Joe Mikhailov Oluwafemi was his mother's doppleganger.
That was the first thing that Tallulah noticed when she walked into AJ's house a few weeks ago. Her pictures were on every corner of their beautiful eight bedroom home in the city.
From under her long red hair shone eyes the color of deep forest pools, and below that, a nose so freckled that the brown splotches overlapped much like fall leaves after a windstorm. Her smile was warm with a hint of shyness, just like her son.
Her name was Aubrey Mikhailov. No one really brought her up much but according to the little she could gather, she had died in a car accident when Joe was four.
"I don't understand, how is beating each other up until you're bleeding a sport?" she asked Joe, who had his head buried in books on the kitchen island as she made lunch.
It was a Saturday afternoon. Lucy was off so instead of having the boys order in the filthy processed food they ate on several occasions, Tallulah decided to cook some of her native food.
Joe shrugged. "I don't understand the sport either but dad likes it and I like watching him win. He's very good at it."
Tallulah mixed the vegetables in the pot, deep in thought. Ever since coming to Manchester, she had been trying to understand the culture of the people. It was difficult to understand something that you weren't a part of or have never experienced. AJ's profession was one of those things she was unable to wrap her head around. How was violence celebrated? What value did it add to the society? Why did he enjoy being beaten?
"What are you reading?" she asked, changing the topic.
Joe pushed his glasses down the bridge of his nose and looked at her with a smile. "Some research on your country. We have to write a paper for school about the most beautiful place we've visited and the culture of the people in it."
"You decided to write about São Tomé and Principê?"
He nodded. "Question... how comes you speak Portuguese?"
"Well, our little island was uninhabited until the Portuguese discovered it in the 15th century. So during slavery, some ships with slaves from all over Africa, were deposited on the island to create this mix of people in my country. So our distinct ethnic groups are; Mestiços who were a mix of African slaves and the Portuguese, Angolares who were the descendants of the Angolan survivors from a shipwreck, Forros who were descendants of the freed slaves, Serviçais, contract laborers from Angola, cape Verde and Mozambique, Tongas who were the children born of the contract laborers."
Joe stared at Tallulah, fascinated by information overload she had just given him.
"Is that too much for an eight-year-old?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, I skipped a grade because I'm really smart and my dad had to move me to a school with especially bright kids that could challenge me. He says that I'm just like my mother."
"Really?"
"Mhhh," Joe agreed. "Could you tell me more?"
"Okay," she smiled. "So about 98% of the people in my country speak Portuguese, you know with it being the official language. Other than that there are people who speak Portuguese creole which is Angolar, Principense and Forro. Then there are those like myself who can also speak French and English."
"You can speak French?" he asked fascinated.
"Oui!" Tallulah went back to peeling the sweet potatoes she was making for lunch. " I speak a little bit of French, English which you notice is a bit broken, Portuguese and Angolar."
"You're so smart," Joe complimented.
"Thank you but a majority of the people in Africa can actually speak more than three languages. It's just something that we had to learn because we are a mix of so many cultures in one. For instance, did you know that Kenya has over 42 tribes each with a language of its own?"
He shook his head.
"It does. Africa, in general, is a fascinating place. There are so many places people have no clue exists. São Tomé and Príncipe is unknown because it is the second smallest country in Africa. I am so glad you are going to be teaching some of your friends something little about my country."
"Do you think you can help me with my paper?" he asked.
"Of course, It would be ....what is it that you say?" she asked, chewing on her lower lip.
"Honor?"
"Yes...yes... it would be my honor to help you with your paper."
"You mean an honor to help me," Joe corrected.
Tallulah smiled. "Sim...How about you help me with meu inglês and I'll teach you some Angolar?"
He stretched his little hand that Tallulah took in hers. "Deal."
"What are you two talking about?" Anthony asked, walking into the kitchen. He had been with his trainer in the gym, getting ready for one of his matches that Tallulah didn't know much about.
"Tallulah was telling me more about her hometown," Joe answered, focusing back on his books. "She's making us cooked bananas and sweet potatoes, just like grandma does."
