So it happened. He asked me, and I said yes. Not too excited as he expected me to be, but his soothing smile told me all was well. I raised him from his bended knee and nudged to kiss him softly. The whole crowd in Novare mall hailed as we hugged, and I felt like a Disney princess in the arms of one prince charming.
“No, we can’t do this. Not until after were married.” I’d said to Kunle severally when he asks for keys into my red rose garden. On countless occasions, I perceived the sadness in him but he codes himself.
“Ok baby. I’ll wait.”
“When? How long do we have to wait? Kunle I am not getting any younger. 29 isn’t Moi Moi. My friends are already calling me lord of the rings. Kunle let’s get married now, what is it we are waiting for…”
“shiii,” he’ll always interrupt my rant with his index finger barricading my lips. “I got this. Soon dear.” He’ll conclude and yours truly will smile, convinced the right guy has come.
Not all guys will be denied access through your legs and still pledge you his love. “Kunle is different.”
Was I not correct? I am a ‘Mrs’ to be – at least so I thought before he pulled the façade off.
Two days after the proposal, after I had bragged to all my ring of spinsters, I and Kunle sat on the couch watching “Game of thrones” – one provoking episode like that. I felt a cold hand run through my backyard, I almost jumped but I composed myself.
Is he not my husband to be? But we are not married yet! Ha, I don’t want him to feel I am selfish and unconcerned about him. Should I? But I am a pastor’s daughter.
I raised my head – as if I was in sync with the movie as Jon Snow shoved his blade into his opponent’s stomach and diced him like giant carrot – and tilted my head to catch a glimpse of his face without being caught. His face was expressionless. As if he didn’t know what was going on. Was it his twin brother’s hand that swept through my behind in such an ungodly manner?
Minutes later, another one occurred. Like the part two of a Nollywood movie. This time caressing my behind like one squeezing the fluid off pumpkin leaves. I pressed my gaze on the TV, where Tyrion Lannister and his whore, Shae, were playing the adult game behind closed doors. When I couldn’t bare it any longer, I climbed on my feet.
“Kunle what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I am doing? When two adults with like minds collaborate what do they do?” he said trying hard to contend the anger that threatened to ooze out like the hot steam of a baby volcano.
“Kunle we are not wedded couples yet. We ought to be courting.”
“You did biology in school right? What does courtship mean?” he paused, gathered himself and continued in a rather relaxed and loving tone. “Sweetheart, you are my all – you know that! I love you with my life and won’t hesitate to lay if for you if the need be.” Frankly, those words broke me completely, like a Coca-Cola bottle thrown from the window of my sixth-floor office in 1004, Victoria Island.
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