Page 53

Chapter Forty

THE NEXT DAY

Britain’s eyes fluttered open. Her tangled lashes had sealed them shut after crying all night. Her head pounded, but her body felt light, as if it had been alleviated of so much. Slowly, she turned to her right, only to see the other side of her bed was vacant. She was sure she hadn't slept alone; Priest had comforted her through the night.

Cautious of her abrasive headache, Britain rose out of bed slowly. She glanced around the bedroom, seeing no sign of Priest. She deeply hoped that her episode the night before hadn't run him completely off. She shuffled slowly toward the bathroom. Once she was inside, she eyed herself in the mirror. The sight of her hair that was a complete mess and her gown from the Liberty Gala that she still wore made her feel sick. She couldn't believe she had acted in such a distasteful manner last night. It wasn't like her.

Britain started herself a shower, slipping out of the gown and her garments before tying her hair up. She let the shower wash away her embarrassment of how the night ended. She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to face Priest, if she even got the chance. After her much needed shower, Britain wrapped herself in a fresh towel. She exited her conjoined bathroom and entered her bedroom. There sat Priest at the edge of her bed, pearling a joint with his lips. Britain froze. She was shocked that he even returned. After her behavior the night before, she wouldn't have been shocked if he disappeared for a while. At least that was what she was used to.

"You feeling alright?" He looked up from his rolled blunt, eyeing her.

Britain sheepishly nodded. "Thank you for staying." Her first time speaking since waking up, her usual light and airy voice sounded cracked and raspy.

Priest shot her a light smile. "It's nothing, Gioia," he assured her with a light shrug. "You need anything?"

"I wanna apologize," Britain started with a look of guilt etched on her face. "I know you aren't used to seeing me act like that. I didn't mean to lash out at you." Unable to look him in the eye, she fixed her attention on her hands and proceeded to fiddle with them nervously.

Priest let out a sigh. He called her over to him, opening his arms for her to settle into his hold. She stood between his legs, Priest’s hands gripping the back of her smooth thighs that were still damp from the shower. "When we first started out, I opened myself up to you with no limits. You accepted the good, bad, and ugly with no hesitation. I'm here to do the same for you," Priest assured her as his hands caressed her skin.

Britain craned down, applying a kiss to his lips. He smirked within the kiss as his hands trailed up, toying with the spot where she tucked her towel to keep it secure around her body. Britain lifted her arms slightly, granting him permission to pull the towel from her body. It fell into a heap at her ankles, revealing her body, bare and exposed to him. She shuddered at the feeling of the cold air against her body.

Priest parted from the kiss and leaned back on his elbows, getting a full view of Britain's bare body. He bit down on his bottom lip as his eyes trailed her body from head to toe.

Priest grabbed Britain by her sides, placing her on the bed. He hovered over her naked body, stripping himself of his fresh tee. Britain gazed at him through her soft eyes, her heart filled with love and appreciation for him.

She felt his erect dick brush against her center, causing a light moan to escape her. A smooth chuckle rolled out of Priest as he gripped her wrists, locking her hands above her head.

Priest freed himself from his sweats, his member standing at attention from the sight of Britain alone. "Slow and deep?" Priest’s brow rose as he questioned how Britain preferred it at the moment.

Anticipation flashed Britain’s orbs as she nodded her head slowly, confirming with Priest. He lowered his head, and Priest’s lips graced her smooth skin with delicate kisses that trailed from her lips down to her chest. Every so often, he would sink his teeth into her skin, causing an aroused moan to slip from between Britain’s lips. He gave her the perfect balance of pain and pleasure as he teased her wet, slippery pussy with the tip of his dick.

He slowly inched himself into Britain. Her breathing hiked, and her mouth hung agape.Feeling him deep inside her walls caused her stomach to tie in knots as she gritted out various curse words.

