"Put a ring on a girl and she thinks she owns you forever." - Verity Nyle

Olumide arrived at his hotel room in a trance-like state. Or something of that sort. He could not remember how he had got himself from Kennedy's office back to the police jeep or how he had got to the hostel. He did remember insisting that he had not sent Romola's pictures to those men.

The IG told him to go home and rest, and assured that they would get to the bottom of it, but he didn't trust that they would. Did they believe that he did not send it? Inspector Tade's response was quite vague. The man said his involvement in the matter made it harder to prosecute Kennedy.

He placed the key card on the card reader at the door but the light glowed red.

He tapped his card but the same colour flashed. His briefcase dropped to the wine rug. All he wanted was sleep. He didn't have the strength to walk downstairs and yell at one of his father's many employees. Maybe the old man had finally carried out the threat of throwing him out. Were they that mad about the way he proposed to Yetunde?

He pushed the door and it gave way. He stepped back and looked at the golden plate number on the door. Yes, this was his room. Why was his door open? He picked his laptop bag and moved in with precision of a hunter.

"Finally, you're here. I thought I was going to die of boredom."

His bag fell from his hand at the sight of Yetunde dressed in a simple pink shirt that stopped mid-thigh as she crossed her legs while sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, of course." She cocked her head and her long blue braids dangled from the tips of her scalp unto the white bedsheet. "You haven't been picking my calls."

He walked to the fridge while ripping off his neck tie. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm your fiancée. Everyone knows that. You can't keep ignoring me, Mide."

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Yes, you are."

Her footsteps sounded louder him as he leaned into the fridge and grabbed a soda can. He popped it open as her hands reached for his shoulders.

Her fingers kneaded his shoulder blades before her arms ran over his back, under his armpits and over his chest. "I missed you."

"Stop it." He cast her hands aside.

There was something inappropriate about the way she touched him. Her touch was foreign and revolting.

"Don't you like it?" Her meagre attempt to sound like an experienced seductress sounded like sand paper would feel on his tongue.

"Like what?" He faced her. "After the stupid stunt you pulled at Vicky's wedding?"

"Stupid stunt?" Yetunde raised a brow. "What happened with Romola, right?"

He didn't answer.

"You can't still be mad about that. It was her fault."

Olumide walked away and placed his bag on the bed. He shed his jacket and it dropped to the floor at his feet. Yetunde picked it up.

"You should not have gone after her. You shouldn't have hit her like that."

Yetunde shook her head. "And what should I have done? She ruined Vicky's cake and for all I know, she might have come to ruin our proposal."

Olumide wished Romola had come for that purpose. Maybe he would feel greater peace about his decision. The lesser time he spent with Yetunde, the more time he would have to think over the events of that day. So far, his two conclusions were yet to change. Either he really sent Romola's pictures to those men or Romola sent those pictures herself. Either situation seemed improbable.

"When is it?" Yetunde sat on the bed and bounced before settling in a supine position, facing the mirror-ceiling.

"When is what?"

"Our wedding." She gave him a pointed look.

"It will be when it will be."

She shook her head. "You always tell me to set SMART goals. I need that from you now. What day? What time? When?"

"Do we have to do all this now?" He set his soda on the polished wooden cabinet beside the wall where the flat screen television hung.

"Yes, a wedding is a lot of work. Do you know how much planning there is?"

He wasn't in a hurry to find out. "Just give me time to rest. I've had a busy day."

It was more of time for him to think of how to rid himself of her. The sweat beads that had gathered on his forehead began to fall in a string down the side of his face and under his jaw, before dropping to his shirt. He had to have his bath first.

He walked towards the window that overlooked the west wing of the hotel and turned right, under the arch and into the walk-in closet that led to the bathroom. There, he stripped out of his work clothes and wrapped himself in his fluffy dark blue towel before heading to the bathroom. He took his time to shower, scrubbing away the dirt and grim. If only he could scrub away everything he had heard today. Ignorance really was bliss.

Hours had passed, he was sure, before he turned off the shower and walked back through the walk-in closet. He changed into a pair of briefs and walked out. Yetunde remained on his bed, her back to the headrest and her fingers tapping the screen of a phone enclosed in the classic customized dark blue phone case with his name written in gold that Joke had gifted him for his birthday.

"What are you doing?" He walked to her and grabbed the phone out of her hands.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What are you doing with my phone?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "I just wanted to take some pictures."

"And you can't take them on your own phone?"

"Your camera is better. Besides," She flipped her hair, then drew her hands through the braids to the tips. "You don't have any pictures of me."

"Who said I want pictures of you?" He dropped the phone on the cabinet besides his now lukewarm soda, then picked it up.

The cabinet at the top of his wardrobe was the best place to keep it. She wouldn't get into the closet and even if she did, she wasn't that tall.

"Olumide, I'm sorry." Yetunde crawled off the bed and came after him.

"Just stay where you are."

He dropped his phone between his folded jeans in the cabinet and turned around. She stood in his way, in the narrow path between him and the room. There was no going around her. "What do you want?"

"Our wedding date?"

"What's the rush?"

Yetunde held her head higher. "If I wasn't the one who received the ring from you after your amazing confession of love, I would've thought that you didn't want to get married."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that I cannot wait to become Mrs. Yetunde Makinde and I won't let you or anyone else delay me. I've waited long enough."

