"Shit, Bruno! Do you know what this could do?" Trystan's crazed expression worried Peter. He had not seen her in the kind of state Raina had witnessed that frightened her muted, and he was unsure if he would be able to calm her down alone.
"Trys, relax. It's all speculation."
"That Kimioko is behind this?" She turned her laptop to face him as if he had not been the one to show her the photo.
It was of her an Angelique, mid-laughter as they were heading down to the boutique a few days before. The headline above the picture read: Has Songwriter/Producer Trystan Wildes Finally Come Out of Hiding? with a short article below that described she and Peter's past working relationship. Peter Hernandez, who is a renown C.O.O. of the mega-popular record label SoulWork, has recently been in talks with joining the Bennett-Price Company. Could Wildes be joining in with the new crew to create some more magic? Click the link below to listen to some of her award-winning hits.
"How the fuck did this happen?" Trystan muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. Peter had not at all imagined their Sunday morning transforming from a great beginning to Trystan being outed.
Peter had awakened earlier than he would have liked to for a weekend, too used to his working schedule. Trystan was on the opposite side of the bed with her back turned, and he was glad she had simply moved in her sleep and not because she was upset with him. Not that there should have been any reason for her to be—the past few days had been all but annoyingly fleeting, not long enough for him to enjoy her presence.
He moved across the expanse of the bed to drape his arm across her waist, kissing clothed shoulder gently and watched as she stirred awake.
"What time is it?" she asked groggily, her since-abandoned habit of sleeping in late wishing to be revived.
"Nine o'clock."
"Seriously?" Trystan peeked an eye open. The sun had long since dawned, but she felt it only just had. She groaned, wanting to pull a pillow over her face and continue hibernating. "Thanks, Bruno. Now that I'm up, I won't be able to go back to sleep." She only sounded slightly annoyed, and he could tell she did not mind too much when she interlaced her fingers with his and pulled his arm tighter around her.
"Well, now that you're up . . ." Peter suggested, letting his hand travel down her nightshirt before it was slowly interrupted by her, "Unh-uh. Not right now. The next thing you know we both won't be up until one o'clock in the afternoon and Dew'll keep asking why we sleep in so long."
"And plus," she added, turning over a bit so she could see him. "I'm worn out."
They both laughed. She was right—they had treated the previous days as making up for lost time. Any time they could, they were connected, perspiration clinging to their skin and grunts of pleasure replaced with stifled breaths so not to awaken their daughter. It had gotten to a point where Trystan had to beg for him to stop, not really wanting him to, but not being able to take much else. He had left her alone, but made it clear once she recovered, they would be right back at it.
"Well, since my dream was rudely interrupted, I'll go make some breakfast." Trystan removed Peter's arm from around her and slid off the bed, her feet sinking into the carpet as she made her way to the bathroom.
"Cool; wake me back up when it's done." Peter straightened onto his back, and Trystan turned around with a hand on her hip.
"I don't know why you're going back to sleep; you're gonna help me make it."
Peter eyed her as if she were crazy. "Trys, you know I can't cook."
"So I guess it's about time I teach you," she smirked, crossing her arms. In response to his incredulity, she snorted, "You're not about to have my baby eating take out every time I'm not here to cook."
Peter groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "If I burn everything, it's your fault."
"That's not gonna get you out of it, Hernandez. Come on, get up."
He looked over at her. "Fine; but let's get a quick one in first." He scrambled out of bed.
"No!" Trystan giggled and hurried into the bathroom, Peter hot on her tail.
Peter had not supervised so many ingredients in his life. When Trystan asked if he could go on a grocery run, he certainly had not expected that he would be handling that much of them.
"So this was all apart of your secret plan to finally get me in the kitchen, huh?" Peter inquired as he awkwardly rolled cool dough across the flour-sprinkled island. Trystan smirked at his side, her eyes on her own set of dough as she instructed he mirror her movements.
"You'll be thanking me later when you taste these biscuits. My great-grandmother passed it down to my grandma, then down to Mom, and then to me. She wouldn't let me out of the house one day until I got it perfect," Trystan chuckled, remembering her fifteenth summer. It was an abnormally hot Saturday in April, and she had desperately wanted to take a bus out to Coney Island beach to hang with some friends. She caught her mother in the kitchen and tried to sneak out the door, but Yvonne saw her before she could make it.
