When A Playboy Loves

|| 9.

King

Grace Daniels was a beautiful, malicious yet elegant woman; her presence commanded attention, forced a room into silence until she gave the go-ahead to resume speaking. Grace was my mother and she was standing at my doorsteps in her signature black Jalamia with matching turban, staring at us like we were preventing her from entering her castle.

"Why are you holding hands with the maid?" I felt rather than saw Uti tense beside me at Mother's question. Her hold on my hand loosened and her fingers slipped through mine when I tried to clasp it again.

Leave it up to Mother to make an entrance, casually throw a degrading statement that was sure to smolder your defences. Something she did while observing you like a vulture waiting for a malnourished child to die so she could finally sink her tentacles into you for the final blows.

"Mother! Be nice," I warned. We were both aware that I didn't have maids and the sight of Uti must have shaken her up. She wasn't one to venture anywhere unprepared and I was delighted at my ability to pull a fast one on her.

Savouring in my short-term victory, I decided to take things a notch higher. "This is my fiancée, Utianle. Maybe now you will stop sending me pictures of eligible daughters-in-law." I was the only one who noticed the fleeting change in her demeanour.

King: 1 - Mother: 0.

"Uti is fine. Welcome, Ma." Uti's voice was smaller than usual and my arms around her waist did nothing to ease the tension that was radiating from her.

Letting go of Uti, I engulfed Mother in a hug, placing kisses on both of her cheeks. "Welcome, I thought your flight was moved," she nodded. "You should have called; I would have come to pick you up. Anything for my mama," I added the last part to appease her, my way of asking her to leave Uti out of her taunts.

"There's something called Bolt, you know," she teased. Her smile morphed into a sincere one, the annoyance on her feature replaced by a look of mischief.

She broke from the hug, erupting into a bout of coughs that seemed practised. When I raised an eyebrow in inquiry, a knowing grin lifted the corners of her lips and her eyes danced with excitement. Digging out her phone from her purse, she dialed a number that rang uninterruptedly, the smirk still plastered on her lips.

Uti and I watched, the wheels in our head turning as we both tried to figure out what Mother was up to. Our confusion cleared when a light-skinned lady in a grey crop top, matching cargo pants and Yeezy sneakers strolled out of the gateman's bungalow to stand beside her. Inevitably, my eyes went to her nipples poking through her shirt, stopping at her flat, toned belly and I let out a low whistle; I would bend her over any day, any time.

Utianle shifted uneasily beside me, probably noticing my wandering gaze and I pulled her closer to me, cursing at my mind for conjuring lewd images of this sports model. Mother saw this and her smile broadened; that was her plan all along.

"This is Helena, she will be staying with me." She sounded pleased with herself, urging Helena to greet us.

"Mother!"

"Oh, don't be like that." She raised one hand up like she was shooing a pesky fly, "you know my back hurts and your father is never around, so, I need the company."

"Since when does your back hurt?"

"Since I found out I was coming to Calabar." To buttress her point, she poked a finger at her side, letting out an exaggerated wail while Helena patted her back comfortingly.

Heaven knew she was as fit as a fiddle with the strict diet plans she followed, hours at the gym, routine medical check-ups, time spent at the spa and beauty salon to maintain her youthful look of late thirties when she was two decades older.