Wronged Desires Read online

  Kem rolled his eyes and kicked his legs out next to me on the side of the bed. He stood, raising his shirt over his head and revealing the six-pack hiding under a six-pack. I had to avert my vision once I caught sight of the “Babygirl” tattoo on his ribs. Without a peep and with defeat looming I rose, leaving Kem to disrobe.

  I sauntered barefoot through the halls to the master suite while memories of Kem and I clouded my mind. We met in a freshman economics class on the first day of class. The professor decided it was a wonderful idea to match the quiet, invisible black girl with the popular, athletic white boy. At the time I was an academic scholar from meager beginnings, raised by my grandmother, who was the only mother I knew. Since I was the valedictorian of my high school graduating class in Houston, I was awarded my pick of top business schools in and out of the country, but I chose to be an Aggie and stayed close to home. Kemington Sutter, wealthy trust-fund heir, was the green-eyed, sandy-brown-haired, drop-dead gorgeous tennis captain all the women—eligible or not—swooned over, especially when he took the court in his white shorts and auburn shirt.

  With cockiness bleeding from his pores, he approached me on the first day of class, the green-eyed devil with only a few tattoos on his arms at that time. I resisted his charm for months, but by the second semester we were dating and making passionate love every evening like we were shooting for high marks on a statewide sex exam.

  I remember the first time I took him home to meet my grandmother. He was dressed in a suit and tie like he was meeting the Queen of England. She reamed him good the first few visits, but it was an awe-inspiring experience to see him in the kitchen with her, cutting and battering tomatoes while the two chatted, unaware that I was viewing the tender moment. Next thing I knew, she took ill and Kem started footing the bill for her medical care, not settling for anything less than the best medicines and specialists Texas could provide. Every Sunday we would take the hour’s drive to have church service with her and dinner until she passed away.

  The day he proposed was something I would have never imagined. Kem knew I had insecurities about us dating, mainly due to his parents being very vocal about me not being a proper suitor for their son, a Sutter heir. I constantly received awful scowls from my peers and hurtful, backhanded comments from his family. Kem had been grown to be an eligible, elite bachelor for any of the prosperous Texas-bred debutants. His choice of a lower-middle-class black girl with no familial background outside of her grandmother was unacceptable by all. Those things alone were enough to give anyone doubts, but then the last tennis tournament of the season in our senior year occurred. Of course I was present in the front row of the bleachers, cheering Kem on. That season the team was undefeated, so it was no surprise that they slaughtered the visitors in the final game.

  As Kem approached the net to shake his opponent’s hand, the stadium lights were glaring on his sweat-soaked shirt. Suddenly he was taking his cap off, shaking out his wet cinnamon hair, and lifting his jersey off to reveal his muscular chest and bulging abs. Screams erupted from all of the scandalous women who wanted to steal him away. As they were celebrating the free show he was giving, tears started to form when I caught sight of his purpose of putting himself on display. All the shouting started to die down when the onlookers knew what I knew. In big, bold lettering, Kem had “Babygirl” inked permanently over his left-side ribs. He shouted to the masses, “Victoria, you are now and will always be my rib until my last breath. Will you do me the honor of being Mrs. Kemington Sutter? Please marry me, Babygirl!” The crowd quieted. I was stunned and didn’t know what to do. A man next to me cleared his throat and nudged me. I began to shake my head repeatedly.

  “Yes…yes,” I said finally. Applause started slowly. Kem moved across the sand and lifted me over the railing. The minimal clapping began and grew in volume, then Kem wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Thank you for being mine,” into my ear.

  We chose to have a small wedding, keeping in consideration that I didn’t have any family outside of my grandmother who was in attendance in a beautiful lavender mother-of-the-bride dress. I felt like a princess walking myself down the aisle in the finest white satin sleeveless gown with a six-foot train and elegant veil. The entire Sutter clan held their breath when Kem took my hand in matrimony, ultimately putting all the whispering and bad comments to bed that day. It was not long after that my grandmother left me in Kem’s charge as she went on to her glory, causing me to absorb myself into my marriage and work.

