Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Helen was busy in the kitchen. She was cooking a strong-smelling soup and jollof rice when Monica returned home with the cheeriest news. Her eyes were twinkling like the stars, as she approached Helen with outstretched arms.

‘Mom! He proposed. Melvin asked me to marry him,’ she said excitedly. There was a shimmer of dismay in Helen’s eyes as she embraced her daughter.

‘He proposed to you?’ she asked her, as if to be certain of what she had heard.

‘Mm-hmm, he’s never being married. I am the first and last he’s ever going to,’ Monica said, giggling elatedly.

‘Oh,’ Helen said, ‘where is your ring then?’ Monica furrowed her face.

‘It was impromptu, Mom. He didn’t plan it. He proposed to me with his car. But I asked him to get me a proper ring.’

‘Hmm, I do not like such unprepared and surprise proposals. He should have proposed to you when he is ready and prepared. How can I say you’re now about to get married when there’s no ring on your finger?’ Helen said. ‘He needs to engage you properly, and then come to me and ask for my consent and support.’

Helen’s words dampened Monica’s spirit. The sheen on her face faded. It did not look to Monica like her mother was not happy for her, but she was only concerned about Melvin doing the right thing. Proposing to a woman without a ring appeared a bit incongruous and even awkward, she reasoned. She would tell him to do the most fitting thing and come and see Helen, before she would think it was all a child’s play or some charade.

‘Did he even talk about leaving London to settle in Nigeria with you? Or is it you who would be leaving behind all you and your father have toiled to build to go to London with him?’ Helen asked her.

‘I will ask him when we see again,’ Monica said languorously, stretching herself.

‘That’s very crucial,’ Helen said, ladling the jollof rice into the glass plate. ‘Food is ready. You should join me at the dining table,’ she added, walking away from Monica, who stood there fleetingly, contemplating a number of things. She left the aroma-filled kitchen smelling of nutmeg, curry, and other spices and clumped up the stairs to her bedroom. Then she sat clumsily on the bed, like a woman that was pregnant. But of course she was. After all, Helen always said that a person bearing a message was pregnant, and until she delivered the message, she was not allowed to rest. She took out her phone and began to phone Melvin. After a series of frustrating attempts, Melvin’s deep and sensual voice came ringing into her ears and sending her pulse racing.

‘Hello, my queen,’ he called her.

‘Hello, Melvin,’ she replied him uneasily, as her hand ran slowly across the pink bedsheet of her cozy bed. ‘I told my Mom about your proposal. She was not very excited about it. She asked for the engagement ring, and asked to see you. She also asked if you’d be willing to leave London and stay with me in Nigeria.’ Melvin was silent on the phone, and his silence made Monica somewhat irritated and twitchy.

‘Why don’t you say something and stop leaving me in tenterhooks,’ she said to him frustratingly. Melvin grinned.

‘There’s nothing more to say. I shall get your ring tomorrow, and I shall leave London and stay with my queen,’ he said, laughing. Monica exhaled a sigh of relief and laughed.

‘You’d do all that for me? For our lives together?’ she asked him.

‘Yes, and even more,’ Melvin replied; his voice vibrantly male.

‘Thank you, Melvin. I love you,’ Monica said tearfully, in an unsteady voice.

‘I love you more, my queen,’ Melvin said, his voice trailing off, as the line went dead.

Monica screeched excitedly and clutched the phone to her chest. A sweet smile stretched her face. She closed her eyes and imagined her wedding with Melvin: both of them standing there, in front of the smiling faces of the congregation in the incensed-filled church; the celestial choir, singing in that spotless pitch that causes goose bumps. And with her in her white and custom-made wedding gown, with the hem sprawling the floor and then Melvin in his natty blue suit, smiling at her. The priest in his white soutane and green chasuble, standing in the sacristy, holding out a book, talking in that heavenly timbre and asking them to repeat after him just as they make their vows. She imagined Helen smiling and clapping her hands, with flashbulbs glistening, the paparazzi and the journalists scrambling to take beautiful photos of them; the news of the wedding spreading in town and beyond with tongues wagging.

When Monica woke from the fantasy, tears trickled down her face. She wished more than anything that her dream would come true. But the mere thought that it was all a dream, a fantasy, brought tears in her eyes.

Melvin got to Monica’s office the next day, breaking protocols and ignoring the fervent calls of her secretary, as he clumped hastily up the stairs to Monica’s office with a rose flower in one hand and a ring in the other. He pushed the door open to Monica’s consternation and knelt on the ground, holding out the sweet-smelling rose flower to her.

‘For you, my queen,’ he said, smiling. Monica spun in her chair and rose sharply and walked up to him with outstretched arms. She took the flower from him and kissed him deeply. ‘Here’s your ring,’ he said, asking for Monica’s hand, as he slid the shiny ring into her finger. Monica was breathless. She stared at the ring intently and tears seeped from her eyes.

‘Oh God, it’s so beautiful!’ she mumbled under her breath, clasping Melvin in her arms and kissing him several times on his face. ‘I promise; I promise I shall be a good wife to you.’

‘I know you shall. I’ll be a good husband too,’ Melvin said, running his hand slowly on Monica’s curly hairs. They remained in their warm clasp, with Monica unwilling to disengage from the sweet arms of Melvin. Her breathing grew heavy, and Melvin sensed she was getting sexually aroused. He kissed her on her shiny forehead and wriggled out from her grip. He needed to talk business; it was not the time for pleasure. It was business first, and then pleasure second.

