Well, Malik was right about one thing: I was sore. Lesson learned: be careful what I wished for.
I looked around the set I was on. Similar to what I was already used to with the local station, but larger and grander, with way more people involved. I closed my eyes and tried to remember this was what I wanted. Me, here with three other famous chefs with world-class cuisine, getting ready for a competition that was supposedly a mix of surprise basket items and “creative” ways of preparing them, such as with razors instead of knives or without stoves. I wasn’t sure my stomach was strong enough to handle it.
“You have any idea what we’re getting into?”
I turned at the sound of one of the contestants standing next to me, looking at people creating makeshift stages and shaking her head. She reminded me of Maribel with the dark brown hair and golden highlights, but where Bel laughed at the slightest provocation no matter who was around, this woman had a severity about her. One that looked like a facade used to get where she was today. I recognized it all too well.
“Seriously, what is all this?” she repeated when no one responded.
A snort escaped before I could stop it. “I have no idea.”
She turned, reached a hand out, and I shook. “Paola Quiñones. A pleasure.”
“I know you. You own Las Virtudes.”
She beamed, her expression softening. “Indeed. And you’re the EC of Criteria. I’ve been meaning to get down there for years.”
“We’d be honored to have you.”
Her shoulders relaxed even more, and she leaned into me. “I admit, I’ve followed the stories of your reunion. That’s part of why I agreed to this. Your love story is epic. I can’t wait to meet him.”
I wasn’t sure it was all that, but I laughed anyway. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t be here today. We have a thing back home.”
“A thing?”
“Trial. His trial is today.” We’d texted this morning, and he hadn’t seemed overly nervous. More resigned than anything, although optimistic about the outcome.
Paola stared down at me like she could peer into my soul, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she could. She frowned and looked off into space for a moment before clicking her fingers. “The interview that gossip hound Tippin did. It was with your uncle, right? He sued your man? And you’re here?”
“I hate it,” I told her honestly, hoping it didn’t come back to bite me in the ass during the actual competition, since that shit was as much psychological as it was skill based. “I want to be with him, but I’m not a witness and I couldn’t get the pilot date changed.”
“Bullshit.” The venom in her voice gave me pause and I blinked at her. “You’re a bigger name than the other three of us combined. If you needed a new day, they’d give it to you. And it’s not like they can’t do something else for a day or two while you’re gone.”
I wasn’t sure I believed all that. I knew I was popular locally, but I couldn’t imagine that translated on even a regional level. But Paola was nothing if not determined, and she’d already marched over to someone and was pointing at me. I didn’t know if I wanted to sit up straighter or hide somewhere I couldn’t be found.
Paola returned a few minutes later with an older white man, clipboard in tow. “He needs to leave.”
The man looked unimpressed. “He’s already here.”
The look on Paola’s face would have felled a lesser man. “He has an emergency. Today. We can surely go a day without him, right?”
“Why? No sense in making changes unnecessarily.”
I couldn’t even say I disagreed. Fact was, we were all there, and there was no reason to move the date when everyone was already available.
I opened my mouth to say that, then paused. Just for a moment, I watched the other chefs. All surrounded by family. By kids and maybe even friends. And here I was, alone because Malik couldn’t be here with me. Calling Grandma and letting her calm me down wasn’t even an option, because I hadn’t mentioned this to her. For something that was supposed to be my dream, I was lonely as hell.
“You stay here,” Paola said, then walked away.
“She’s totally going to win,” I muttered, and the guy laughed.
“Probably so. She’s like a puppeteer, putting people where she wants them.”
“Yeah. I like her.”
There was a small commotion, then Paola was on her way back, her hands on the arms of the other two contestants. “I’ve already talked to them. They’ve agreed to stick around, film some of the other stuff, and we can officially start the competition when you return.”
“We’re already here,” I protested, but it was weak. Mentally, I’d left and was on my way back.
“Look,” one of the other chefs said, “there is no one in this industry who hasn’t heard about you and your guy. We all saw you at the gala, if not cooking then doing that line dance with him.”
I grinned at the reminder. Jesus had recorded us dancing and sent it to us, and Malik had actually authorized James to use it as the first post on Franklin’s brand-spanking-new Instagram page. When I’d asked him about it, he’d just grinned and said he liked the video.
But the guy’s words hit home in a different way. No matter what Christopher thought, this show wasn’t just about me and my star. People were invested in me and Malik. Even if Malik wasn’t on the show, folks were curious about us. They were following our relationship. Larry’s plan—to let others create the narrative—had worked. What would it do for me to be absent when my husband needed me? Especially when there was nowhere else I’d rather be?
Hope sprung in my chest and I grabbed on to it. “Why would you do this for me?”
The guy Paola had originally snagged just shrugged. “Look, I’m about ratings. Having your guy here improves ours.”
“Everyone’s heard your story,” the other chef added. “I was kinda bummed he wasn’t here. I was looking forward to getting some tips on how to beat your ass from him.”
I laughed. Malik would earnestly give him tips to make sure he lost, if anything. But my “competitors” thought so highly of Malik they were willing to let me go home and get him.