"I know you're not going anywhere without some food in your system," she chastised, and Trystan groaned. If her mother was not on her about school and odd jobs, she was trying to fatten her up. She had just lost her baby fat and did not intend on gaining it back with Yvonne's delicious food.
"But mom!" Trystan stamped her foot. "Lique is waiting for me at the bus stop!" She did not really know if her friend was there—she had actually planned to pop up at her apartment down the street asking if she wanted to go. There was a boy named Sean she was crushing on, and she overheard him in school talking about how he was headed to the beach that weekend.
"Hello? You didn't even ask if you could go." Yvonne's eyebrow quirked, her fist against her hip in her usual reprimanding way.
"Can I go?"
"Not until you help me with these biscuits."
"But I don't know how to make biscuits!"
"Well!" Yvonne clapped her hands together. "It's about time you learned, huh?"
They spent the next five hours together, side-by-side at their tiny kitchen counter, mixing, cutting, and rolling. Silently, Trystan wished she knew the skills it took to be like her mother, who was able to cook and bake with a precision many would die for, but she did not openly admit it. Instead, she pretended she knew exactly what she was doing and ignored the burn at her ears when her first batch came out flat and Yvonne laughed at her.
"It's okay, baby. Biscuit making is an art. Let's try again from scratch."
It was not until the third and final batch that Trystan's biscuits somewhat resembled that of her mother's, and though they did not look as fluffy and delectable as hers, she was proud of what she had made.
"With a little more practice, you'll be as good as me; probably even better," Yvonne assured, bumping her hip with hers. Trystan did not believe that—anything she could make, her mother could make better, but she appreciated the lesson, adding it to the small but growing list of things she could cook.
By the time they finished, it was too late to go out to the beach, so Trystan just called Angelique over for dinner. The teen who was always prepared to dine on Yvonne's finest, was at their door in less than ten minutes after she got off the phone with Trystan.
The three sat at the small kitchen table, indulging in both batches of biscuits and the ham and greens Yvonne had somehow managed to make at the same time she was helping Trystan. They cooled off the evening with fresh iced tea and conversation. Trystan may not have gotten to see Sean that weekend, but she never forgot the recipe or its lesson.
"This makes me wish my mom taught me how to cook. She never said it, but I think she thought I'd ruin anything I tried to touch, so most times I was banished from the kitchen," Peter snickered, recalling how his mother would shoo him out if he got to close to whatever she was making for dinner that night.
"What about Diane?"
Peter snorted, "Di didn't like cooking until she was forced to with Isadora. Before then it was anything that was pre-made."
"Well, I think your mom could've let you hep out sometimes. You're a good little helper." Trystan nodded toward his ball of dough.
"Are you sure it's supposed to look like this?" he gestured at it with a powdery palm.
Trystan giggled, her left dimple showing as she stood behind him and placed her hands over top of his. "You have to fold it into layers like this." Together, they flattened and folded Peter's pile until it resembled hers.
"See? Not so hard, was it?" she asked, and Peter slyly remarked, "I was only able to do it because you were touching me."
Trystan snickered, shaking her head before kissing his cheek and stepping from behind him. She coursed him through the next steps--how to properly cut out circles of dough and place them in the pan without messing up the sides. "And you let the oven do the rest."
"I feel like I did enough work to last a lifetime," Peter mused as he brushed his hands off, feeling triumphant in the feat but also worn out from being such a novice at it. Trystan was not letting him off the hook, though.
"You're gonna have to add another lifetime to that. You're on egg duty. Can you handle that?" Trystan rose a brow, a spatula in her clutch and pointed at him.
When he realized he did not really have any option but to do as she instructed, he snatched it from her hand. "You're so lucky you're cute."
Trystan laughed and stood beside him at the stove. While he tended to scrambling the eggs, he took several glances in awe at how Trystan was able to handle the sausage, hash browns and grits fluidly without even getting in his way. She definitely acquired the culinary skills of her mother.
When Peter was done his required share, he stood behind Trystan and wrapped his arms around her middle. "I could get used to this. You and Dew, all of us living together."
