~Somi's POV~

The weekend flies by in a blur, but the memories are etched in my mind. As I catch what's left of my sleep after last night's party, I try to recall the last few moments at the Island resort. PK and Lola are expecting twin boys. I love how the blue glitters speckled the beach sand. It was truly magical.

Sami never came around but after my talk with Adams, I couldn't care less about her. We are on our way to Abuja to see Adams' parents, The Hassan-Audu's. Adams has tried to prepare me for what to expect.

"They're strict at first but really sweet and soft on the inside."

"Be yourself."

"My dad will most likely warm up slower than my mom."

"If they say something you don't like, remember what I told you. You are enough for me, that's all that matters."

"You're beautiful. You're smart and incredibly hardworking."

I recite his words in my head.

"Somi." His voice filters into my dream. I opened my eyes and it's a blur for a few seconds. "We're here." Adams said.

"Oh wow." I yawn, wiping my eyes.

"Dad sent his escort."

"We are going straight there?" I ask in panic.

"No, of course not. I made a reservation at Transcorp. We could get dressed there and meet them for lunch at the villa."

Villa?

"Your father's house is called a villa?" I asked, still half asleep. He didn't answer, instead he pasted a kiss on my neck and spanked the side of my exposed thigh, it stung a bit but now I was awake.

He held me as we walked down the jet, Angela had her famous smile on. I had taken her number, her and Lola's. They're now my girls and I love it for me.

"Please don't forget to tip Angela." I reminded Adams.

"Sure." He said.

Before I could accustom myself to the cold dry air and the distant mountain scaping the air strip and inviting me to explore the capital city, a number of black suited men ran towards us grabbing what is grabbable.

Adams holds me tightly.

"SSS." He said, "Dad's security detail." and I nod slowly, overwhelmed by their swiftness.

We get into the waiting SUV and I remain quiet just reciting the mantra and everything Adams has told me about them.

At Transcorp Hilton, the security detail did their usual busybody before we were allowed to step into the hotel.

So much  for being discreet, I thought.

Adams paid for a room since we were supposed to get dressed and check out. Quickly, we took the elevator. Two of the SSS guys were with us. I was almost expecting them to enter the room with us. It was amusing when they didn't. Adams dressed up in the bathroom after giving me a flirtatious wink and left me to the room. When he stepped out, he was wearing an embroidered kaftan outfit and a traditional cap paired with leather slides.

"Is that compulsory when you're visiting?" I asked.

"No, but my mom loves it." He said.

"Oh, okay. It's really cute." I replied, adjusting the brown embroidered Abaya he bought for me at the mall the night before we left for Calabar, I put my lipgloss on and wore a kitten heel pump.

"You look stunning." He scanned me.

"Thank you." I replied.

In no time, we're out of the door, the security detail follows us closely until we're in the SUV again and moving. We moved so quickly I have no memory of what the outside of the hotel looked like.

"Where's the villa?" I whispered in Adams' ear.

"Maitama here." He whispered back in my ear. It tickles me. "We'll be fine." He added, assuring me for the hundredth time that day.

When we arrived at the villa, I didn't know we had arrived. I thought we were still on the street until the convoy of SUVs stopped and Adams said we had arrived.

I thought I understood just how rich Homa meant when she tried to explain Amira's family to me. She was nothing close to what I was seeing. I wish she could be here. If my sisters were here, I wouldn't feel as small as I feel now.

Domestic staff rush out to meet us but we have no luggage

so they just bow their heads.

"Alhamdulilah, they're here." I hear a rubbery voice coming from inside. I just know it's his mother. My gut is right. Immediately she steps out, the domestic staff bow lower than before and she rushes to hug Adams. He said he hadn't seen her in months. She dramatically twirled around laughing heartily and giving him a show while he heartily complimented her beauty.

When she had gotten enough of her son, I was surprised to see her smiling lavishly towards me, also reaching in for a hug.

Don't get too excited. I warn myself.

"How are you my dear?" She asked, stroking my chin, "Ah, Masha Allah. She's beautiful." she says to Adams about me. He bows, smiling too.

"Very well, Ma." I respond, my heart still very much in my throat.

"Oh great, great! Let's go inside, lunch is ready." she said, leading us into the main house excitedly, her shimmering abaya casting lights on the black marble tiles and walls. She looks and walks like Queen Ramonda of Wakanda. I'm intimidated but in a good way.

The ceilings are so high, dotted with golden lights and the hallway features different ranges of terracotta pots and sculptures standing at different points. My heels echo and the further we walk the more my nerves rise. Adams seems pretty relaxed. He has since taken my hands back in his.

The hallway curves into a hall at the end. The ceilings here are even higher, a giant chandelier hangs from it, it looks like a million dancing stars the colour of white champagne all twinkling as the little orbs of light collide.

Omo.

The paintings on the walls in here are huge canvases. They're separated into prehistoric, historic and modern Africa. I want to explore the huge library on the far end of the wall but I stick to Adams.

I can perceive the aroma of food and I know we are closer to the moment of truth. True enough, we walked into the dining hall. It's a huge table, porcelain ceramic with flowers so irregular I know they had to be hand painted. The edges are carved to resemble the creeping vines and the legs of sturdy roots. The design is impeccable, similar to the chairs.

Adams pulls out a chair for me and I sit, quietly, my heart drumming, my ears very sharp. Adams sits next to me and on the opposite side of us is his mother. The head chair to my left is empty but I reckon that's where his father will sit. The domestic staff serve food in different dishes. They had cooked a lot of delicious and strange looking things. I made up my mind to eat the smallest portion of whatever was familiar.