  Several years of our careers taking flight and Kem’s family obligations taking precedence, I started to disconnect with him as my husband and lover. He loved me more and more with each passing day, but I felt bitterness and resentment wondering why he was oblivious to my true feelings of insecurity. On the rare chances that he was at home taking a break from traveling, I chose to focus on activities and things for us to do instead of communicating with him about the sadness I felt. It was my fault that we were disconnected, because I didn’t allow him a chance to figure out a way to fix it. By the time Kem realized that our marriage wasn’t as strong as it should be, it was too late to repair the relationship.

  It was a battle of a divorce leaving me to rely on thoughts of my grandmother and nights spent venting on Sandra’s couch to get me through my life-altering decision. Kem, on the other hand, even though emotionally shattered, was my protector to the end. He refused to allow his family to rip me apart professionally and leave me in the gutter with nothing. Actually, he still found ways to sneak money into my bank accounts each month.

  I lay in the bed still clothed in my work attire with thoughts about Kem’s love for me. I’m like an addiction for him, his Babygirl.

  The next morning a tension headache loomed, making me opt for a burning-hot shower instead of a soothing, warm bubble bath before work. The hot river of water was a welcome massage for every muscle in my back and neck, giving me the strength to face whatever plagued me. Kem had been the last thought on my mind before I drifted off last night, making me want to run to Sandra to vent. Damn, I can’t go to her with this. She’s having a hard enough time with something of her own. Plus talking to her about Kem is enough to send her over the edge.

  Living the life of a wealthy heir’s wife was one of isolation and fragile, false-glass smiles, but Sandra was persistent with our friendship. During my divorce proceedings she was a big support through some of my tough nights of second guesses and painful memories. It was common knowledge that I loved her as a best friend, but last night it was apparent that she was in need of a return in the “bank of friend” support. Her husband had always been a dominant presence the few times I had met him, but something was different now. She was cracking at the seams and it was showing.

  I toweled off preparing for the day, and misted myself with perfume. It was definitely a canary-yellow, sleeveless, fixed-sarong dress type of day. I pinned my shoulder-length hair up in a messy bun with my bangs showing as I snatched up my red heels and headed down the hall, discovering the scent of applewood bacon, eggs, grits, and toast trailing from my kitchen. I wanted to ignore Kem’s existence, but I couldn’t resist sampling my grandmother’s famous grits.

  I detoured and sat at the island in the kitchen. On cue, Kem put a plate mainly filled with grits in front of my watering mouth. Slipping a strip of bacon into my grits, I bit into the food that reminded me of home. The flavors of salt meshed gloriously with garlic, smoked cheddar, and green onions, taking me back to the smell of clay dirt and peppers wafting out of the garden. I savored each morsel, thinking of my grandmother’s cooking. “You would think you were sampling a vintage wine in Venice with the expression of bliss on your face,” Kem blurted.

  “I still have no idea how you mastered her recipe. I’ve been failing at every attempt to recreate her dish for years.” I started on the rest of my meal while he fixed his own portion. “Well, like Nan said, it takes love, Babygirl.” I shuddered inside at his remark. Please, sultan, come take him away too, he wil
l make a fitting suitor for one of your daughters. Please, I beg of you!

  I finished everything on my plate, sopping up the last bits with my toast. Thanking Kem for the tasty breakfast, I slipped on my heels and headed for the door. “No kiss good-bye, Vic? Even after I prepared this great breakfast?” I slammed the front door.

  Traffic was light so I got to the office in record time. I trotted down the corridor to my office with the briskness of a runaway horse. The sight of Sandra’s lonely desk made my heart sink. I quickly shook the thought away, reassured that she was probably visiting another department, then saw the voicemail indicator on my office phone flashing.

  “Victoria, I’m not feeling well so I’ll be out of the office today and tomorrow. I’ve forwarded all my calls to my cell and I’ll be checking my e-mails periodically. Thank you.”

  I held the receiver in my hand, confused that Sandra was having her first missed day of work in five years, the day after she started to pour her soul out to me. Without a thought, I clenched my keys and ran back down the corridor. She will not run away from this issue, not now, not today.