Trystan smiled a bit as she alternated between the meat and porridge. "On one condition—we share the cooking duties."
"On second thought—I'm sure Georgia's missing you."
She lightly elbowed him in the gut as they both chuckled. "I'm joking, I'm joking," Peter assured and hugged her a bit tighter.
"I'll learn to cook everything if that means you'll think about staying in L.A."
Trystan had confessed to him through darkness and a hushed voice the night before that she was thinking about moving back to California. It would be a bit of a struggle, having to rebuild another life yet again, but she was willing to take the risk of everything going wrong if it meant she and their daughter could be with Peter in a home that was truthful. She would miss Georgia, but all she could feel when she thought about it was all the secrets and deceit that resided there.
Peter kissed Trystan's cheek just as Raina traipsed sleepily into the kitchen, Jewel dutifully by her side with her tail wagging. She barked a greeting as if to speak for the child, who looked as if she could use a couple more hours of rest. She yawned and rubbed at an eye before she could fix her mouth to ask, "Is the food almost done?"
Trystan turned to her with a smirk and risen brow. "Good morning to you, too."
"Good morning, Mommy. And Daddy." Raina had to remember the manners her mother taught her, otherwise she would be chastised. But she also could not ignore the growling in her tummy, so she questioned again, "Is the food almost done?"
"Just about," Peter answered, then eyed the girl oddly. "You okay? You look worn out, kid."
Raina nodded. "I'm still sleepy, and my head hurts 'cause my scarf is too tight." She yanked at its knot behind her head. Peter removed himself from Trystan to assist her, kneeling down behind her to loosen her from the prison she blamed her countenance on. But when he released the fabric from around her head, he noticed her breathing was off.
"Did you have trouble breathing last night?" he inquired, and the question had Trystan whipping around.
"Just a little bit," the little girl admitted, and as she spoke, Peter could hear her slight wheezing.
"Her inhaler's in the drawer." Trystan nodded toward the one near the fridge. She stopped herself from going to care for Raina, wanting Peter to experience how to do it on his own. He grabbed the device, settled neatly on top of some extra dish towels, and held it to her lips. He pressed the canister like Trystan taught him to do and offered Raina two doses. His thumb hovered over the canister, ready to give her another puff if she needed it as she waited until her inhales and exhales sounded normal. Raina remained stoic, seemingly unafraid when she nodded at Peter's asking her if she was okay.
"Remember, baby, you have to tell one of us if you're breathing is acting up. You don't wanna have an episode." Raina had never actually had one, but Trystan was afraid, probably even more than Raina was, that it would happen one day, so she did all she could to prevent it.
"Okay, Mommy," she conceded as Peter lifted her onto the stool at the counter and got her a small cup of water. After she drank from it, her eyes landed on the fresh biscuits Trystan pulled out of the oven and she instantly brightened.
"Are those Nanna's biscuits?" she grinned, and seeing that she was better than when she first came down, Trystan returned the smile and confirmed that it was.
"How about you help Daddy set the table?"
For the next hour, they dined over what Yvonne considered a "real, southern breakfast," complete with orange juice and milk. They ate until only the crumbs of biscuits and bits of grits remained, and were so full that they all became sleepy again.
Young and so given the opportunity to skip out on chores for a couple of more years, Raina slid down out of her chair and skipped to the living room with Jewel, who would be there from the moment the child wanted to play to the when she rested by the animal's side, fit for an hour nap.
Peter and Trystan washed the dishes together, finishing in record time, then spent time with Raina until it was clear her afternoon nap wanted to come early. She fought against heavy eyelids as Peter set her Tinkerbell blanket and a throw pillow on the couch. This time, she did not even argue about not being tired, falling asleep only seconds after she lied down. Still a bit concerned about her asthma, Trystan made a mental note to have some ginger tea ready for her when she woke up.
Trystan had planned to parrot her daughter, a few more moments of rest calling out her name, but once again, it seemed as though Peter had other plans. Keeping the door slightly cracked just in case their daughter needed them, he stripped Trystan of her tank top and pants, wasting little time as he got her into bed and indulged in what she had refused him of earlier. She did not complain, however, relishing in it just as greedily.
