CHAPTER SEVEN - THE FERVENT DREAM

I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror, attempting to smooth the evidence of disarray from my appearance. I ran my fingers through my hair again and again, restoring some order, before drawing a steadying breath and returning to the celebration.

“Raquel, are you okay?” Frank asked the moment I reappeared, his voice laced with immediate concern.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied, my tone deliberately light.

“Are you sure?” His gaze swept over me, analytical and worried. “Your dress is a bit rumpled, and your hair looks… different.”

“I said I’m fine,” I repeated, a note of finality entering my voice.

“Frank, drop it,” Nelly chided gently. She then looked at me, and her eyes clearly communicated that our conversation was merely postponed. I gave her a small, soft smile and a nod.

“We were waiting for you to cut the cake,” she announced, shifting the mood.

“And here I am,” I said, summoning a cheerful demeanor.

“I know you wouldn’t have the nerve to ruin my day,” she teased.

We all laughed, the sound helping to dissolve the lingering tension. “Now sing for me!” she commanded playfully. I began the birthday song, and the others joined in, the moment passing into one of genuine celebration. The remainder of the evening proceeded smoothly, and Frank kindly offered to drive me home. After presenting Nelly with a gold watch and necklace—a gift that made her squeal with delight—I hugged her and Tony goodbye.

The house was dark and silent when Frank dropped me off. A single light glowed from my bedroom. Inside, I found Dr. Yeboah asleep on the bed, his posture indicating he had waited for me. A pang of guilt pierced my heart. I moved quietly through my nighttime routine, bathing, changing into my nightwear, and switching off the light before slipping into bed beside him.

As soon as I closed my eyes, the memory of the kiss by the poolside invaded my thoughts. My fingers rose involuntarily to my lips, as if trying to comprehend the phantom sensation. Had the wine influenced me? The questions swirled, leaving me restless and confused. A soft groan of frustration escaped me as I tried to banish the intrusive image.

Seeking anchor, I shifted closer to my husband. I took his sleeping hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, leaning my back firmly against the solid warmth of his chest. I needed this connection, this tangible reminder of where I belonged. When he stirred slightly, I tightened my grip, refusing to let go. This is my reality, I told myself firmly. This is where I am meant to be.

I woke to a gentle tap and a soft shake on my shoulder. Having slept poorly, I was still heavy with fatigue. I blinked my eyes open to see my husband’s concerned face.

“Hey, baby. You were that tired?” Dr. Yeboah inquired.

Pushing myself up on the pillows, I nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Was everything alright last night?” he asked, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“Yes, it was. Why do you ask?”

“You were holding onto me so tightly. I almost couldn’t get up without waking you,” he explained, his gaze thoughtful.

“I must have been having a nightmare,” I said, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue as I avoided his probing eyes.

“I have to attend the students’ graduation thanksgiving mass. I’ll be back later,” he informed me, leaning down to give me a tender peck on the forehead. I made a move to get up and see him out, but he insisted I rest, seeing my evident exhaustion.

I drifted back into a fitful sleep and awoke to find the morning had slipped into noon. After freshening up, my stomach growling prompted me to find something to eat. The audible silence of the house confirmed I was alone. I prepared a simple meal of porridge and toast and, not wanting to sit at the expansive, empty dining table, decided to take it to my bedroom.

I was nearly at the top of the staircase, just two steps from the landing that led to the corridor outside my room, when I heard footsteps close behind me. Startled, I whirled around in panic, my foot slipping on the polished wood.

A figure lunged forward to catch me, but lost his own balance in the process. We tumbled down the remaining few steps together, landing in a heap at the bottom with me on top, his arms locked securely around me to cushion my fall. Dazed, I lifted my head to see who it was just as he let out a pained groan.

“Michael?” I breathed his name in sheer disbelief, his protective hold still firm around me.

“Are you going to get up, or should I push you off?” he questioned, his voice laced with annoyance.

I scrambled to stand, only to yelp as a sharp pain shot through my left ankle. Michael was now on his feet, looking down at my injured foot with an unreadable, conflicted expression. Indecision seemed to war within him. Knowing it was futile to expect his help, I attempted to limp toward the stairs to hoist myself up.

“Raquel, wait.” His voice stopped me. It was the first time he had used my name without a trace of scorn attached to it.

Before I could protest, he bent and scooped me into his arms. I began to squirm, my pride rebelling against the intimacy.

“Will you stop moving? You can’t walk on that,” he admonished, his tone firm.

I stilled, reluctantly looping my arms around his neck for stability, my eyes fixed determinedly on anything but his face. I could feel the firm strength of his muscles as he carried me effortlessly down the hall to my bedroom.

He set me down carefully on the edge of the bed. “Where is the first aid kit?” he asked, his expectant gaze meeting mine.

“In the bathroom cabinet,” I replied softly.

He returned swiftly with a bandage and a tube of ointment. Kneeling before me, he examined my feet. “Which one is it?”

“The left,” I answered, utterly bewildered by this turn of events.

His fingers gently probed my swollen ankle, and I inhaled sharply, wincing at the tenderness. As he worked with a surprising diligence, applying the ointment with careful strokes, I found myself studying him. His black, wavy hair was cut short, its silken texture catching the light. His lashes were unfairly long and thick. I watched, mesmerized, as he unconsciously ran his tongue over his lower lip in concentration.

The memory of our kiss, the heat and the confusion, flooded back with a vengeance as his hands ministered to my injury. A traitorous warmth began to pool low in my abdomen, and I inwardly chastised myself for my body’s acute response to his mere touch.

“Is it too tight?” His question pulled me from my trance.

“What? Oh… the bandage. No, it’s fine. Thank you,” I stammered, acutely aware of how close he was. My heart thudded erratically against my ribs.

His eyes lifted to mine, holding a dark, knowing glint. “What about thanking me… differently?” he whispered, his voice a low, husky murmur near my ear.

My breath caught. “Like how?” The question was a timid breath as I inhaled the subtle, alluring scent of his cologne.

He leaned closer, so close that his breath brushed my lips. The space between us pulsed with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that sent my heart racing. He knew exactly what he was doing, I saw it in the knowing glint in his eyes and when his hand came up to cradle the back of my head, my last thread of composure unraveled.

His fingers slid into my hair, gentle yet certain, and the world around us faded. Logic dissolved beneath the weight of the moment. I barely realized I was moving until my lips met his, the kiss soft at first, then deeper both a question and an answer I had already decided on.

Any thought of restraint became a distant echo. I clutched the front of his shirt, drawing him closer, grounding myself in the solid warmth of him. He responded instantly, his presence overwhelming in the best way, until he was leaning over me, his weight steady and protective.

His mouth traced a slow path from my lips, leaving my skin tingling everywhere he touched. Every brush of his hands, every breath against my skin, sent heat spiraling through me. I could feel myself slipping, sensation overtaking thought, emotion eclipsing reason.

I twisted my fingers into the sheets, then into his hair, unable to stay still as the intensity built. The world narrowed until there was nothing but him,his warmth, his closeness, the unspoken promise hanging between us.

“I need you,” I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep and unguarded.

He stilled for a heartbeat, then lowered his forehead to mine, his body curved over me as though shielding me from everything else. His lips found mine again, slower this time, sealing the moment, stealing what little control I had left.

And then--

“Raquel!”

Nelly’s voice cut through the air like ice water.

Everything shattered.

We froze, breathless, barely apart, reality crashing back as the unmistakable click of the doorknob turning echoed through the room.