I closed my eyes. Malik’d used the word home. Where he was, that was home. Always had been, which was why I’d felt so adrift for so long, even as my professional life had taken off.
“You guys sure about this?” I forced myself to look each of them in the eyes, and they all nodded in turn.
Then I checked my watch and bolted. “Shit, I have to get back to him. Trial starts in three hours.”
I thanked them all again, then one more time as I shoved my shit together, then darted out the studio. A cab actually stopped for me, and we were off to LaGuardia.
“No luggage?” the driver asked. He’d popped the trunk when I gave him my destination.
I looked down at myself. “Shit.” At his raised brow, I tried to nod. “Nope. No luggage.” It was all still back at the hotel. Thankfully I was booked for another few days, but I needed to make sure I got back up here to get my stuff.
I didn’t have time to worry about that now. The cabbie hopped out long enough to close the trunk, then we sped off. I pulled out my phone and, praise Jesus for commuter flights that ran every half hour. I was able to grab one, even though I wouldn’t be there for the start of trial. The point was, I’d be there, where I was supposed to be, with the man I loved, who’d actually said he loved me, giving him the support he’d always given me.
My phone rang, and I wasn’t surprised to see Christopher’s name. “What?”
“Did I seriously just hear you left the set? What the hell were you thinking?”
“That I had somewhere more important to be, and you know what, Christopher? Everyone agreed with me.”
He sputtered for a minute, like the thought of people being on my side had never occurred to him.
When he didn’t respond after a few seconds, I sighed and kept talking. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to Malik. Once everything is more settled, I’ll have you reschedule.”
“We’re going to have a serious talk about this when you return.”
I huffed and shook my head. “No, we’re not. Goodbye, Christopher.”
I hung up and thunked my head against the seat, and the cabbie glanced at me from the rearview mirror. “You that famous chef?”
I looked up at him and tried to smile. “Some days, yes. Today, I’m just going home to my husband.”
I closed my eyes and let that word seep into my veins. We’d said the I love yous, I heard his promises, the reincarnation of the vows we’d said to each other all those years ago. What could I accomplish with Malik by my side, cheering me on, whether lying on the couch next to me or from thousands of miles away?
The thought came to me and I grabbed my phone to call my irritant of an agent. No matter how pissed Christopher might be with me, he wouldn’t ignore my call, and wouldn’t you know, I needed him. After this, if I never did a thing with TV again, it’d be worth it. Because these past few months with Malik had been better than anything I could have dreamed of, and I wouldn’t jeopardize it again.
I huffed. How about that? Grandma was right.
I don’t know why I’d thought Robert Moore, Professional Hustler, would have had the foresight to hire an attorney, especially once he knew Larry was representing me. Apparently, I’d given the man too much credit. The longer I sat in that courtroom and listened to him drone on, the more I wondered what the hell he was doing. Attorneys were expensive as hell, and I guess I couldn’t say shit since I wasn’t paying Larry. But seriously, Larry was doodling and listening with half an ear, and the judge looked about to fall asleep.
“Imagine how I felt, your honor, being replaced in my mother’s heart, first by my nephew, and then again by that man over there. He was trying to separate us, to make her choose him over me, and you can’t let him get away with it.”
Robert paused then, and the judge took that as her moment to strike. “Is that all you have for me?”
He frowned, looked down at his papers, and shrugged. “I guess.”
“Mr. Jackson, any cross?”
“Yes, your honor.” Larry stood, took the time to fasten his suit jacket, then strolled to the podium. I was pretty sure he didn’t need to be so formal, since Robert had talked from the desk, but informal and Larry didn’t seem to go together.
I tuned it all out, secure in knowing Larry had this in the bag. I tried to mentally review my own list of questions, but my mind kept going back to DeShawn. To the way he’d felt that last time, to the anxiety emanating from him the next morning when I dropped him off at the airport. Our texts had been short, the bare minimum to ensure we were both okay. More and I’d beg him to return. Yes, yes, I knew he’d be back in just a few days. But given how new this commitment was, how recently we moved on from pretending this was fake, I wasn’t handling even the small separation well.
He didn’t need that kind of pressure before the trial, and definitely not while he was filming, but the second it was over, I was calling. To check in, give him the results, hear his voice and reassure myself he was still with me, location be damned.
The heavy courtroom doors opened and Larry’s secretary, Collin, slipped in. He motioned to the deputy, whispered something, then sat down behind us. I couldn’t tell if Larry even noticed, but his questioning didn’t miss a beat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Jackson,” the judge said, and pointed. “Someone from your office is here.”
Larry turned with a frown, which deepened when he saw Collin. Collin winced but walked up to him. They spoke low, probably about some emergency at the office, then Larry nodded and Collin wiggled his fingers at me before leaving.
“Your honor,” Larry started, addressing the judge, “I know we’re nearing lunchtime, but I don’t have any further questions. Since Mr. Moore didn’t designate any more witnesses, would you like to hear my motion to dismiss now or when we return?”
“Now, if you’re ready.”
Larry launched into his argument, and while I tried to pay attention, I took the time to look—really look—at Robert. He’d been cool when DeShawn first introduced us, only becoming antagonistic as our relationship strengthened. Grandma had hinted obliquely about his gambling issues then, but it hadn’t seemed to be a serious issue.