  I tore down the highway, dialing her cell only to receive her voice mail after one ring. This was taking me to the edge of insanity. The typical thirty-minute drive only took fifteen minutes as I pulled into her gated community of Willoughby Estates with lightning speed. I slowed to the residential speed limit and took in the glorious sight that had been Sandra’s neighborhood for over a decade. If I hadn’t given up negotiations as to where to have our house built those many years prior, Willoughby Estates would have been at the top of my list. The brick, four-to-six bedroom cottages all had a cozy look, with large manicured lawns and peaked roofs with soft lighting at night. The picturesque area was a suburban paradise.

  Carlos and Sandra had been childhood crushes, quickly leading to her becoming Mrs. Carlos Santiago at a very young age. Many nights Sandra would pour out her annoyances with her traditional Hispanic family ways of enduring a relationship for life like her parents versus exploring what the world had to offer. Carlos Santiago had been brought up in a world where a man’s word was law with no deviations in the plan, which was the reason Sandra disliked Kem from the start. She didn’t trust his attentive ways because she wasn’t accustomed to it. Since I was having my own misconceptions about my marriage, I never defended Kem against her numerous judgmental opinions. Reflecting on that, I sighed and parked in the driveway of her three-bedroom split-level home.

  Briskly making my way up her front step, I smoothed my dress out with my perspiration-drenched palms. What the hell? Am I nervous? Yes, but why? I pressed my finger to the doorbell, standing directly in front of the dark wooden French doors with gold-lined opaque panes of glass. After a moment of waiting with no response, I started to pace, worried about Sandra and what she could be going through. To ignore my thoughts of concern, I switched gears to a new emotion—agitation. I began to ring the doorbell incessantly as I shifted my weight to my left hip, tapping my right heel on the cement landing. Soon a blur of a figure unlocked the door.

  “What the hell, Sandra? You called off from work and now I have to get a brigade to break your door down?” I barged into her foyer without waiting for my nonexistent invitation.

  “Victoria,” she muttered with exhaustion, “what do you want? Is there anything I can help you with?”

  I instantly remembered the reason for my visit, and doused the flames of my internal furnace. “Can we talk please?” Sandra rolled her eyes at my question, closed the door, and walked toward her paprika-colored sectional. Sitting, she said, “Talk about what Victoria? I really just want to rest. Is that so much to ask for?”

  You’d think I was annoying her or something. I took a seat directly across from her on the couch, slipping off my heels and folding a pillow into my lap, which was my normal routine when I visited. I chose to calm myself rather than continue my previous display of aggression. “You broke down into a shell of yourself last night. I mean, has Carlos done something? Tell me, please,” I stated with an exhausted tone.

  “Victoria, I really don’t want to talk about that. I want to forget all of it. I never cry, so to do it in front of you but also your ex-husband was too much. It was a lapse in judgment on my part, probably from drinking too many glasses of wine before I got to your place, but it was a mistake.” I could hear the direct tone of her voice, knowing that she was not going to budge on the conversation.

  “Well, mistake or not, I think we should talk about it. You know my grandma used to say that everything happens for a reason, and I think—”

  “Like I said, Victoria, it was a mistake. There was no rhyme or reason for my outburst, not to mention the embarrassment I caused you, but believe me when I say it will never happen again,” she blurted, interrupting me.

  “If you must know, I wasn’t embarrassed. Plus, Kem being there meant nothing. You should have stayed so we could talk, because now you’ve closed yourself off for some reason. Being the picture of strength can backfire on you sometimes. Therefore I’m giving you the opportunity here and now to vent.”

  Sandra released air from her lungs, then stood to walk toward the door. Victoria noticed two empty Merlot bottles sitting on the dining-room table and Sandra’s attire of tattered sweats and a dingy tank. It looks like she had more than one glass. “If you don’t mind, Victoria, I’m not feeling so well and I need my rest. Really, I just need a day to get over my sensitivity. One day we’ll hash it out but not today,” she said, opening the front door.

