I'm Falling for a Royal Prince {OG BOOK 1}

Chapter 23: The Aesthetics of a Black Woman

I hope no one is offended by the title of this chapter. It isn't saying that all black women have a specific beauty (because all women are different and are beautiful in their own sense). It's just another way of saying the Beauty of Folashadé without pointing out that it's her that the title is referring to.

OFF WITH HIS HEAD... I mean, on with the story lol I like Shakespeare :3

Chapter 23: The Aesthetics of a Black Woman

Vincent

Melanie was beautiful.

At least that was what I concurred from the photos on the Internet. I always made it a habit to search any woman my parents deemed 'beautiful'. Sometimes, their definition of an aesthetic woman was very different from mine.

But, I must say that my parents hadn't failed with this one. She really was a neck breaker.

Her curly, golden blonde tresses fell along her shoulders. Her waist was lean and her hips gave her that slender hourglass figure. Not many women had that body type, so I suppose she was one of the blessed ones. And her eyes, I could tell that even without makeup, they still held that seductive appeal to them.

Too bad I was going to fuck her after our first meeting.

You finally said something compromising.

I laughed silently at my conscience. Sometimes it was aggravating, but other times, it was amusing.

A light tap came from the other side of the door. Knowing who it was, I informed the person that the door was open.

"Good evening, Sir. I brought miss Fo-la-sha-dé," Troy informed, attempting to pronounce her name. "I apologize for our tardiness, she... uh... wanted her cheesecakes," he further explained as Shadé stepped from behind him with two plates, no doubt, holding the said cheesecakes.

A large, gray and white sweater may have hid the structure of her upper body, but her lower form seemed to find a way to show its shape through the sweater.

I smiled amusedly as she thanked Troy before he left. "Did you make that for me," I asked.

"No. I love cheesecake and it's hard for me to share it. Sorry," she shrugged nonchalantly as my mouth dropped in disbelief.

"I'm kidding, but seriously, I didn't make the cheesecake for you. You can have one though," she said, handing me a plate.

"Thank you. Now, let's see if my...," I trailed off, not knowing what to call her. We never talked about what we were to one another, so I was unsure. She couldn't be considered my girlfriend because I've never officially asked her to, and a friend with benefit was out of the question because we've never had sex.

So what the fuck was she to me?

"Your maid," she abruptly finished for me, as if answering my question.

"Right. My maid," I continued hesitantly. I didn't like how it sounded on my tongue. Calling a woman who interested me as such made me feel like I was belittling her. But, if that's what she considered herself to me, then I suppose I should refer to her as a maid. "Let's see how well my maid can make a cheesecake," I finished.

"Are you questioning my cheesecake-making skills," she inquired, a playful edge to her tone.

"Maybe," I chuckled.

"Let's see how well it tastes then," she said as she handed me a fork.

I took a forkful of the cheesecake into my mouth, literally feeling myself disconnect with the world. The actual creamy part of the cake was just right, not too bland and not too sweet. Of all the desserts I've eaten at those expensive, fancy restaurants, none could ever top this. A New York native was one of the best people you could have to make you a cheesecake.