After dressing up for work in a three-piece brown suit, I make my way downstairs to grab breakfast before leaving for work. As I walk down the stair, unlike usual, I see Vary dressed in a red skirt and a black three-piece suit with her full curly hair on full display, sitting on the dining table and sipping her cup of creamed coffee delicately.

I would have explained in detail how impeccably breathtaking she is if I didn’t see that she was as dressed for work just as I am.

She seems to sense my presence and turns her attention to me. “Good morning, Keenan,” she greets, and a wide grin, which almost looks like a mocking gesture, plasters on her face.

“Morning?” I reply still suspicious about this entire morning dressing thing, “Are you going somewhere?”

She nods her head affirmatively. “I’m going to work.”

Now I feel like she’s trying to mock me.

I walk to the table and take my seat next to her position and pour myself a cup of creamed tea, hot and ready for me on the table. “Work?” I pick up a sliced bread from the plate on the table and take a bite of it before sipping my tea.

“Yes, you look surprised.” She remarks with a smug look.

“No, well maybe a little.” I admit to her great satisfaction, “so, where do you work.” I ask, bringing the cup to my mouth.

“At the five-star hotel,” she abruptly replies, almost as though she expected my response.

I almost choke on my tea, “Five-star hotel!”

She nods and grins wider, “it would shock you what privileges you can manipulate when your last name is Hilton.” She winks at me.

As my gasping mouth closes, I ask, “What’s your position then?”

“Senior consultant.” She says with mild satisfaction and I have to say it’s a well-suitable position.

Although the Five stars have always been a rival hotel competing in excellence and customer services all over the countries we’ve both been in, I have no hard feeling towards Vary working with them.

What do you know? I must say I’m impressed by the change and confidence she seems to possess.

Did this happen over the cause of last week or has it always been there and he didn’t take notice?

“Well, congratulations, Mrs Hilton,” I say, impressed and I drink my tea gingerly and I stare at her.

Her eyes flicker after I called her Mrs Hilton, but she doesn’t seem to be moved that much by it.

“Thank you, Mr Hilton,” she replies and tips her cup towards me and sips in more. “So when is the date?”

“You’re welcome,” I answer before adding, “and it’s today at six-thirty.”

“Good thing it’s today.” She quickly says, with relief all over her face.

Am I missing something?

My brow rises and a frown settles on my face. “Why?” I ask.

“I didn’t want them conflicting, that’s all.” She instantly answers, dropping her mug once it’s empty. And she clears her throat, “cause I’ve got a date with Alfred Enoch tomorrow.” She gets up and grabs her long black woollen jacket from the chair.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I demand, feeling anger and jealousy already ripping through me over the thought of her with another man.

“What do you mean?” She asks in confusion as she shrugs on the jacket.

“Tu sai cosa significa (You know what it means).” I ground out, a scowl growing on my face. “Telling me you are going on a date. Who is this Alfred Enoch, anyway?” I ask, although I already resent the answer she’s about to say.

She rolls her eyes and picks her bag up from where she just took her jacket from. “Like you don’t know.”

I give her an absurd look and “I don’t, okay?” I reply cluelessly, “Why don’t you tell me who he is.”

“He’s an actor I met a week ago. He’s cute, real nice, young, and he’s also black.” She reveals and a shy smile clowns her face.

Okay, did she just say he’s black?

What has race got to do with this?

And why, for fuck’s sake, is she smiling?

Oh, I get it. I’m not the one in the room that considers colour an important factor when dating someone.

I’m not saying it hurts, I’m saying I’m hurt!!!

“Oh,” I say breathlessly, and that’s the one word I can say now that would not sound as hurtful as her word just did.

“I don’t expect you to be okay with it.”

Thank God! ‘Cause I resent the idea.

I nod my head, “Buona causa, non ci sto bene (Good cause I’m not okay with it.) What is this, anyway? I leave one week and you already have what? a lover you are fucking?” The word is inappropriate, but I’m far too angry, jealous and hurt to know or even care.

She gasps and covers her mouth. “I’m not fucking him we met and--“

And you’re planning to fuck him. I almost spit out, but stop myself and instead, I don’t let her finish before saying, “He’s black, so that gives him thirty-five per cent advantage over me or any white man, wouldn’t it?” Losing my appetite, I toss the bread back onto the plate and get up.

She places a hand on her hip and her face frowns up, and that is not a good sign, “Stop putting words in my mouth, Keenan.”

I charge toward her, “But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” My eyes locked on her, seeking to read her expression rather than hear her words.

She hisses in annoyance, “Stop making me feel guilty for something I haven’t done, whereas you were kissing Phoebe a week ago and let me not forget about Samantha and they were both white, I don’t even think you’ve ever been with a coloured woman until me.” She slams into my face, anger surging into her face, and I know my actions still hurt her.

I take a step toward her, “So this is it, you want to get back at me for the things I’ve done to you.”

She breathed tightly, “I’m not that immature, Keenan. I just want to move on from you.”

