Page 25 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

W hen the door opens, all the noise in my head quiets. The doubts, the tension in my shoulders from everything laid at my feet in the past seventy-two hours, fade away.

Because Shae’s standing there, looking like sunlight wrapped in yellow.

“Storm,” she says, my name soft and uncertain on her lips, and I realize I’m staring. Probably too long.

I search for the next right thing to say.

“You look beautiful, Shae,” I say, settling on the truth. She smiles and looks down at her feet for a moment before meeting my gaze again.

There’s so much in her expression, a lot I can’t decipher.

Maybe I don’t want to; I only want to exist in her space.

“Come in,” she says, stepping away from the door. I squeeze past her, turning sideways, and that citrus scent I’ve come to associate with Shae Rivers is stronger here, so close to her.

I stand in the landing, taking in the cozy home. It’s warm in here—like the heart of the home keeps the walls alive.

There are family pictures by the front door, and I can’t look away from the history of Shae’s upbringing before me.

There’s a dated Olan Mills close-up of a squinty baby dressed in pink and green lace, next to what looks like a first-grade picture that’s one hundred percent Shae.

Four thick pigtails separate her scalp into equal quadrants, and despite missing her front top tooth, she smiles broadly, almost as if in challenge.

I bet she would have been a force to reckon with on the playground.

“Take your shoes off,” Shae murmurs from her spot close behind me. Blinking away from the wall of pictures, I compute what she’s saying and jump into action.

“Sorry,” I reply, toeing off my shoes. “Do you think these will do?” I lift the flowers between us, but I’m mesmerized by the way Shae’s face lights up.

“Yes, they’re beautiful, Storm.” She reaches for the bouquet and our fingers touch. I don’t care if it makes me sound like a complete pussy. When our fingers connect, it feels like the tension I’ve been carrying across the city evaporates.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I can breathe around Shae.

“Hey, hon! You’re right on time.” Shae’s mother approaches me with her arms spread open, and she captures me into a tight hug before I’m able to utter a reply. “I hope you brought your appetite.”

Shae shifts as her mom grabs my arm, squeezing my biceps. The smell of spices registers once Shae’s mother mentions food, and my stomach audibly growls.

“You’ve got that right, Mrs.Rivers,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even.

“Oh, what lovely flowers! Roses, my favorite,” Mrs. Rivers says, rubbing one of the golden petals between her thumb and index finger. After her assessment, she turns back to me with a bright smile.

“I was given some excellent guidance,” I reply, and she gives me a coy smile.

Shae moves toward her mother, looping her arm in hers and putting her head on her mom’s shoulder.

The image does something to me—to my heart. They’re the picture of love, radiant love.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up. Opal, let’s eat.” Further down the hall, Shae’s dad stands with his beefy arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread wide.

Intimidating, as if he were trying to keep himself from mowing me down and kicking my ass up and down the Magnificent Mile.

“Daddy,” Shae stage-whispers, turning to face her father, but Mrs.Rivers makes a soft sound in her throat, stopping her.

Mr.Rivers’ face is hard as stone.

“Thank you for having me over, sir,” I reply, trying to break the tension.

Shae’s father grunts, then ambles to the next room.

“Well,” Mrs.Rivers says, clapping her hands once. “If tonight will be anything, it’ll be entertaining, that’s for sure.”

Shae’s replying smile is more of a grimace.

A few moments later, Mrs.Rivers waves us toward the dining room. “Dinner’s ready!”

Shae pulls out a chair for me, and we settle around the circular table, the comforting aromas of smothered chicken thighs, collard greens, and mac and cheese filling the air.

But despite the warmth of the home-cooked meal, Shae’s father stabs me with his stare, saying nothing and eating his food silently, while Mrs. Rivers keeps the conversation going by talking about Shae’s accomplishments and the work they do with their nonprofit.

“Tell me about your family, Storm.”

Mrs.Rivers smiles when she lobs the question my way over our empty plates with remnants of bananas foster, but there’s nothing soft about her interrogation.

“What would you like to know, ma’am?” I reply, taking a sip of the homebrewed iced tea. I’m not being intentionally evasive. At least, I don’t think I am.

There truly isn’t very much to say about my family, or anything I particularly want to share.

My father’s first priority is Stratos.

My only sibling is dead.

