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‘. . . unlike amaretto and pineapple,’ I add.

Aminah releases an indignant ‘Hey!’ that I gleefully ignore.

‘Kofi is breezy, and Aminah. . . well, she ain’t, as we well know.’

Mirth ripples across the room as I zero in on my best friend’s face, as dazzling as the ring on her finger, as her soul, as the love she gives to those who she deems worthy. ‘But she’s a wildflower. Beautiful, defiant, blooming wherever she finds herself, knowing who she is. Her place is wherever she is, and she owns it. Man, does she own it.’ Aminah’s eyes shimmer and she releases Kofi’s hand to make a heart shape with her fingers in my direction. I reply with two taps on the left side of my chest with two fingers. ‘And, the thing is, the breeze, it needs the wildflower to help give it direction, something to flow through, and the wildflower. . . well, the breeze reminds it to bend, to twirl. They’re perfect together.’ Kofi drops a kiss on Aminah’s temple, squeezes her to him, and she rubs his arm. An internal pressure amps up and I feel my eyes begin to mist. ‘Now, uh, I’m gonna save my good stuff for the wedding toast, but—’

‘I’m sorry– that wasn’t your good stuff? You already have us on the ropes. Mercy, please.’ Shanti heckles me from where she’s stood on the other side of the crowd, to a rumble of chuckling, dabbing the corner of her eyes with the edge of a curved index as Chioma teasingly pinches her waist and throws an arm round her.

‘. . . but they have something special,’ I continue. ‘And—’ I look back into the crowd and the words I’m about to say fizzle on my tongue, the heat of his presence evaporating them into nothing. My eyes automatically snapped in his direction, not even knowing what they were being drawn to, but knowing, still.

I will always know. The air seems to shift, make way for repressed feelings that are agitated to the surface, and it seems to have shiftedawayfrom me because I can barely breathe. I swear I can even smell him– wood and amber and resentment. I know, because, for better or for worse, my body reacts to his presence, acetone on a papercut. My heart hisses. There are footsteps as he comes further into the room, firm, swift steps that judder against my heartbeat. Heads turn to look and a good number of the female heads stay a little while, because that’s what Malakai does, he turns your eyes sticky and your heart tacky, clinging on to him, so that you get stuck,tangled—

Fuck, whynow? He picks up a champagne flute from a nearby tray and that’s when he looks at me and pins the remaining straggles of air I have to my ribs. I feel as if I’m being lanced with a honey-dipped blade. I almost buckle. It isn’t lost on me that the last time I was standing in front of my peers giving a speech it was to declare my undying love for him. My hand slips a little on the flute and I grip it tighter.

His face, the face I haven’t seen in the flesh in two-and-a-half years, is inscrutable. Time hasn’t etched it, but instead brought out things it was supposed to. His cheekbones are still steep, but his jaw is wider now, covered with a beard as plush as a night sky, glistening, and his skin is an undisturbed pool of dark elixir that looks like something you can lap at for refreshment; in fact, I used to. His deep eyes carry no love, no hate, but something strong and intense, wrapped in clingfilm to preserve it or maybe to keep out. . . Keep me out. I thought I was ready, but, as it turns out, I Am Not Ready. I need to somehow expel my spirit from my body right now, and unfortunately the only way to do that is to die. I contemplate it for a few seconds (by holding my breath for a long, long time), but I decide against it for many reasons including, but not limited to:

I cannot die because ofman.Embarrassing.

I cannot die in front of Aminah’s mum. Even more embarrassing.

I cannot die because of man in front of Aminah’s mum. Disgrace to my family.

I cannot die at Aminah’s engagement party, because she would break her No JuJu stance to conduct a séance so she can bring me back to life just to kill me again.

Aminah has now noticed Malakai and immediately glances back at me, eyes huge with slight alarm and hefty concern and I am reminded that I need to speak– fuckingspeak,Kiki! I use my anger to melt down the blade in me, pour it over my voice so it sounds firm and I focus on anyone but the Someone.

‘Um, as I was saying, it takes some bravery to hold on to something as big as what Aminah and Kofi have. To not let it go. Not everyone has what it takes.’

I flick a look across the room now. Malakai’s face is a placid lake, but the corners of his lips twitch, perceptible only to those with the knowledge of what that mouth can do.

‘So let’s make a toast.’ I raise a wobbly hand, but keep my voice steady because my heartbeat ain’t and my knees ain’t and my brain definitely ain’t, so something has to be. ‘To Aminah and Kofi. And to not letting go.’ Unfortunately, my gaze, rebelling against my restraint, snaps to Malakai’s as his lips mouth, ‘To not letting go.’

He drains his flute and shoots me a look that’s just as empty.

Chapter 5

Sprezzatura

‘Man like King Korede!’– a bellow from Ty, deep, booming and resonant, taking me back to humid-sultry-hectic house parties at his country house and me on Malakai’s lap. Now, the hail is deployed at the sighting of the Long Lost Brother done good, returning from the land of almond milk and money, from Brixton to LA and back to hometown glory. Ty bops towards Malakai through the clearing throng, tall and broad meeting tall and newly broad from abroad, two of Blackwell’s former eligible bachelors reuniting. South London and Egbaland’s son smiles the smile that tips his face from handsome to dangerous. It’s bright, disarming, sloping, looking for companionship, inviting you to join. He does not shine it my way. Maybe it’s because he knows I know it’s bullshit, maybe it’s because I know what it looks like when it’s not trying. I stand a little away from the cluster of hugs and spuds, at a safe distance, talking to the very few people who have resisted his draw.

I murmur, ‘Ah. Thanks so much. I mean, their love inspired it, really,’ to everyone who says a nice thing about my speech– at least I think that’s what they’re saying, and I think that’s how I reply. I can’t be sure, on account of my heartbeat thumping amapiano in my ear. Yebo, there seems to be something hard and thin and sharp lying in the middle of my chest, and any wrong move would have it sinking into my flesh.