  I followed her and attempted one last time to win her over. “You know it’s a beautiful day. We should go get an early lunch and—”

  “Please, Victoria. Let me rest. I’ll be back in the office the day after tomorrow. Trust me on this,” she said, interrupting me for the second time.

  “But—”

  “Please,” she shouted.

  I walked outside and the door slammed before I could open my mouth to say anything.

  After dealing with the craziness of the day before, and the thoughts that were swimming around in my mind, I chose to take a personal day. Knowing that Kem awaited me at home, I went into town to my favorite bakery to inventory all the drama-filled events of the past day.

  Chapter Two

  When I was a child, every Sunday after church my grandmother would bring me to a coffee shop in town for a cinnamon roll and a mug of milk while she had a coffee. This was our weekly spoil. When I moved to Dallas after my marriage, it took me quite some time to find the perfect place that would provide me with the same childhood experience. Sandra introduced me to Nate’s Café in historic downtown Grapevine. They prepared a cinnamon swirl roll the size of a dinner dish. Even though the coffee shop in Houston would always hold a piece of my heart, Nate’s cinnamon rolls had the perfect mix of powder-sugar icing and cinnamon butter, hands-down.

  After dealing with Sandra’s rejection I sat at the table with a mug of ice-cold milk and an enormous cinnamon roll in front of me, thinking of the last time I bit into the treat that was too large for one person. I must be an idiot to do this, but right now I can use some company. I reached into my purse and dialed the number that was still the first spot on my contact list.

  I closed my cell and motioned for the waitress to put the cinnamon roll in the warmer until my guest arrived. I sipped my milk thinking of all the Sunday School gossip my grandmother would tell while I savored one of the rare moments she would allow me to have sweets. By the time we finished, my fingers would be caked with doughy goodness and I would swirl my fingers around in my milk and chug it to the last drop. I miss her so much.

  Tears began to form in the creases of my eyes when I heard, “Nan would not like to see you over here misting about her, Babygirl.” Kem was dressed in a canary-yellow polo button up and cream-colored slacks. Is his clothing really matching mine? Grinning I muttered, “Oh shut up, you know how I get when I come here. And are you seriously dressed in the same color as me?”

  Ke
m huffed, sliding into the booth and sitting next to me. I stiffened like a board, but soon my frigid body began to melt when he reached past me to grab a menu. “It’s not my fault great minds think alike.” I moved my body flush with the window, attempting to diffuse the rush of endorphins that were traveling from my brain to more sensitive areas due to his closeness.

  “I ordered us a cinnamon-swirl roll Kem, so no need to rifle through the menu.”

  He sat the laminated menu back in its enclosure, brushing his arm against mine a second time as the waitress brought over the roll that had been warming and another mug of milk for Kem. After cutting into the gooeyness we dug in, rolling our eyes simultaneously as the sweetness hit our tongues. “I can’t believe how good this is, Kem. It’s like the first time all over again.”

  “When you first brought me here, I couldn’t believe that I was back the next day throwing my strict diet regimen to hell.” He chuckled.

  At first Nate’s was a place for Sandra and I to meet for weekend brunches, but I soon started bringing Kem when he was between business trips. Usually he would order something totally different from the menu and laugh at my horrible attempt at eating the sweet that was nearly bigger than my head. Perplexed by my need for the cinnamon roll at any time of the day, Kem soon sampled the treat. After that he never ordered anything else off the menu.

  “I definitely know how to feel guilty about cheating your diet, considering I’ve been faithfully in the gym and on a strict diet for the past four months,” I admitted, rolling my eyes at the joy I felt with each bite.

  Kem focused his attention on me with his jaw gaped open. “What?” I asked, questioning his look.

  “Why are you working out, Victoria?” Whenever Kem called me by my full name, he was in his serious mood.

  “To get fit and tone would be one reason.” I tittered at his confused glare.

  “Fit and tone for what? Your body is soft and supple, which is great unless…” He paused. “Unless someone else has mentioned that they want you to alter your look. Victoria, if there is someone new that thinks you’re imperfect, have them contact me so I can school them on the delight that is your physical form.”