My mother is so anxious, most days she’s afraid of her shadow.

Mrs.Rivers smiles. “You can call me Opal.”

The statement seems to cause a bolt of…something to settle at the table, and when I glance at Shae, her eyes are wide, as if warning me not to fall into the trap.

“Sure thing, Ms.Opal,” I reply, giving her an easy smile. Shae’s shoulders drop as if she were uncertain whether I’d catch the line.

“What do your parents do?” This question comes from Mr.Rivers. I don’t think he’ll offer for me to call him Reginald any time soon.

I take another sip of my tea. “My father works in financial services. My mother is retired, but she was in the entertainment industry.”

Shae’s mom sits up a bit at that. “The entertainment industry? What sector? Is she anyone we’d know?”

I smile again and fight really hard not to let it devolve into a grimace.

“Maybe? She was a model in the nineties,” I reply, running my finger down the side of my glass to give myself something else to focus on. When the silence stretches for a bit too long, I add, “She was one of the first Black models to walk for Givenchy. Does Maya Arceneaux sound familiar?”

Mrs.Rivers’ eyes widen almost comically as she brings her hand to her chest.

“Maya Arceneaux! Of course I know who Maya Arceneaux is! Her, Naomi Campbell…Lord Almighty, will she be on the next season of Supermodel Inc.? Reggie, we’re sitting next to fashion royalty!”

Mr.Rivers mutters something, but I focus my attention on Shae. What does she think about my famous mother? I haven’t even told her my father owns half of Chicago and has his hands in industries all around the Midwest.

But when I check for her reaction, all I get is a placid smile. Did she already know?

“No wonder you’re so pretty, Storm,” Shae’s mom says, giving me a sideways glance. The statement causes heat to rise to my cheeks.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, thank you, ma’am.”

Shae sits up at that. “On that note. Mama, Storm and I are going to hang out for a bit. Do you need any help before we go?”

Mrs.Rivers opens her mouth to reply, but Shae’s dad interrupts.

“Financial services. You mean Stratos Wealth Management, right?” Shae’s dad’s pointed words erase any doubt that he has a problem with me. “Google is a great tool.”

Shit.

“I know I’d heard that name somewhere. Your family is behind the failed shopping center on the edge of town. They put in some work to try to ‘revitalize the South Side,’ but did you see a bustling mall as you drove by in your fancy Porsche?”

This time, I do grimace. Graffiti, shot-out windows, and boarded-up doors cover the abandoned eyesore. The city stepped in a few years ago and drove out the drug cells that’d popped up, but unhoused people still live in the vacant stores.

Truthfully, the place should be razed simply for the health risk…but my dad, in a ploy for good PR via philanthropy, made a big deal out of his plans to revitalize the Baldwin Shopping Mall.

And he failed an entire community when he stopped caring.

“Uh, yes. Yes, sir. Chuck Sandoval is my father,” I reply dumbly, feeling shame.

Mr.Rivers hums, more of a grunt, but he only says, “What? There aren’t enough girls with trust funds up on your side of town?”

No one says anything; we all just stare at the man at the head of the table who glares at us in return with red, angry eyes.

“Daddy, what are you—” Mr.Rivers’ hand comes down over the Chantilly lace-covered table.

“What game are you playing, kid?”

“Reggie—”

“Daddy—”

“No!” Mr.Rivers leans forward, pushing his empty plate away. “Clearly you have a thing for my daughter. I’ve watched you make moon eyes at her all night. But to what end? What are you really doing here slumming it outside of Gold Coast?”

“ Reginald !”

“Opal, this boy?—”

“Sir,” I cut in, keeping my voice calm even though Shae’s silence across the table has me wanting to crawl out of my skin. “Please believe me when I say I have no intentions of playing any games—especially with Shae. I…I care about her very much.”

The tension thickens, and I keep my gaze locked on Shae’s father…because I cannot look at Shae.

After another heartbeat, Mr. Rivers stands from the table, moving slowly as if in pain.

“Clean up the table, Shae. Your mama slaved over that stove to make this delicious dinner for your guest. ” I don’t miss the way he emphasizes the last part. “The least you can do is load the dishwasher.”

I finally look at her. Shae stares at the whirling patterns on the table cover as she murmurs, “Of course, Daddy.”

Mr.Rivers leaves the dining room.