He hovered over her, his dark orbs never leaving hers as his dick glided out of her slowly before returning deep inside of her pussy at the same steady pace.He lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was feverish, sloppy and passionate. He continued pushing further into her with slow deep strokes, taking her breath away each and every time.

As Priest continued to fuck her, Britain tried desperately to free her hands from his grip but failed miserably. He kept a tight grip, keeping her hands above her head to prevent her from pushing him away. He nestled his head into the crook of her neck, moaning close to her ear as he rocked his hips into hers. With every stroke, he hit her spot, causing her back to arch from the sheets with whimpers flowing from her.

"Priest, please!" she clamored out to him, pleading for her hands to be set free so she could gain some sort of leverage. At this point, the pleasure had become unbearable. He was hitting every spot and dominating her body. Britain definitely didn't expect Priest to fuck her in this manner. After what she pulled the night before, she expected Priest to handle her roughly and dick her down with aggression. However, the way he was putting it down now felt much better.

She felt every inch of him. Hearing his breathing hitch and grow hollow as her warm, wet walls clenched around his thick and veiny shaft made Britain’s heart race. Priest kept his word. His pace remained mild, and his delivery remained consistent. They were making love.

After the events of the previous night, they were revealing all their emotions and the layers of their hearts to one another. This was more than just getting off; this was mental. The way they kept eye contact was different. The way they kissed passionately, igniting sparks within each other, was different. The way Priest's body felt against hers was just different. They were locked in.

Britain's moans filled the room, growing louder as her toes curled in intense euphoria. Tears clogged her eyes as a high-pitched cry escaped her as she felt the pressure build up in her stomach. Before she knew it, she found her cum oozing all over Priest's dick.

Breathlessly, she laid underneath him, listening to his panting.

He wasn't finished.

Priest finally decided to let go of Britain's hands. Instinctively, she lowered them, gripping at the sheets on either side of her as her orgasm rushed her body. "Oh my God!" she cried out pleadingly, unable to control the shaking of her legs.

"He can't save you," Priest smugly grunted as he retracted his dick, which was lathered in her creamy cum.

Now that he had given her what she wanted, all bets were off, and he was ready to push her limits. He didn't allow her to savor the feeling of her cum leaking out of her as her body fell limp like a feather. Instead, he grabbed her up roughly, turning her over on her stomach.

His knees sank into the plush mattress as he positioned her with her arms locked behind her back and her round ass up in the air. Soft cries crept out of Britain as she mentally prepared herself for him. He was going to take his stress out on her pussy, and although she was whimpering and pleading for a break, she secretly couldn't wait. She was wet and anticipating some rough loving that only Priest could give to her.

He knew what turned her on, from when to smack her ass down to when to speak to her crudely. She loved and enjoyed every second of it.

Arching her back, Britain waited for Priest to plow into her. He plunged himself deep inside of her, their skin colliding loudly. Tears dripped from her eyes as she buried her head deep into the sheets. Ear piercing moans escaped her back-to-back, leaving her breathless.

Priest disregarded all her pleas as he continued with his rough strokes. His body clashed into hers, prompting the headboard of her bed to bang against the wall repeatedly.

His dick glided in and out of her, lathered in her glistening natural juices that splattered against Priest's midriff from the force of his strokes as he pounded her from behind.

Britain could feel her arch growing weak and beginning to falter while her legs trembled, in desperate need of a break to regain her stability.Priest sent a powerful smack to her ass. His handprint was left behind, along with a stinging sensation that rushed through her body. This induced full-blown tears from Britain's feline-like eyes. Her vision grew blurry as tears filled her eyes.

"Fuck!" Britain called out breathlessly as she combatted Priest's deep stroking by throwing her ass back at him.

Doing this evoked a few moans out of Priest, which was enough to motivate her to hang in there longer than he predicted. She continued to throw her ass back on him, almost knocking him off his square. To please her man, Britain spread her legs wider while her arch deepened to press her stomach flat on the bed while her ass was tooted high in the air.

