Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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The sun clung to the edge of the sky like it didn't want to leave. It soaked the windshield in golden haze as I pulled into the driveway, the engine of the black Axio humming low. Paige had outdone herself this time — the blowout was crisp, my curls bouncing with life as I flipped them in the rearview mirror.
A small smirk lifted my lips. She might be going through her own storm, but when it came to hair? Paige never missed.
I stepped out the car, sandals clicking against the concrete, the air sweet with the scent of coconut trees and faint smoke drifting in from somewhere down the avenue. As I reached the verandah, I heard music filtering out from the kitchen. A riddim track I hadn't heard in years — Capleton's voice raw and righteous. It brought a warmth to my chest.
The smell hit me first.
Jerk seasoning. Scotch bonnet pepper. The sharp bite of pimento and the sweeter notes of thyme, scallion, garlic. Festival frying on the stove.
My stomach growled.
I rounded the corner into the kitchen, and there he was — standing shirtless in front of the stove, kitchen towel tossed over his shoulder, tong in hand, flipping a batch of festival like a man who'd been trained in the art.
"Watch yah," I muttered, pausing in the doorway. "Mi step out fi two hours and come back to food and bare man muscle inna me kitchen?"
Chris glanced over his shoulder with a grin, his eyes dragging slowly up and down my frame.
"Mi nearly never recognize yuh," he said. "Look how Paige mash yuh up clean. Hair a bounce like yuh a walk pon breeze."
"Stop it." I chuckled, setting my purse down on the counter. "Yuh done know mi cute."
He winked. "Yeah, but yuh extra today."
The scent of seasoning and fried dough wrapped around us like a second skin. He flipped the chicken on the grill pan, the skin perfectly charred, smoke curling out the side of the vent like incense. Everything about the moment felt... whole.
This was peace.
I stepped up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. "Mi miss yuh today."
"Mi deh right yah, Mama."
"I know," I murmured. "Still."
He reached back and touched my hand, lips pressing against my fingers. For a second, the world stilled. The music, the scent of home, his presence — it grounded me.
And then the phone rang.
A sharp, abrupt buzz.
He pulled away, wiping his hands on the towel as he glanced at the screen. He didn't answer right away. Just stared at it for a second too long.