"Father." Adams said, standing up. "Salamu Alaykum." He greeted.

I looked up from my phone and stood up immediately, bowing my head, my heart pounding hard and loud in my ears, nothing escaping my mouth.

"Ya kake?"

"Lafiya," Adams glanced at me. "I'm good."

I guessed his father was asking about his welfare.

Adams is built just like him. A slim-tall frame, but Amira takes after his facial traits, both slender with round, shiny eyes and a steady countenance that seems hard to read.

After we settle back down, the chef, a middle-aged short man, wearing a white chef's jacket and a hat that makes him look smaller than he already is, steps out of the kitchen and begins describing the food on the table. I'm unable to concentrate because Adams' father hasn't peeled his eyes off me since he arrived at the table.

"Thank you, Julius." Adams' father stops the chef half-way.

The man clears his throat, prostrates and returns to the kitchen. Another staff dish, the first helping of appetiser, Cream onion soup and honey-lemon toasted croutons was what the chef had called it.

"So, what is your name?" It's Adams' mother who throws the first question.

"Chisom Amadi." I respond.

"And where are you from?"

"Ikwerre, an indigenous ethnic group of the Rivers people in the south south."

"So Port-Harcourt, huh?" She asked.

"Yes." I nodded.

"How did you meet her? Adams?" His father asked, finally taking his eyes off me.

"Somi and I met when I had to take Amira's best friend, Homa, her little sister, to their home."

"Oh the..." Adams' mother struggled to articulate what she wanted to say. "The poor girl Amira said needed to spend some time at the house in Lagos?

"Amira's best friend, yes."

"And where's this home?" His father asked him again.

"In Agege."

"Young lady, are you employed?" He returns his gaze to me.

"Yes, Sir. I work as a chef."

"You have a degree in the culinary arts?"

"No sir, I have a Bachelor's degree in Biochemistry from the University of Lagos."

"Hmmn." He narrows his gaze at me.

"Somi is a recent graduate and she has a very bright future."

"How about your future, Adams?" His father asked, going straight to the point.

"What about it?"

"Amina was a finer match. Your mother and I made that match for you. Does she know that?" He asked, referring to me. My chest felt constricted and I could hardly breathe.

"I already called off the engagement with Amina. She's not suitable enough." Adams replied.

"And she is?" He asked, referring to me again. Adams' father has a way with his speech, it's slow and low pitched but very savvy, spotting an Hausa accent and without patience for long discussions.

"For me, yes."

"Your mother and I disagree."

I haven't picked up my spoon since I was first spoken to and now the dining room has fallen silent. My eyes are set in a permanent gaze, the hand painted flowers underneath the transparent dining mat. Adams' mother is silent as well.

"And how old are you, young lady?" He asked me.

"I just turned 23, Sir." I could barely hear myself.

"You're young, we can pay you off, give you a better chance and make something of yourself..."

"Father." Adams' cut him off. "She doesn't need your money. Is this why you invited us?" He turned to his mother, "Mom?" His mother was silent. I don't know if it's pity or disdain in her eyes, I look away.

I expected this.

"If you go ahead with this..." His father waved his hand in a petty motion as if he were addressing flies perching on mango, " with this joke, there will be consequences."

"Seems you forgot, Father, that I don't depend on you. You can keep your excesses. We'll be fine."

"Adams..." His mother finally speaks up.

"Thanks mom." He said. "Somi, come on. We're leaving."

"Haba, Adams! You've only just arrived!" His mother protested.

"I won't stay and watch you disrespect my decision like I'm some kid. We're leaving." He picks me up by my hand. "You know where to find me when you're ready to accept my decision. Sai anjima!" He finished.

We both walk out of the dining room, through the great hall, the hallway and then back into the SUV. We don't speak for the entire ride to the hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Adams' POV~

Back at the hotel room, I watched as she kicked off her shoes and picked them up, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed. Tentatively, I asked her, "Do you mind getting food with me at a restaurant?" I wanted her to cheer up, and perhaps going outside could help.

"I'm not hungry," she whispered.

"You've barely had anything to eat today."

She didn't respond.

Feeling concerned, I picked up the landline and called the hotel services to have food delivered to our room. Then, I removed my traditional cap and approached her, sitting at the edge of the bed where she'd lain. Gently, I smoothed imaginary strands from her hair and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry."

She managed a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine." Her sadness weighed on my spirits.

"We could go out for a drive, just the two of us," I suggested.

She shook her head, disagreeing, and turned to the other side. "I want to sleep."

Her refusal and dismissal hurt me. As my emotions swirled, I reached for my phone, its beeping catching my attention.

It was a message from my mom.

Mom: Don't leave Abuja without seeing me. I'm on my way to Transcorp.

Me: Ok.

I responded to some other messages and when I was done, she seemed to be asleep already, or faking it so she wouldn't have to converse with me.

I lay down behind her and pulled her to me, we stayed that way for a moment until my body decided to betray me.

Luckily the doorbell rang and the hotel service announced their presence.

I took it as my cue to leave her before she noticed something poking her from behind.

The man rolled in the service cart holding dishes and wine, I took it from him in dismissal and closed the door.

"Mama."

She didn't budge. I decided to let her be because my mom's message came in again.

Mom: I'm at the Zuma grill.

Me: Coming.

I gave her sleeping form one last look before heading for the door. Once out, one of the security officers at the door made to follow me.

"Stay back."

He straightened his suit jacket and resumed his position at the door.

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