Maneuvering his hand to Britain's lips, he forced his thumb into her mouth, and Britain sucked on it slowly, derailing him from what he wanted to do. "I fucking love you," he grunted absentmindedly, overcome with emotions and in a trance induced by Britain matching his energy with how nasty and eager she was.

"I love you too, P," she professed through her choppy breathing.

Sweat dripped from the glands of their skin as Priest remained behind her, giving her some good dick. With his thumb out of her mouth, he spread her ass and slid it into her asshole. There was a brief halt from Britain as she gasped. Her tears sprang from her orbs profusely as she cried out in pleasure. Priest just knew how to make her body melt and work her in ways that even she didn't believe she could be worked. He touched her in every sacred place and cherished it all.

Priest could feel himself coming to his peak. He slipped his thumb out of her rear, his hand traveling down to her throbbing pussy. Rubbing his index and middle fingers over her swollen clit, he drove Britain insane as he gave her long, rough strokes deep in her stomach.

Pulling out of her, Priest stained her sheets with his thick cum as he howled out a moan of pleasure. Now tired from all the work he had put in, he came crashing down beside her, panting heavily.

"We good?" he asked her as she laid on her stomach trying to catch her breathing from the way he had just fucked her.

"Always," she confirmed in a light voice, breathing heavily.

Priest chuckled as he tossed his arm around her, pulling her close. He applied a kiss to her cheek, sealing their conversation and sailing the incident from the previous night into the past.

After a much-needed moment of rest with each other, they both got up. Priest had plans of going to visit Tasha to finalize a few more things pertaining to Jamari's funeral, while Britain opted to visit her mother and stepfather since it had been long overdue.

"Dinner tonight?" Priest asked, wondering if she would feel up to it.

Britain looked over her shoulder, smiling at him. "How about I cook you dinner and we watch a movie afterward?" she suggested, wanting to make it up to him.

Priest smirked as he waded over to her. His long arms draped around her waist as he stood behind her. "As much as I would love that," he said as he kissed her cheek. "I wanna take you out tonight. You deserve it"

Britain let out a long, dramatic sigh as if she were settling. "Well, since you insist," she chuckled.

He shook his head with a light laugh. "Yeah, I insist."

They both got ready, having light conversation here and there. Britain was just relieved that she didn't feel the need to walk on eggshells about what happened the night before. Priest normalized the fact that she broke down and he was there for her. She was so grateful to him for just being there and understanding without making her feel like she was a psych patient who needed to be sedated.

"I'll see you later," Priest told her as he craned down to kiss her lips.

Britain smiled lightly as she nodded her head. "I'll walk you out," she offered.

Hand in hand, they made their way toward the front of her apartment. A stale look canvassed her face once she noticed the money he left behind on the counter next to her bag. "Really?" She looked up at him with a roll of her eyes.

Priest nodded his head. "Third time's the charm," he smirked as he reached for the money, stuffing it into her bag.

Britain attempted to reach for her purse as well to return the money that was wrapped in a rubber band, but he extended his arm high to prevent her from being able to reach it.

"Priest, we talked about this already," she sighed as she returned to her feet instead of standing on her tippy toes to reach for her bag.

Priest nodded. "We did, and I'm starting to realize that you're letting what Sylvia said to you affect you." He eyed her, waiting for her to confirm that he was right.

Britain rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "I have good reasons, though," she muttered.

"They’re not good reasons. What my mother said was some bullshit. You know it. I know it. Hell, even she knows it!”

"Priest, you have to understand," she sighed. "From all different angles, you have people who just want you around for the benefits that come with you. I don't want to be one of those people."

Priest sat Britain's purse down on the counter. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "Only I can decide whether or not you become one of those people. I see how you operate. Your intentions are pure, and you're real. I know you aren't out for my money," Priest assured her as he cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head up for her to look at him.

A sly smile pulled at Britain's lips. He always knew what to say. Priest smiled down at her, knowing he had done right by convincing her otherwise. "It's yours now," he said, referring to the money he had placed in her purse.