Her head thrown back and breathing haphazard, she was settled on top of his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders as she moved against him. His tight grip on her waist was painfully pleasurable, and she adored the way he nibbled on her neck. They built up a sweat until Trystan began to whimper, and she was silenced when Peter crammed his lips to hers, allowing her orgasm to wash over him.
Trystan lied against his chest, sleepiness taking over her before they were both interrupted by the trill of Peter's cell phone. He groaned, loosening his embrace around her to reach across the bed to the side table. He answered the call indolently, and Trystan would have used the light rumble of his chest as he spoke to lull her to sleep had it not been for his voice becoming louder.
"Are you serious? Shit. All right, I'll be right there." He ended the call and looked to Trystan, who had risen up as well with a perturbed brow. "Trys, baby, there's a problem. Someone saw you."
"What?!" Trystan grabbed some bed sheets to cover her breasts as if suddenly aware she were naked. "What are you talking about?"
"That was Ron. Some damn paparazzi caught you and Angelique out a couple days ago."
Now, having forgotten the lasting feeling that their making love had given, Trystan sat up in Peter's bed, her laptop open as she stared at the photo that was plastered on a popular music outlet site.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Trystan groaned and massaged her forehead.
"Ron called me to talk it over with some media specialists. I have to go into the office," Peter explained as he dressed himself quickly, the disturbance that had been in his boss's voice making it clear he wanted to see him as soon as possible.
"What about Kimioko?" Trystan wondered aloud.
"I'll get that figured out," Peter alluded, still not telling her about Stacie and her findings. He did not want her to worry if the problem could be eliminated. He could already tell she was freaking out, trying to keep it contained behind trained eyes and a bitten lip.
After clasping on a watch, Peter reassured, "I'll be back soon and we'll get to the bottom of this, all right?"
Trystan nodded, not looking at him. He kissed her cheek before leaving the bedroom, hoping his promise actually was a promise.
"Peter, I thought you said you wanted to come out publicly together. This isn't really what I imagined."
Ron walked down the hall, Peter right behind him as they headed to the conference room.
"I know, Ron. This wasn't supposed to happen. She had been out a couple of times before and no one recognized her, so she didn't think hanging out with a friend would be too bad."
"Well, thankfully, nothing is too bad right now," Ron assured as they passed through the threshold, SoulWork's media specialists already present with their laptops open and pens ready to scribble into their notebooks. "But we can't ignore this. The caption mentioned her working with Bennett-Price, yet another thing we've been trying to keep under the radar. We've already had to deal with that damn news outlet talking about you, and now she's being thrust into the spotlight."
"I know, I know–,"
"Do you really, Peter?" Ron eyed him as if chastising a son. "This is beyond you and Ms. Wildes' careers—those aren't at stake. But if you want to come out to the public about having a child together, we have to play these cards right. We can't have business-drama and personal drama mixing together. That won't be good for you or the company."
"You don't think I know that?" Peter turned to the elder, his eyebrows cinched in rising animosity. He disliked being talked down to, especially by a superior who knew for a fact he was smart and would never have let something potentially pernicious happen. "I care about this company and Trystan's career. Above all else, I'm not trying to put our daughter in any danger. I would've prevented this if I knew it would happen."
"Peter," Ron exhaled, "all I'm saying is to prepare yourself—we may have a storm headed our way. Considering Ms. Wildes has been herself below the radar for years, it's likely this won't mean much to many, but you never know for sure."
Turning from the younger man, he turned to Imani, one of the company's media specialists. "How are the stats looking?"
"Well, so far–," she leaned in closer to get a better look at the screen, "the traffic for the post is relatively small; most of those interested are people who are in the industry. Which is good if it's contained, but you know how social media can be--some people can't wait to say something, especially if it has to do with anything "celebrity." If that happens, we have to be prepared for it to gain traction. There's already some Twitter and Facebook users who are tweeting about her, some with a healthy amount of followers."
Goddammit, Peter cursed inwardly. There were many people who were not in the industry that were still heavy music lovers, involved in the process which included knowing all about producers and lyricists of the past. Trystan had been apart of nearly a dozen top forty hits—she was bound to be in conversation of her alleged "comeback."
"I would suggest," Imani continued uneasily, "that SoulWork release something to get the attention off of Ms. Wildes, but like you were saying, the caption has Mr. Hernandez attached to it. Anything relating to SoulWork would garner traction to Ms. Wildes, too."