"Good luck becoming Mrs. Makinde without me."

A short cry came from her throat and she buried her face in her arms. Her shoulder's shook and her cries rose. His look softened. Dragging Yetunde into this whole thing was not fair. They would never be married. He didn't have to hurt her any further than a simple rejection. The pain from their breakup would be pain enough for her. The pain from his breakup with Romola still stung him.

"Yetunde, I'm sorry."

"No. No, you're not."

He held her shoulders but she tried to fight him off. He captured her wrists in his palms when she tried to hit his chest while stomping and screaming.

"Leave me, Mide. I thought you loved me. Now, I know you just want to embarrass me."

"It's not like that."

He tried to calm her by holding her closer to wipe the tears from her eyes, the way he'd done when she was younger. Like the time he tried to teach her how to ride a bike and she fell into a ditch. Dami hated him for weeks but she forgave him first. He hoped she would still be able to forgive him when he ended this charade of an engagement.

She stopped fighting him and he dropped her hands.

"Yetunde. I —"

She grabbed his face and yanked it to his before placing a kiss on his lips. He tried to pull his face away but her hold on him was hard, firm. Stronger than he imagined. With a hold like this she could have done real damage to him if she wanted to punch him. He pulled away, earning a few scratches from her failed attempt to pin his face in place with his fingernails.

Her chest rose and fell, heavily as a smile grew on her face. "That was good."

"Get out!"

She eyed him. "Whatever, I'll wait for the wedding day."

He stared her down.

She blew him a kiss. "I want to get married in a month."

"You're crazy. That's not enough time to get to know someone."

"I've waited since I was 12. I can't wait any longer." She marched away from him.

He followed her and slammed the main door behind her, then locked it before sitting on the bed and wiping his lips with the back of his palm. Some of her sticky strawberry lip paint stuck to his hand. He could still taste her on his lips and it disgusted him. He felt like he had kissed Ajoke. This kiss was one tribulation too many. He could not, under any condition, marry Yetunde. That would be a suicide mission.

His ringtone drew him from his musings and he retrieved his phone from the cabinet. Ajoke's number flashed on the screen.

"Olumide. If someone does not tell you what to do, you won't do it, right?"

"What now?"

He'd proposed to Yetunde. What else was he to do?

"Why did you do that to Yetunde?"

"Do what?"

"Tell her you were going to call off the engagement."

Olumide's eyes widened as he stared at the door. That little brat. "I never said so."

"Didn't you? You said there would be no Mrs. Makinde."

Olumide groaned. In how many seconds had Yetunde reported this encounter to their sister? "We had an argument. I might have said a few things I don't mean."

"Hmm. Don't joke with a woman's heart oh."

"What about you? How's your husband and the thing you were supposed to do?"

"I've called my lawyer and we've started processing things." She said in a low joyous whisper.

"Great." He sighed. "So, how long?"

How long till he could be free again? The tyranny of Tomiwa's hold on sister was now a burden on his back. For Ajoke's sake, he would bear almost anything, but marriage to Yetunde was not on that list. If he had more time, he would have searched for another girl.

"It may take a couple of months."

"Months? I can't wait that long."

"What are you waiting for?"

Olumide shifted on the bed. "For you, for you to be free."

"Just knowing my little brother is getting married is freedom enough for me."

"No. no." He shook his head.

"When is the wedding date? Let me start making preparations."

"Yetunde wants to get married in a month but —"

"Ah! That's great. A month. I have to start making calls."

"Ajoke—"

She cut the call.

He stared at his phone screen. Yetunde's pictures was displayed as the display screen. She smiled at him with a twinkle in his eyes. This was a good time to consider Dami's advice of locking his phone. He'd found it unnecessary because most of the time, he was alone in safe places. But not anymore. Not while the staff thought his fiancée was allowed to enter his room while he was absent. He would have to make it very clear, that no one, not even his own mother, was allowed into the room.

He deleted the first picture and another popped up. He opened the photos app and stared at the pictures there. How long did he spend in the bathroom? There had to be at least 50 new pictures. He began to tap on them one by one but stopped when he got to a picture of Yetunde dressed in a form fitting purple lace dress with a large yellow gele. She'd been wearing a pink shirt dress here. And this picture with the purple lace dress was taken while she was at church. He scrolled down and stared at the rest of the pictures. There were other pictures of her. So much for her yelling at Modupe to stay off people's phones. Yet, here she was doing the exact same thing.

She must've airdropped the pictures to him. But for what reason? So that he would admire her beauty? He almost laughed as the back of his hand wiped his lips again. He had to make a note to himself to avoid spending any more time in enclosed spaces with Yetunde. They always had to meet in a public place and he had to put up some more security measures on his phone. Her little stunt could not repeat itself again.

He'd only left this phone unattended for a few minutes and she'd bombarded it with pictures. If he hadn't caught her in the act he would not have known until much later. If he had waited until he ate dinner, she could have deleted these pictures and he would never have known that she took those pictures. She could even have changed his home screen and his wallpaper, if she wished. She could've sent files from his phone to hers and he would be completely unaware. Or she could have posted a picture of her on his status.

The thought burnt at the back of his mind.

...and he would be blissfully unaware.

Unaware.

She could've created a group chat and sent pictures from his phone there, before deleting it and every trace would be gone and he would still be foolishly unaware. Just like someone had done with Romola's photo on his phone.