"I guess it is." She jokingly rolled her eyes at him. "But you know what'll excite me?"

Priest craned down, pressing his lips onto hers. "What's that?" he asked in the midst of the kiss as he gripped her rear in both of his hands.

Britain wrapped her arms loosely around his neck as she batted her lashes persuasively. "If you teach me how to make that and double it myself."

Britain wasn't really a fan of gifts or having money handed to her. She always found a way and made it happen herself. Even though she was willing to accept money from Priest with some heavy limitations now, she still wanted to find a way to make it happen herself.

Priest raised a brow at her. It definitely didn't take a rocket science to get an idea of what Priest did to get his money. However, he was able to hustle in a smart manner and channel his money through legit businesses. Priest started off just trapping, but now he was a full-blown owner of many businesses, an investor, and a shareholder. Priest learned a different game and was using it to his advantage. It took a lot of maturing to realize that there was more than just getting racks from trapping. He realized that the cutthroat business world was just like the game. It made him a lot smarter than high powered CEOs who employed others so they wouldn't have to put in much work.

"You do know what I do, right?" he questioned her for clarification.

Britain let out a light laugh, finding his question amusing. "The legal way," she corrected herself, which caused Priest to come to ease.

Priest chuckled. "I wouldn't mind getting a kick out of seeing you flipping shit like me," he smirked.

"I bet you would, but are you gonna teach me or not?"

Priest nodded his head. "Bet. I respect your hustle and mentality," Priest commended her. Not many women would think the way Britain thought. He liked that about her.

"Thank you.”

"I gotta get going. I'll hit you with the details about dinner sometime later," he told her as he grabbed his keys.

Britain okayed him before giving him one final goodbye. As he opened the door to leave her apartment, they were both faced with Frankie, who was on the verge of knocking on the door. Britain immediately felt her heart drop to her stomach at the sight of her leading editor at her doorstep just as Priest was leaving.

"Frankie, what are you doing here?" Britain asked, nervousness lacing her voice as she tried to push Priest off toward the parking lot so he wouldn’t linger between her and Frankie.

Frankie’s brown eyes shifted between Britain and Priest. If she felt like her career could end at any moment, right now would’ve been that moment. She had vouched and stuck her neck out for Britain, and now this was happening.

"I'm Priest," Priest introduced himself as he stuck his hand out for Frankie to shake. "You are?" he asked her.

Britain felt her insides crumpling. She hated that Priest was so polite. He really could have gone without introducing himself to Frankie.

"I'm Frankie," she introduced herself with her nasally voice and thick New York accent. "I'm with The New York Times . Britain's boss, actually." Frankie shifted her attention back to Britain, who felt as if she could die at any moment.

Britain said nothing as Priest let out an intimidating chuckle. " The New York Times, huh?" His dark orbs peered down at Frankie. "Quality of the content on the front page has gotten better these last couple of weeks. I appreciate the coverage." He smirked tauntingly at Frankie before averting his attention over to Britain.

"I'll see you later." He kissed her cheek before making his way off. Britain knew what he had just done was completely for his own entertainment.

Britain and Frankie observed him as he slid onto the cherry red seats of his Bentley Bentayga, revving the engine and then heading out.

"Explain, Demings," Frankie seethed through gritted teeth as she entered Britain's apartment without an invite.

Britain inwardly threw a tantrum before entering the apartment and shutting the door behind them. "I—" Britain fixed her lips to spill everything that had been going on to her boss, only for Frankie to interject.

"I don't even want to hear the elaborate fucking story, Demings!" Frankie shouted in distress. "Look at this!" Frankie whipped her phone out from the pocket of her hoodie, showcasing a photo of Britain on Priest's arm from the Liberty Gala they attended the night before.

A look of guilt formed on Britain's face. She knew attending that gala would’ve been the complete end of her and Priest keeping their relationship from being broadcasted mainstream. She didn't think about how fast it would get back to her boss. She honestly thought she had more than a couple of hours to come up with her excuses.