My teeth clench in pain, hurt, and anger. I don’t know why, but every word she says to me, I take strongly, and I just did this one.

“Is that what you want?” I ask because the last thing I want is her moving on from me.

She laughs a little and steps back, “No, it’s what you’ve always wanted.” She turns and walks out of the room.

I follow her outside to where her black Toyota Camry 2019 model and as she tries opening the door; I close it and she glares at me.

She doesn’t get to have the last word, and she doesn’t get to tell me what I want, because she doesn’t know what it is I want. “You don’t know a thing about what I want. Se lo facessi, non lo faresti (If you did, you wouldn’t be doing this)”

“Whose fault is that?” she demands and shakes her head. “We are not healthy for each other Keenan, I’ve been blind for so long.”

“One month isn’t so long, Vary,” I tell her and as I try taking her hand, she pulls away and that hurts like hell too.

“Thirty-three days for me is and I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not the bad guy here.” She opens the door of her car and enters before closing the door.

....

I have zero concentration at work today and all I keep thinking of is Vary. It’s a wonder how she seems to have made her way into my brain and stayed there without me being able to take her out. I know what goes around comes around and you reap what you sow and maybe everything happening now results from the seed I’ve sown in the past, but I just want a shot at this. Be happy, please my wife and call her mine with no second doubt.

I’m surprised that she works now, I’m even more surprised that she landed such a position in five-star hotels and I know names can take you places, but your brain is what will keep you there and having known Vary for years, I can say she’s both beauty and brains and that makes me envious. Why? because with brains comes attention from men, even the perverts among them. It’s not like I don’t trust Vary, it’s that I don’t trust those men around her.

I don’t want to sound like those controlling assholes that call themselves men, but I don’t trust any man around her.

There’s only one thing to do.

I pick up my ringing deck phone and place it to my ear, “Yes, Ms Adams, what?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr Hilton, but there’s this fellow here. He said his name is George, and he’s waiting for you. He said you called him over?” Katy p, and I can’t wait to see him.

“Send him in.” I immediately respond.

“Okay, sir.” She says to me. “You can go in,” she tells George and after a few moments, the office door opens and the weird guy with glasses walks in.

He’s wearing a navy blue jacket with its zip undone and showing the black t-shirt he has on the inside. He has black skinny jeans on and white sneakers. His enormous glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his brown curly hair fell into his freckles-covered face.

This guy has the worse taste for fashion.

His green eyes conspicuously scan the office as his brain does mental assimilation of everything with his sight. After a while of silently taking in every detail of my office, his jaw almost hits the floor. I watch him feed his gaze with everything he’s looking at and after nearly sixty seconds, his eyes finally meet me in the centre of the office and he grins widely.

“Hi, Mr Hilton, long time no see.” He greets me, walking over to me and offering his hand for a shake.

I nod and take his hand, “Hello, George. I’m glad you got my message and for the last time, I’m straight.”

His eyes furrow in confusion and he adjusts his glasses, “So am I.” Looking offended at my assumption.

I let his hand go, “Good, ‘cause I think you are creepy and I don’t have a thing against gay people, just you.”

“You called me...” He begins as he takes a seat, pointing out the obvious.

“'Cause I’ve got work for you, not because I want you assaulting me with your creepiness.”

“For the last time Mr Hilton, I’m straight and I’m not attracted to you or red hairs.” He snaps, and it is poor delivery of his anger.

I breathe down in relief, “Good, I’m glad we have that off our chest.”

“What do you want me to help you with?” He asks, looking uncomfortable in his seat. “‘cause I must return to work.”

I scrunch up my nose. “I connected you and your three friends there, remember?” He nods slowly, “you still owe me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

I pick up a piece of paper from my desk and hand it to him, “I want you to find out things about him”

His brows rise as he looks up after glancing at the paper. “What things?”

I shrug, placing my hands on my desk, “Anything, from his childhood to adulthood every little thing he has ever done and the more incriminating your findings, the better for the both of us.”

He looks down at the paper before reading the name out loud, “Alfred Enoch?” His voice displays surprise and I know he’s realised something he didn’t before.

“You know him?” I ask, my brow rising slowly.

He scoffs in disbelief, “Who doesn’t?”

I give him a clueless look, “Me.”

His brows shoot up and he fights to suppress his laughter. “Seriously? What exactly do you do in your leisure time?”

I glare at him, and he stops laughing. “Make billions and have sex. Are you going to get to work or are you going to keep asking these dumb questions?” I demand hardly.

He jumps to his feet instantly, “Okay, I’m up to it now.”

He goes to the door and I speak up, “You’re with your bag, right?”

He turns to me and nods. “Why did you ask?”

Without uttering a word, I point to the other side of the room where a couch and a tinted black table are set and his eyes follow my direction.

“Oh, okay, I’ll just go over there.” He answers and moves to the other side of the office room and sits down. Then he pulls out his laptop from his bag and sets it on the table.

In a few minutes, I’ll know every little thing about Alfred and hopefully, I’ll find reasons to convince her she’s not good with him.