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The beauty with cedar brown skin walked down the hallway of her modern Hollywood Hills home, mint green, soft suede TOM FORD ankle booties sounding on the customized glazed polished tile floor as she approached the next room. The shawl collar rolled sleeve blazer matched the color of her booties and cropped jeans with shredded hems. Her fine and short dark hair was styled in a bowl cut. Colorful lily statement earrings.
The beauty made it into the bright, white, and bold, Southwestern chic living room Iron, floor-to-ceiling windows that create stunning contrast against the white walls and usher sunlight into the space. A wrought iron chandelier that hung above the sweeping, curved sofas and matching coffee tables on top of the rug. Custom oak cabinets and floating shelves layered with earthy accessories flank the elegant cast stone fireplace that glowed amber at the center of the room.
The neatly decorated space was set up with big lights and a caramel, bearded male put up the camera. He looked over at the vixen and smiled. "Welcome. You ready for this?"
Sunni inhaled deeply, smiling gently. "Let's do it."
Just as Sunni planted on the curved sofa, a door shut in the distance and shortly after the tall and fit, brown skin male walked into the living room with his wife and the videographer. Mid-fade afro and dapperly dressed was Victor. "I didn't miss anything Sun?"
Sunni looked over at her husband. "No. We're about to start."
Victor leaned over, planting a gentle kiss on her lips before he walked over to seat beside Knox who spoke, "Okay, Sunni, before we start I just want to know are you comfortable talking about everything? I'll edit later."
Sunni fixed the collar of neat blazer. "Shantey UNCUT, right?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Then, let's give them some UNCUT."
Knox smiled. "Start whenever you're ready."
Sunni glanced over at her husband, and he winked with a soft smile. "Why... is Shantey Ledé the way she is? I can't count how many times I have heard that. All of the why's. Well.. I'm here to tell you why. You can't really blame her mother—my sister, no, not really. You gotta go back further than my sister, or our mother. It started with Corine Boudreaux. My orphan grandmother. She was this gorgeous Creole woman from Louisiana. Her growing up alone, she always wanted children. But she had miscarriage after miscarriage, then she finally got pregnant and a chocolate baby was born. And the reason I say that is because Corine never gave my mother a name.