"I know it looks bad," Britain began.

"You think it looks bad?! It is bad!" Frankie corrected Britain. She was so angry, it looked as though she was about to pop a vessel. She paced the floor of Britain's apartment, thinking not only about exactly how exactly she was going to clear her name, but also the credibility of The Times as well. Britain’s relationship with Priest automatically wrote her off as biased, which meant Frankie was publishing biased news.

"I can't believe I just saw that." Frankie lowered her voice as she shook her head. "He kissed you in my face, and you don't even care how this shit is gonna screw both of us."

"I do care!" Britain clarified. "But it's already happened! What can I do to fix this?!" she stressed.

Frankie screwed up her face. "You think you can fix this?! There's no fixing this, Demings!"

Britain let out a heavy sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair in distress. "I'm sorry."

Frankie shook her head. "Demings, I stuck my neck out for you. You went from freelancer to getting front pages in a matter of months. You just screwed me the fuck over."

Frankie really had a lot of faith in Britain. She loved her work and knew she could do more than others believed. Everyone looked at her like she was crazy when she decided to give Britain the front page for multiple weeks. Now, Britain had proven them right.

"Those weren't my intentions, Frankie," Britain pleaded. "I met him far before all of this came to be. When you gave me the story, I didn't want to just let the opportunity pass me by," Britain admitted.

She knew all this was blowing up in her face due to her own negligence. She wouldn't have been herself if she hadn't taken that opportunity. She had already dealt with the wrath of Priest when he thought she was playing him on behalf of The Times . Now, she had to deal with Frankie, who thought she was getting played on behalf of Priest and his team.

"All I needed was a little fucking honesty, Demings," Frankie shamed her as she brushed past Britain to get to the door. As she was stepping out, she spoke to Britain once more. "You're off of the story, and you're no longer a reporter for The New York Times anymore," she finalized before exiting the apartment and shutting the door behind her.

Britain stood in the same spot, processing how quickly her dream had come and how quickly it had gotten snatched away from her. Britain expected Frankie to take her off the case, but she never expected to be fired completely. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Britain dragged her feet to go lock the door behind Frankie. Glancing to the right of her, Britain set her eyes on the wad of cash Priest left behind in her purse. She was going to make something happen by any means necessary.

Although Britain was completely bummed that she had just lost her main source of income, she still got ready to go see her mother. She had no plans of telling anyone she had gotten cut from her gig at The Times . She wanted to figure out her next step before letting anyone in on her downfall. Arriving at her mother's brownstone, Britain parallel parked her car before getting out. As she climbed the short set of steps leading into the home, Britain shook away her sadness from just losing her job an hour before.

Britain applied her finger to the doorbell, and moments later, she was met with the beaming face of her stepfather. "Say it ain't so!" Henderson smiled at his daughter as he pulled Britain into a hug. "I thought you would never stop by to see your old man."

Britain laughed as she wrapped her arms around him. "Sorry, Pops. I've been busy," she told him as she entered the home.

Although she never really got the chance to stop by often, Britain loved her parents' home. She had so many childhood memories that took place in that very brownstone. Britain's stepfather, Henderson, owned the brownstone which had been passed down from generation to generation of his family. Britain remembered when he and her mother Seven started dating, and he would invite them over. She would think his house was a mansion compared to the tiny apartment Seven and her grandparents lived in at the time.

Henderson opened up his home to Seven and Britain a year later once they got married. Britain used to brag to her cousins about living in a three-story home and having her own bedroom. She was glad that neither Henderson nor Seven made any changes to it.

Henderson smirked at Britain. "I hear. Your mother tells me you have a boyfriend." He raised a brow.

Britain laughed. She was sure her mother had yapped her mouth to everyone by now. "Of course she did." Britain shook her head.