Looking at him now, though, I could see the way the years had worn on him. His face was drawn, his eyes tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table like he was barely hanging on. As angry as I was with him, with the way he’d whittled away Grandma’s money now and wanted carte blanche to keep doing so, he was still her son. DeShawn’s uncle. My...something. I’d told everyone saying no to him was easy for me, but I knew I’d try to help, at least a little, if this went our way. I managed to hold in a chuckle, because I’m pretty sure Grandma knew that, too.
Larry sat down next to me and nodded, then Robert stood and said whatever he had to say. As the defendant, I knew I should care more, but I honestly didn’t have it in me.
Apparently I’d zoned out too much, because Larry nudged me as the judge began speaking. “I’ve listened to the testimony today, and I’ve thoroughly read the deposition of Mrs. Anna Mae Belle Moore. Based on all of the above, I find that Mrs. Moore was in her right mind at the time she created the will in question, and furthermore, find no evidence of undue persuasion from Mr. Malik Franklin. If anything, I see a loving relationship, one that I’m sure Mrs. Moore wishes she had with you as well.”
Robert looked up and scowled at that, but the judge was unmoved. “Based on the evidence presented, I’m going to grant the defendant’s motion to strike. This case is dismissed.”
I felt relief, sure, but not for me. For Grandma, absolutely. For me, I felt empty. This case was the whole reason I’d gotten DeShawn back, and even though I’d originally sworn we’d end when the case did, now that I understood what we could be, what we could have, I wanted to celebrate. To hop on a plane and fly to New York and follow him around the country while he wowed audiences, if necessary. Hell, it wasn’t a bad idea.
Larry laid a hand over mine and leaned in toward me. “Let’s leave and give Robert some space.”
I nodded. “Yeah, good idea.” I gathered my things and stuck my hand out. “Thank you for everything.”
He smiled and gripped the back of my neck, shaking me gently. “DeShawn’s my brother, which basically makes you my brother, too. And that means I have to look out for both your asses.”
“Please. You’re just glad it’s over so you can get back to charging someone.”
“You goddamn right. I’m a securities attorney. I don’t know how I get stuck with pro bono family law and estate cases.”
I laughed maybe a little too loud. “We’ll try to keep out of your hair for the next little while. Like the rest of our lives.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
We walked out, Robert sitting sullenly in his chair as we passed. He looked the tiniest bit like DeShawn’s grandfather then, and that hit of remorse shot through me one more time.
Larry opened the door of the courtroom and I followed him out, only to be greeted by flashing bulbs and a horde of reporters.
“What the hell?” A bulb flashed in my face, and I instinctively stepped back and covered my eyes. I hadn’t expected reporters, not when DeShawn was out of town. There’d been none when I arrived, and this should’ve been a lunch break only. But as I looked at the crowd, Noah and Heidi conspicuously absent among them, I saw smiles and anticipation. I didn’t know what to do with it.
Next to me, Larry chuckled and pointed to a figure barely visible with the cameras and mics in the way. “Your boy doesn’t go halfway.” He clasped my shoulder and stepped to the side. “Neither should you.”
I heard the words, but couldn’t respond, my eyes fixed on DeShawn walking through the crowd. It wasn’t until he stopped a foot away that I convinced myself it wasn’t a mirage. Even then, I was afraid to reach out and touch.
“What are you doing here?” My voice was barely a whisper, like I was afraid of the answer.
“You’re more important than the pilot. You didn’t make me choose between you and the show, and I still made the wrong choice. I should’ve been here with you from jump, and I’m sorry it took me too long to see it.”
It took me a moment to realize what he was saying, but when I did, the weight of the world fell off me like chains being unshackled. I snagged his wrist, tugging him close and tipping his chin up. “I love you.”
His smile was a beacon of light straight through me. “God, I love you, Malik. More than the career, more than the restaurant, more than the dream of having my own show. This dream, being with you like we have been? Nothing comes close.”
I pressed my forehead to his, much like I had a few nights ago. “I don’t want you to regret staying.”
“The only regret I’ve had in the past decade is losing you.”
And I believed that. If he was here, with me, now? I’m sure Christopher had barked in his ear the whole way over.
“What about the pilot?”
De Shawn snorted. “Turns out you’re more popular than me. The other contestants were more than willing to let me leave for a few days, especially if they have a chance to meet you.”
I huffed. As long as I didn’t have to be on screen, I’d be fine. “Sure thing.” I leaned into him. “You get the press?”
“Nah. Apparently they’d tried to watch the trial, and said the judge decided to prohibit cameras, so they’ve been waiting outside.”
I vaguely remembered Larry asking for that, but had long ago forgotten.
DeShawn pulled back and ran his thumbs down the sides of my face. “Marry me.”
His words rang loud and clear, and I stared at him. His eyes shone, full of that boyish joy and enthusiasm he’d had the first time he proposed all those years ago.
I tightened my grip and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Last I checked, we’re already married.”
His smile would light me up for the rest of my life. “We are, aren’t we? Then marry me again.”
To that, there was only one response. “Yes, I will.”