Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I felt weak and dizzy in that moment.
I fell backward onto the black-and-white-tiled floor and wiped my hand against my mouth.
It was as if my past and present were merging.
Gabriel Ayodele Sinclair.
As I lived and breathed.
Within moments, every single flashback of that man and me came rushing back. Every laugh and tear that we’d shared hit me like a ton of bricks. He looked so different in so many ways, yet very much the same.
He looked so much like his father when we were young. Gabriel’s mother was a beautiful Nigerian woman, and his father was an extremely handsome Frenchman. Gabriel was named after his father, and his middle name, Ayodele, was a Yoruba name that meant “joy has come home.”
Joy has come home.
Gabriel looked like the perfect blend of his parents. His once slim frame had been replaced with quite an impressive build. He looked as if he’d spent the past two decades lifting automobiles for a fun pastime. His hair was longer, too. His midnight hair was shaved on the sides but longer on top and showcased a few of his curls. He wore thick-framed black glasses, and even though he was dressed in a stunning suit, I couldn’t help but notice the neck tattoos that crawled up from his slightly exposed chest. It was clear he hadn’t given up his love for ink since I’d last seen him.
We were only sixteen when I watched him get his first tattoo in the creepy basement of a friend’s house. The stupid things kids did in their youth. I wondered if he still had the tattoos he’d gotten for me, or if he knew the meaning behind them.
He wore gold necklaces, one with a cross and another with an eagle symbol. The same necklaces that he wore when we were younger. They were his father’s and he began wearing them after Mr. Sinclair passed away.
Gabriel was dressed in black from head to toe, but his eyes held so much light. A light I used to be so desperately in love with. A light that saved me time and time again. Still, those eyes hadn’t held even a moment of recollection when they looked at me. It was as if to him I were nothing more than the wife of Henry Hughes.
Why did that make me feel so ashamed?
I unzipped the back of my dress and stepped out of it, still feeling lightheaded. After quickly brushing my teeth, I headed over to my closet to find something else to slip into. I grabbed a navy-blue fitted gown and switched into a pair of cream heels.
After touching up a little bit with makeup, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Just act normal, Kierra,” I told myself with a slight headshake. “Don’t be weird.”
I said those words even though I knew the situation was going to be uncomfortable for me no matter what, because once I returned downstairs, I’d be placed in front of my husband and the first man I’d ever loved.
A first love who didn’t even remember my name.
3
Gabriel
Eight Years Old
She kept tapping.
Tap, tap, tap, her fingernails went against the wooden panels as she stared at me.
Tap, tap, tap, stare.
It was freaking annoying.
“Will you knock it off already?” I barked at the stupid girl who wouldn’t stop gawking at me like a freak. She sat there with her big, brown bug eyes staring at me, as if she had no clue that I couldn’t stand her. The only reason she was anywhere near me was because a year ago, the stupid new neighbors told my mom that Kierra was having trouble making friends. Mom, of course, thought I’d be the perfect person for that girl to be friends with, so she forced me to be friendly to Kierra.
I hated how parents always did what they wanted without caring what us kids wanted. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out with the weird kid with some kind of wire helmet on her head that connected to her braces.
A few kids in our class called her Brace Face. I didn’t call her that. I figured that was too mean. But I really wished she’d stop staring at me like she was in love with me. A part of me wanted to tell her that I was forced to hang out with her after school, but Dad told me not to be a dick about it.
I didn’t even know what being a dick meant. Mom yelled at him and smacked the back of his head for saying that. Then she told me to never say it, and that my dad was a bad influence. I didn’t think he was a bad influence, though. I thought he was the coolest guy ever. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I wanted to take over his architect business someday, too, if I could, and I wanted to use the same kind of words he used all the time. So I’d spent the next day at school calling everyone a dick every chance I got.