"So, when are you bringing the man over to meet your pops?" He had always been hands-on in Britain's life. Britain was his daughter; no one could tell him otherwise.

Britain let out a light groan as she dramatically took a seat on her parents’ couch. "I forgot to tell him I had two dads," Britain admitted. Meeting her dad, Remy, was stressful enough— well, to her— but now, he had to meet her pops, Henderson.

The smile that canvassed Henderson's face faltered for a brief moment before he quickly masked his face with a light smile. "Oh," he breathed. "He met Jeremy?"

Britain could hear the slight disappointment about not getting the chance to meet her boyfriend before Remy in Henderson's voice. Henderson was still adjusting to the fact that Britain's biological father was now in her life. He had basically raised Britain from her first time riding her bike to her last tantrum she threw about not being able to go to a party on a school night. It was just weird now that Jeremy was in her life.

Britain nodded her head. "Yeah," she eased out. "It's a really complicated story. He actually knew my dad before I knew my dad," Britain explained to Henderson in hopes of making him feel better.

Henderson smiled lightly. "I get it, Mocha. I was actually heading out to go fill in for your mother at the clinic," he muttered, causing Britain to laugh. Seven sure knew how to drive her husband up the wall.

"Best orthopedic surgeon in the nation," Britain cheered him on, trying to make him far more ecstatic about heading to the clinic.

Arrogantly, Henderson dusted his shoulders off. "I don't mean to toot my own horn, but you're kinda right." He did a little dance, which caused Britain to laugh.

Seven descended the steps in the midst of Henderson and Britain’s in laughter. "What's so funny?" she asked with her face screwed up in a playful mean mug.

"Nothing, Ma," Britain waved her off. "Bye, Pops.”

"Bye, Princess." He kissed the top of her head. He then averted his attention to Seven, sharing a light kiss with her and telling her goodbye for the day. He whisked out the door at his usual fast pace that he had acquired during his career at the hospital.

Seven made her way over to the couch across from Britain and plopped down onto it. Britain eyed her mother oddly. "Did you stop dyeing your hair?" Britain asked her mother with a beaming smile of excitement.

Seven nodded her head. "Yeah, I did. Is it that bad?" she asked with a look of concern as she gathered all the tresses to the right side of her face.

"My dad loved your grays." She smirked as she mentioned Remy to her mother.

Seven had always had small streaks of grays in her hair long before she got older. It was just a characteristic that set her apart from many. She complained about it a lot and spent her time dyeing her hair jet black to hide the fact that her hair grayed far earlier than everyone else’s. It made her feel old, but Remy found it gorgeous.

A light sigh drifted out of Seven. "That’s what he told you?"

With a chuckle and a nod of her head, Britain responded to her mother. "Yeah. He still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. It would be nice to know that you guys could be in the same room together," she eased out with a hopeful grin.

Seven sighed. "I have no issue with Jeremy. You forgave him for missing out?—"

"Ma, he didn't know," Britain corrected her mother, not wanting Remy to be perceived as a deadbeat.

Seven scoffed. "Again," she prompted herself before reiterating her statement. "You forgave him for missing out on your entire life. I hold no ill will against him." She shrugged her shoulders dismissively. Every time Britain came around, she just had to mention Jeremy. Seven suspected that Jeremy had told Britain far more than she had, which she was fine with because she had no intention of discussing him. She wanted Jeremy to stay in the past.

Britain let out sigh of defeat. No matter how much her mother told her she had no issue with her father, Britain knew that just meant she could handle him at a distance. Britain’s inner little girl just wanted to see Seven and Remy in the same room or even share a hug.

"I met someone the other day." Britain shifted the conversation.

"Your father's girlfriend?" She raised a brow, jumping to conclusions.

"No." Britain shook her head. "My dad is literally the definition of a loner. I don't even see him leave the house, honestly." Britain frowned. These days, Remy didn't feel up to doing anything. All he did was stay out the way and take care of himself. Britain noted that she should really take her father out some time. He really deserved it.

