Page 4 of The Love of Priest 2

Britain scoffed. "And you're sure she's older?" Sarcasm laced her words since she thought Paula's pettiness and motives were a bit infantile for a woman her age.

Jazzy laughed while nodding her head. "Old as hell," she clarified, evoking some laughter out of Britain.

Their laughter was cut short by the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, revealing Priest. "Yo, Jazzy, Taylor's waiting downstairs for you. She said she called, and you didn't answer," he informed his sister as he stepped into the penthouse.

Jazzy let out a light groan. "I completely forgot.

" She rose from her seated position on the floor.

"Clean this up for me, will you?" She shot Priest a set of persuading puppy dog eyes, hoping that would get him to pick up the mess she made with her fabrics and sketches so she could run out and meet Taylor.

Priest smacked his lips lightly as he took off his suit jacket. "Bet," he agreed. "And charge your phone. I need to be able to reach you."

Jazzy grabbed her dead phone off the couch, sliding it into her pocket. "You got it," she assured him. "See you later, Britain," she said before heading out.

Once she was out of sight, Priest sighed heavily. He gathered all her things from the floor, putting them on the bookshelf that contained the many books he and Jazzy had both read over the years.

"So now you aren't speaking to me?" Britain asked Priest as he loosened the tie around his neck.

Priest sighed in light frustration. "I don't know, Britain. You tell me. Are we on speaking terms or not?" he asked her since he was uncertain himself.

Britain looked down at her hands as she nervously toyed with them. "I want to be," she admitted as she shrugged lightly.

"Britain, one second you’re blocking me out your life, then the next, you’re popping up on me.

Does that shit even make sense in your mind?

" He raised his brows at her. He knew women were complicated, but right now, Britain was just confusing him completely.

He wasn't sure if she was still upset about the situation with her father, or if she was now upset about his business lunch with Paula.

He wanted to assume that she was trying to make amends, but she was being so cryptic about everything at the moment.

A deep frown plastered itself on Britain’s face.

"I was scared to call to apologize. I wasn't sure what headspace you were in, so I just avoided it.

I thought you needed time. I would've given you another week, but I downed a whole bottle of wine.

Then I go and try to talk to you, only to see that Paula is around you.

I want to cry right now, but I don't want to play victim ‘cause clearly, you're the victim in this situation, and I'm just horrible," Britain went off on a tangent, allowing her words to turn into circular arguments.

She was confusing herself in the process, but it didn't matter to her.

She was getting it all out. She now sat before him, flustered by his frustration and agitation along with her own.

Her face immediately softened as he shook his head at her.

She was trying to hold back her tears despite the desperate urge to just cry endlessly.

Priest claimed a seat next to her on the couch, pulling her into his arms. "My little functioning alcoholic," he sighed in light amusement before kissing the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I take back everything I said."

Priest shook his head as he tilted her head up so she could look at him. Her eyes were tinted red as she withheld her tears that were now brimming her eyes.

"Nah, you said it, so you got to stand on it.

I completely understood your frustration and anger, though.

The issue came about with your delivery.

Britain, I tell you all the time to think before you speak.

You let your emotions get the best of you, and we end up in situations like these," he preached to her.

At the end of the day, she was a grown woman and was allowed to say and feel however she wanted.

He would never take that away from her. He just wanted her to be a bit more mindful.

Deep down inside, Priest knew he and Britain were a lot alike.

He too acted off emotions sometimes. The only difference between the two was that Priest learned how to control his emotions a lot better.

"It'll never happen again. I promise," she assured him.

Priest sighed. "Don't promise that it'll never happen again," he said while shaking his head. "Promise that you'll work on it. Don't set your expectations too high."

Britain nodded in understanding. She couldn't help but feel stupid.

She had spent all this time worrying about the reaction she would get from Priest if she came around to apologize.

Priest was truly the most understanding person she had ever met.