Melvin sat on the plump chair in front of Monica, while she sat on hers, simpering at him.

‘You didn’t even tell me you love me,’ Monica said, swooning at him.

‘Oh, that? You already know I do and always will. But I shall show you how much I do, after we have finished discussing business.’ Melvin opened the hardcover notebook and placed it on the mahogany table.

‘I am excited. But it’s bittersweet. I have the chance to clinch and execute a contract of a lifetime,’ he said, looking into Monica’s eyes.

‘Wait a minute! You mean the same contract you have been chasing all this while? The much contested housing contract?’ Monica asked him, snapping her fingers.

‘Yes, the same contract. I have a good contact with some persons on the inside. They swayed the contract my way, and I won the bid,’ Melvin said, his face beaming with an arrogant smile.

‘You cannot be serious! You mean you won the bid? That’s a heck of money coming our way,’ Monica said, wide-eyed.

‘Good. It’s good you understand it’s a heck of money that’s coming, not my way, but our way,’ Melvin said, adjusting his posture in the chair. ‘We shall be building over two hundred low-cost houses in the estate. This money will run into billions. You can see it for yourself.’ He pushed the hardcover notebook to Monica. Monica opened it and peered into it. It was incredible. It almost made her giddy.

‘It’s such a huge contract. When are you starting then?’ she asked him. The smile on Melvin’s face faded, and his face furrowed.

‘Yes, it’s a huge contract. Unfortunately, the take-off fund is poor. I can hardly do much with that. I cannot pull a stunt with my own money either. I need help, a loan or some support. I have come to you. You’re my fiancée and an heiress of a thriving business empire. Your financial clout is enviable. You can help me get a bank loan, or you can support me with your money. I shall pay back every penny in full,’ Melvin said; his hands in supplication. Monica watched sweats trickled down his handsome face. Then she smiled.

‘How much are you looking at?’ she asked him. Melvin exhaled.

‘Over two hundred and fifty million naira,’ he said.

‘That’s a huge amount of money,’ Monica said, furrowing her face and tapping the table with her long, tapering nails. ‘But I shall make it available. You’re my husband, after all. You’re working for both of us and for our unborn children.’ Melvin widened his eyes theatrically. It was utterly incredible, but he had believed anyway that Monica would do something. However, he had not hoped she would lend him such a ludicrous amount of money. He rose from the chair and went over to her and kissed her deeply. Monica clung to him, breathing hard. Melvin raised her waist-high skirt and ran his hand on her shiny thighs and Monica’s moaning increased. She pulled at his belt, unzipping his trousers and laid on the table, spreading her legs like a lamb on offer. She stared warmly at Melvin. In her eyes was a passionate and desperate plea to be laid. Melvin’s thrusts were slow but strong. Monica closed her eyes, muting her moaning and turning expertly on the table to match his every thrust. Her muffled and blissful orgasmic groan came in tandem with Melvin’s, as he buried his tongue in her mouth.

‘Thank you, my queen,’ Melvin said, zipping his trousers, as Monica adjusted her skirt with frills at the cuff. The smell in the office was indiscernible. Sweats patched Melvin’s underarms as he sat on the chair.

‘You’re so sweet, Melvin. You’ve made me lose all sense of decency. Now I’m a really spoilt brat. Look what you have turned me into,’ Monica said, smiling at Melvin with a gleeful and mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Yes, she would readily agree that it was wrong, that what they were doing, having countless sex in hotel rooms and even in her office during work hours were improper and grubby, but she just could not help it. She loved every ounce of the guilty pleasure.

‘You’re a mischievous brat!’ Melvin screeched. ‘You love it this way, don’t you?’

‘Of course, what other way would I want it? I love you and our sex life together. It’s really great. Every woman craves for a hot, strong and sensual man that understands her bodily needs. And you know what?’ Monica said, biting her lower lip.

‘What? Say it now, my pretty doll,’ Melvin said. Monica looked at him more intensely, and all she could feel was faultless admiration and a sense of proud possession. He was her complete package; her man indeed. She walked to where he was standing and stood in front of him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and took his hand in hers and placed it on her breast. She stared deeply into his eyes like a detective. In Melvin’s eyes, she searched for any nuance of doubt or something that would make him see through her and comprehend how madly and flawlessly in love she was with him and how the thought of him have completely possessed her mind. She smiled and touched his gleaming and well-shaved beards.

‘You’re my aphrodisiac,’ she moaned to him. ‘When we go on that trip to the moon for our honeymoon, please make love to me there.’ Melvin’s lips twisted in a mischievous smile as he watched the passion and endless craving in Monica’s dreamy eyes. He was impressed and cocksure that the thought of him have truly possessed her.

‘When should I come for the money?’ he asked her, as he stared at the shiny, gold necklace that bedecked the hollows of her throat.

‘I will go to the bank tomorrow and have the money transferred into your account. Just send your bank details to my phone.’

‘All right, I will do as you have said. Make sure you show the ring to my mother-in-law, and then we can start preparing in earnest for the wedding. I shall take you to see my parents on the Island next week,’ Melvin said, reaching out and kissing Monica.

Monica’s eyes filled with glee. She was speechless, as she stared unflinchingly at Melvin. Melvin smiled mischievously at her; knowing in his heart that for a woman in love, even a smile was enough to have her misled. He walked out of her office, watching the happy smile on Monica’s face.