Seven's face screwed up. She wanted to question her daughter about the well-being of Jeremy but opted against it. "Who'd you meet?"

"A woman named Mrs. Cox. She told me a few things." Seven's face seemed to grow pale and blank at the mention of Mrs. Cox. She never really spoke about her past to her children because she didn't like it. Mrs. Cox played a pivotal role in her upbringing, especially when it came to her relationship with Jeremy.

Seven immediately sat up, swallowing down some of her nerves. "What'd she tell you?"

"Relax." Britain eyed her mother oddly. "She just told me some things about you and my dad."

"What things, Britain?" Seven's voice hitched in octave as she spoke in a sterner tone.

"She just told me how in love you guys were, Ma. It's not that big of a deal," Britain let out with a passive shrug.

Seven ran her fingers through her hair in a stressed manner. "That's not the story." Seven shook her head. "Me and Jeremy weren't in love. We were young and stupid." She waved it off dismissively.

"So, I'm just a young and stupid mistake?" Britain raised her brow at her mother questioningly.

"No, Britain, not you, but the way you came about. We went over this already. I was young, and so was Jeremy. We were there for each other, I got pregnant, Jeremy skated, and I pushed through school with you on my hip and raised you to be a beautiful and independent young lady. Now, he waltzes back into your life acting as if he's the father who didn't know when the whole time he knew. He knew everything!" Seven fumed in frustration. Her life with Jeremy was really hard to delve into, and it didn't help that Britain constantly sided with her father every chance she got. Seven spent a lot of time trying not to blame Britain, since she truly was oblivious to what all transpired between her and Remy, but God, it was so damn hard not to.

"He didn't know," Britain argued, not taking her mother's word. "My dad isn't that type of guy! He's never been!" Britain understood that she'd only known her father for a year, but Remy just didn't seem like the type to knowingly abandon his child. He'd spent most of his years patching up young men who had been abandoned by their parents, so how could he even be the type of man to abandon his own child?

"Congratulations, Britain. You met the new and improved Jeremy Pharaoh Demings." She clapped her hands, her words drenched in sarcasm. "The one I knew wasn't that damn honorable."

"But you loved him," Britain pointed out. "Right?" She was hoping that her mother could finally admit that things weren't always sour between her and Remy. From what she heard, they were a beautiful couple with a very strong bond.

Seven sighed. "Again," she prompted herself once more. "We were young and dumb. That's it," she concluded.

Britain stood up, an exasperated look etched on her face. "Ma, I really try to understand you and your pain, but it's clear that you can't even do that," Britain shamed her mother with a shake of her head. "All he wants is a conversation. So much would be resolved if you just talked to him instead of talking about him."

Seven’s face softened. She really didn't want Britain upset with her. She knew once Britain grew attached to Remy this would happen. Remy knew all the right things to say and when to say them. Of course, Britain believed every word that came out of his mouth while her side held little to no truth to Britain. "Britain, you won't understand," Seven insisted.

"Don't talk to me about understanding. I understand completely. I understand that you're still in love with my dad, but you feel guilty about it because Henderson is everything you've ever dreamed of in a man. I understand that you're emotionally invested in one situation, but the past keeps haunting you. All I've done is understand you, but you've never taken the time out to understand me or anyone else for that matter," Britain vented to Seven, who didn't want to hear the truth.

Seven’s soft brown eyes bore onto Britain. She felt her tear ducts growing weak. She wanted to cry, but there was no use. Crying for Remy would be useless. She was happy. In love. Married with children. Remy was just the past.

"Let him tell you," she told Britain in a light voice. "He's always been better at telling stories than I have." Seven rose from her seat on the couch, brushing past Britain to head up the stairs.

"Ma," Britain called after her, feeling bad about confronting her with all types of different emotions at once.

Seven let out a sigh. "It's fine, Mocha. It really is," she assured. "I guess I have some reevaluating to do."