"I appreciate you so much," she told him. "I know I'm a mess?—"

Priest chuckled as he interjected her talking that would eventually string out into another apology. "It's alright,Gioia," he reassured. "C'mon. Let's go sober you up." He got up from his seat, pulling her up with him.

Britain followed him to his bedroom where he pulled the comforter back so she could take a nap comfortably. She smiled lightly at him before kicking off her shoes. He went into the closet, grabbing a set of comfy clothes for Britain to change into.

"Can we talk about Paula before you force me to take a nap?" she asked as he returned, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

Priest let out a light sigh as he pulled her closer so she was standing between his legs. "It'll be better to have that talk after you’ve slept some of that wine off. You're emotional," he told her as he assisted her out of her top and helped her change into a loose-fitting t-shirt.

"Okay, answer me this. Then I'll leave it alone until after my nap," Britain bargained.

Priest nodded as he aided her with slipping off the bottoms to her outfit to substitute them with a pair of cotton shorts. "Shoot,” he told her to proceed with her question.

"Does she ever have a chance?" Britain asked as she cupped his face in her hands so he was looking up at her.

Priest screwed his face up. "A chance at what? Getting back with me?" he asked, seeking a bit more clarification, which resulted in her nodding her head. Concern and worry laced her eyes, and he didn't like it at all.

"No," he stated sternly. "I fucked up today, but she wouldn't go through with my plan unless I was there.

I handle her accordingly. I'm not sending any mixed signals her way. I’ve actually been pretty harsh.

" He chuckled lightly, recalling how curt and brutally honest he'd been with Paula. "If I'm with you, then I'm with you."

"Okay.”

"Take your nap. I'll be here when you wake up," he assured her, causing a light smile to surface on her face. She agreed, climbing into the comfortable bed and pulling the comforter over her.

"I love you, playa," Britain mumbled with her eyes shut.

"Love you too, playa." He smiled, grateful that their relationship was restored.

HARLEM, NEW YORK

Remy had been scolding Britain for being so selfless and tiring herself out to take care of him.

Friday night, he gave her stern orders not to stop by the entire weekend just so she could take some time for herself.

Knowing how hardheaded she was, he was expecting her to pop up any minute.

Although he would have loved the company right about now, he knew it would be the right thing to do to turn her away and not even answer the door.

She would devote the entire weekend to him if he didn't put a stop to it.

Easing into his recliner, Remy prepared himself to watch some ESPN highlights.

It had been a while since he had his home to himself since Mirsad had grown comfortable there.

For the time being, he felt like it would be best for Mirsad to spend some time with his mother.

He didn't need Leonard or June sending some niggas after him and they get Mirsad just because he was in the way.

Mirsad talked tough shit, but Remy wouldn't even think about risking it with him.

Just as he was about to kick his feet up to enjoy the leftovers Britain had left behind from the home-cooked meal she made him, there was a knock on the door. Remy smacked his lips while shaking his head. "That damn Britain," he mumbled with a shake of his head.

Cautious of his healing wounds and bandages, Remy stood up from his seat.

He staggered a bit toward the door, ready to turn Britain away through the peephole.

Lowering his head to the peephole, Remy was shocked to see that it wasn't Britain on the other side of the door.

He let out a heavy sigh as he unlocked it, pulling it open.

"You lost?" Jeremy eyed Seven up and down skeptically.

Seven, who stood under him in height, hiked her head up to eye him with a scowl on her face. "No, actually, I'm not." She folded her arms across her chest. "You've lived here your entire life, Jeremy. I know this spot inside and out," she cattily replied.

Remy leaned against the door frame, preventing her from coming right into the house. "Seven Jewel ," he voiced, putting emphasis on her last name she gained from marriage. "What are you doing here?" he questioned her.

Seven gazed up at him, and her eyes met his before she quickly shifted them elsewhere. Her soft brown orbs made their way down to his shirt where blood was now seeping through it. "You're bleeding, Jeremy," she cast his attention onto his wound, which was due for a bandage change.

Remy pressed his finger against his shirt, causing more blood to stain it. "Shit," he groaned lightly.