"Well, let's hope a damn meteor strikes," Ron sighed, appearing as though he would much rather not be dealing with the issue on a Sunday afternoon. "It seems like the best thing to do is to just hope this all blows over. Peter," he looked back at the younger man, "I'm gonna need you to lie low for a while; Ms. Wildes, too. If you go out, don't be seen together, and most importantly, Peter—don't be seen with your daughter."
"Jake, I didn't think that was gonna happen. Do you really think I would've gone out like that had I known there were people out there watching?" Trystan had her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she held Raina on her hip, stirring her warm cup of ginger tea before handing it to the child. She took it and began to sip, more concerned about quelling the lingering tightness in her chest than whatever her mother was talking about on the phone.
"T, you had me keeping silent for years about who you really were. You go to L.A. for less than a month and you're on some media outlet," Jacob retorted, the firmness of his voice indicating the call was a business one and not a friendly one.
"It wasn't like I wanted this to happen, Jacob," Trystan matched his attitude. She knew the man was predisposed to act a certain way when he began stressing, but she did not like it when he reprimanded her like a child. She walked to the kitchen table and set Raina down, instructing her quickly to finish her tea there as she stalked into the guest room. "I've been low-key this entire time; only going out to places other people wouldn't be, going out during the least busy hours. Hell, only a handful of people even know who the hell I am! Do you really think this was just me being irresponsible?"
"Trystan," he exhaled, and she could just imagine him rubbing at his eyes wearily. "You still haven't told me what you and Peter plan to do in L.A. regarding the company, so you can't expect me not to be on edge here. I need to know what I'm getting myself into with this."
There was a quip on her tongue that did not make it to through the phone, because she knew he was right. She had not even told her business partner the truth about Peter and Raina, and had planned to keep it that way until they both came forward to the public about it. She and Jacob were not the best of friends—they simply worked amazingly together in regards to the company—so it would not be easy to divulge her personal matters to the man who was prone to throw a fit at something as revealing as an affair that resulted in a love child.
Alas, she could not be selfish; though no one currently knew she was the person behind the name Calm Disengagement, it would not take long for people to put two and two together. Attention would be brought not only to Price-Bennett and SoulWork, but Sovereignty, too.
She sighed, closing her eyes tightly before reopening them. "Jacob, don't tell the other guys this. I mean it."
Though it was not as hard as telling Jacob as it was telling Peter, Trystan still felt that familiar stir in her stomach, feeling sick at everything she had done. She did not go into explicit detail, but Jacob was finally aware of what she and Peter had done behind Kimioko's back and that her child, whom he knew and had grown to adore, was the daughter of one of the nation's up-and-coming moguls.
"Damn, T," Jacob murmured. "I can see why you wanted to go into hiding. The media is gonna be all on this when it comes out. Hopefully it doesn't bring any negative attention to Sovereignty."
"Yes, Jacob. This doesn't concern me and my well-being at all."
"Hey, I'm just saying," Jacob responded to her sarcasm, "You and I both know that this is beyond you and your drama."
Trystan began to regret telling the man her personal business, but with a calming breath, she reminded herself that the words were not meant to really sting and that that was just who Jacob was.
"Listen, Jake—I gotta go. This is the reason I'm in L.A., and when word gets back to Georgia, I know you'll be able to handle anything media-related. I'll be back in a week. Bye."
Trystan had about enough, ending the call before he had a chance to return the farewell. The only thing she did not tell him was that she suspected Kimioko was behind the photo. She was given little reason not to believe that. It had seemed like such a long time ago that Trystan had been apart of breaking the woman's heart, but she had no idea if it had healed or if it remained scorned. Maybe she was finally ready to get her revenge, even though Trystan considered all the tribulations she had gone through after the affair revenge enough.
She could already feel something inside telling her the execution she and Peter had prepared for would not go according to plan. She would do all she could to prevent anything worse from happening, even if that meant staying inside for the rest of the time she was in Peter's home, and she hoped it would be enough.
"Mommy, I finished it!" she heard Raina call from outside the room, so Trystan buried her feelings to tend to her daughter, hoping above all else, she would be able to keep her safe.
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