even showered? Papa, what the hell?" she exclaimed, incredulous.

Mr. Jackson chuckled, adjusting his pants to sit more comfortably.

"Papa?" she asked again, her voice tinged with both exasperation and confusion. She stared at him, utterly lost.

"I'm not going with you," Mr. Jackson said firmly.

Before Monet could process his words, a voice from the living room entrance interrupted.

"Is it time to go now? She's not ready yet?" Darren's voice was calm but carried a note of impatience. He had been looking at his wristwatch, oblivious to her presence until he shifted his gaze and locked eyes with her.

Monet froze. Her palms began to sweat, and she swore her edges were loosening from the sudden heat she felt, though she knew they weren’t. Her mind raced. What is Darren doing here? She turned her head sharply to her grandfather, seeking an explanation.

"Oh, yeah," Mr. Jackson said nonchalantly, "you're going with him since he's also going to be in Italy for a few months."

Monet's stomach flipped. She couldn’t decide how to react. Was she happy? Angry? Sad? Or was it some strange cocktail of mixed emotions—or no emotions at all? She couldn’t tell. Nervously, she began biting her fingernails, her eyes darting back to Darren.

Darren shifted his attention to Mr. Jackson, his voice steady. "I think it’s time for us to go now."

"Yes, you guys should start off now," Mr. Jackson replied, standing up slowly. Then, with a pointed look at Monet, he added, "Monet?"

Her head snapped toward him, her heart pounding as the reality of the situation settled in.

Monet stared at her grandfather, trying to decipher what went through his mind when making such decisions. "Can I find you in the car? I want to talk to him," she asked, her tone laced with irritation.