Page 43 of You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty
Feyi stopped him by touching his wrist. “Not here,” she said. “Sorry, I—I don’t think I can talk about this here. Not with you.” She was terrified that she would actually cry, that the artist persona she wore around these people would crack once she remembered that the bloody ring was real, not just a symbol or an object standing in place for something else, like an everlasting grief.
Alim laid his fingers over hers. “I understand,” he said. “It’s a garden type of conversation.”
Feyi gave him a quick relieved smile. “Yes, exactly.” The warmth of his fingers on her skin was stronger than the champagne, making it hard to think, to remain the person she was supposed to be at events like this. “What dinner was Pooja talking about?” she asked, pulling her hand away from his.
Alim slid his hands into his pockets. “It was Nasir’s idea,” he said. “He wanted it to be a surprise.”
Feyi narrowed her eyes. “He wanted what to be a surprise?”
Alim laughed. “Relax. It’s just a celebratory dinner at the house.”
“For me?”
He gave a look that was entirely too soft to be seen in public, and Feyi bit the inside of her cheek.
“Yes, for you. Rebecca must have invited Pooja—an excellent idea—and I believe some of the other artists are attending as well.”
Feyi frowned, trying to fit all the pieces together. “Who’s handling the dinner?”
Alim cut his eyes at her. “Feyi. You think I’m going to let someone else cook a dinner in my house?”
“Wait, wait. You’re doing it? But—”
Alim raised an eyebrow. “But what?”
But you’re Alim fucking Blake, she wanted to say, and I’m just … me. It felt like too much, but she didn’t know how to turn it down. Everyone had already been invited, and Nasir had done this to be sweet, which made it even harder to think about what she had to tell him once they were back in the city.
“I wish y’all had asked me,” she said. “It’s bad enough that I’ve been crashing at your place, but come on, a Michelin-star chef making a dinner for some emerging artist no one’s really heard of?”
“I think it’s a wonderful publicity strategy,” Alim replied. “They’ll certainly know about you now, won’t they?”
Feyi stared at him, briefly speechless, and Alim took that moment to lean in, his hand cupping her elbow.
“Congratulations,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ll see you at home.”
With a wink and a waft of lemongrass, he was gone, leaving Feyi rattled. Home, he’d said, and God help her, but it had sounded so right, like she could belong on a mountain with this loving bruise of a man. Like anything was possible, even that.
• • •
The dinner turned out to be more like an after-party, as cars pulled up into the compound, spilling out breathless guests all delighted to be invited into Alim Blake’s home. Nasir knocked on Feyi’s door as she was changing her clothes.
“Courtyard in five!” he called. “We’re toasting you, so you better be there!”
“Coming!” Feyi yelled back, wriggling her way into a fringed taffeta dress, short and pale pink, light as a breath. She’d barely had time to send Joy a voice note about how the opening went, but she’d promised to catch up with her as soon as she could. Feyi made sure her legs were oiled, then hurried down the stairs as she fastened long gold earrings to each earlobe. Her skin felt like it was buzzing, either from the success of the opening or the offer of a commission or the energy of the party, or a combination of everything. Nothing felt impossible. She could do this. She could be bright and brilliant and charming and act as if she belonged there, among these people, because weren’t they all just people, after all?
Feyi caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the windows and hissed out an annoyed breath—she’d forgotten her braids in the updo and it was totally the wrong look for this outfit. She stopped in front of the glass and started pulling out the pins holding it up, fluffing out the braids as they fell so they made a tangled gold cloud around her face. Alim came around the corner, and his eyes crinkled into a smile when he saw her.
“Just the person I was looking for,” he said. “We’re ready for you.” He held out his hand to her, then dropped it awkwardly to his side.
Feyi wrapped the pins in her fist, feeling the metal press against her palm and the sting of a sudden hurt. What was she expecting—that they’d walk into the courtyard holding hands? Alim had reached out like it was instinct, or habit, and she’d almost taken his hand with equal ease.
As she followed him out, dropping the pins discreetly on a counter, Feyi wondered if it wouldn’t be best to take up Pooja on her offer of staying at the Hilton. That way Na-sir could return to the city by himself, she’d be away from Alim and this house, and maybe that was better than staying here with whatever this was between them, something that couldn’t afford to exist, something she wasn’t entirely sure was even real.
Maybe she was imagining it. His voice at the sunrise, his eyes the other night in the kitchen. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see. Feyi pasted a smile on her face as they walked into the courtyard and everyone there raised a champagne flute and cheered. Nasir was standing in the middle, wearing an ecru buttoned shirt, a wide grin on his face. Feyi could see Rebecca behind him in a bone-white suit, her mouth a vivid slash of purple. She and Alim looked like they’d coordinated their outfits, both tall and elegant in white. Feyi accepted a flute from a waiter, suddenly noticing the staff threading through the guests, holding trays of champagne and small bites. She wondered how much this all had cost. Nasir was now saying lovely things about her work, but his words sounded dull and muted to Feyi. What did he know? Could he even hear the screaming in the gold?
“To Feyi Adekola!” he concluded, and the sound of glasses clinking against each other rang through the courtyard like applause.
Feyi kept smiling and nodding, murmuring thanks as people she’d never seen before congratulated her. Over by the roses, she caught sight of Katherine Agyemaa Agard standing next to Charmaine Bee, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. What on earth were they doing here? Was she supposed to go over and talk to them, congratulate them on their pieces? She’d already fawned over their work at the museum, perhaps it would seem too heavy-handed now. Feyi took a sip of her champagne, then drained the glass. Fuck it. She wasn’t going to deal with all this sober. If only Joy were here; she always had weed gummies in her purse. The thought dampened Feyi’s buzz. If only Joy were here, period. Then Feyi wouldn’t feel so lost, like she was just floating around alone, without anyone to keep her grounded, remind her what was real. She signaled a waiter over.