Anthony finally looked at her. Tallulah was awestruck. The man was in some low hanging shorts and bandages that were wrapped around his hands. Back home, it wasn't really a big deal when she saw someone without clothes. It was normal to be naked and she was always that way whenever Joe wasn't around. But looking at this man half naked in front of her made butterflies flap around in her stomach.
She had a bad habit of being out of focus when he was around. An internet search done by Joe had revealed that he was six foot six and two hundred and thirty-four pounds, and he worked out—a lot. He was three years older than her, twice her size, and so famous. That was enough reason to be intimidated by him. Around him, she couldn't concentrate, couldn't take a deep breath sometimes, and she couldn't look at him without wanting to disappear.
"Is that right?" he asked moving closer, sandwiching her between the fridge and his wet torso, as he reached for something on top of the fridge.
"Dad, you're sweating all over the place, getting her wet, leave her alone."
In his arrogant triumph, he smirked - just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of the eyes and a tilting of the head. "Am I getting you wet?"
Tallulah's mouth hung open. This was the only time that she was able to get the hidden meaning behind his words and it made her face heat up in embarrassment.
"Joe, run up to my room real quick and bring me my phone," he ordered his son, eyes fixed on Tallulah's lips. Mischief is in the eye of the beholder, it certainly was for AJ. She knew what he was going to do before he did, it was all there in his eyes. The man had a busy brain. Most of the time he was a coiled spring of frustration, then something would change, the odds would move in his favor and the sparkle would begin. That only led to him dangerously flirting with Tallulah.
Joe was long gone by the time she focused back on him.
"M... my food is burning," she stammered. "Com licença."
He didn't move.
"I like your hair like this," he said, taking a strand of her locks into his fingers. She had removed the braids and was left with her natural hair, twisted into locks.
"Uh...obrigando."
"You're welcome Tallulah," he whispered, still too close for comfort. "Look at me."
She gave him a long penetrating look. Her mouth was set in a tight, hard line and her eyes were narrowed and suspicious. Her breath hitched. She didn't want to be within a mile of Anthony and his seductive lips, his bedroom eyes, his overwhelming sexy magnetism. But her feet felt rooted.
A split second of fantasy gave rise to him being interested in her. She laughed over the ache in her heart. That would never happen. The various pictures of his late wife all over his house was a quick reminder of why that was so. He was still holding onto her. Still looking for some of her in the women that he met, according to Ben. He had been quick to let her know that AJ liked his women with fair skin and green eyes.
Tallulah was too urban for him, the exact opposite of what peeked his interest. The gap between her teeth too wide, her skin was too dark and her eyes were boring. That was why she painted, to escape her life, to create the world that was nothing like hers. If she didn't find herself interesting, why would he?
"Anthony."
He smiled. "The way you say my name..."
"I have to finish making the food because Ben is coming to take me to the Manchester art gallery," Tallulah said. "I'm very happy to go and finally leave your house and do something that I love. Por favor, can you stop playing the games?"
"Are you aware that my cousin is interested in you?"
"Sim," she nodded, avoiding his gaze. "He called this our first date."
Anthony took a step back. "And are you interested in him too?"
"Não!" She shook her head. "But I'm interested in seeing some of the art pieces that are in the gallery. I took a look at them on the internet and I would like to see them in person."
"So you're using my cousin?" The tone of his voice was accusatory.
She looked at him with wide eyes. "No. I do not mean to do that... you are mistaking my ... my.."
She searched for the right word in English but failed to come up with what was in her head. "Intenção."
"Intention?"
She snapped her fingers. "Sim, intention. I mean no harm. Your cousin has done so much for me and I would really like to say thank you to him and..."
"So you wouldn't mind if Joe and I joined, would you?"
Tallulah watched him, the refusal trembling on her lips. She didn't want to disappoint Ben, who had noticed her interest in AJ in the few weeks, but she also didn't want to lead Ben on because she wasn't interested in him romantically.
"Would you?" His eyes bore deep into hers.
"No."
He cupped her chin with his hand, leaning closer.
"Dad." Joe's footsteps could be heard from a distance. Anthony dropped his hand and moved back. "I was talking to pops, he said that you call him back."
Tallulah's back was still pinned on the refrigerator, as she tried to steady the beating of her heart. She watched as Anthony took his phone from his son and stole a quick look at her before making his way out of the kitchen.