Utianle

Lying was bad but sometimes it was necessary, especially when two million naira was at stake. The comical expression on King's face after finding out he was Vincent's driver was an image I would forever carry with me. It was a memory I could summon to banish all traces of annoyance from listening to his crude jokes.

Despite his shock, he dutifully acted the role, even offering to carry my backpack that supposedly contained the outfits for the impromptu fashion show Vincent was hosting. And when he called me Madam Uti, I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Retrieving a sieve to empty the pot of spaghetti into it, I watched from the corner of my eyes as King began cutting the onions into uneven slices. Tears pooled in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the cutting board.

One sniffle, two sniffles. "Fine, you win. I give up." He dropped the onion on the board, frustration evident in his actions as he furiously wiped his runny nose.

We had an agreement, I would prepare the meals for his mother as payment for him keeping my secret from Umoh. Upon finding out he couldn't cook, I had dared him to slice the onions without tearing up, a challenge he gracefully accepted.

"This is why you need to visit your kitchen more often," I muttered amidst laughter; pushing him aside, I reached for the rest of the onion which I effortlessly chopped into small square shapes, just the way I liked them in my food. "Besides, cooking is a survival skill."

We were standing in King's big kitchen, the kind that was best suited for a food show and made cooking more enjoyable. With the island at the centre of the room, built-in refrigerator, 8 burner stove, and double oven, there was still enough space left to contain an additional dozen people, yet he barely frequented this part of his house.

"Not when you can afford to eat out or order in," he argued. He was standing close to the door as if afraid that the oil from the minced meat I was stirring would splatter all over him.

His navy blue long sleeve shirt hugged his upper body and his muscles flexed each time he crossed and uncrossed his arms against his chest. His black joggers hung dangerously from his waist with the top of his head glistening with water from his quick shower. Even though he couldn't cook, he looked like he belonged here in this modern kitchen that was thrice the size of mine.

"You do know that some of these food sellers use paracetamol to tenderize their meat, they even add it when making beans just to lessen the cooking time."

Everyone was all about making money with the littlest of resources, even if it meant causing harm to the consumers and the paracetamol method was a trick that helped food sellers save time, money and gas. Being the guardian of two wild kids who attended schools with canteens outside and inside their compound, that piece of information was all the motivation I needed to wake up as early as 4 am to get their meals ready.

"So?" His nonchalance made me want to knock him on his head; I raised the spatula threateningly in his direction, glaring daggers at him.

"So . . ." I drawled out. "It causes cancer, you could die."

"Well, something must kill a man."

Rubbing my palms on the apron he provided me, I shook my head at his indifference. Perhaps, being wealthy made him comfortable about the thought of death. Not me though, I wasn't ready to die yet, not with the children in my care and the two millionaire naira that would soon be sitting in my bank account.

"Driver!" I muttered distastefully.

"Driver's girlfriend!"

He was the first one to start laughing, then I joined him and soon the enormous kitchen was filled with our happy laughter.

"I don't always eat out," he started when our laughter slowly died out. "I have a housekeeper, she comes to cook my meals every week but she's unavailable right now."

That explained the neatness of the kitchen - how the white tiles sparkled like it was fixed yesterday, the availability of foodstuffs and exotic cooking utensils. Emma and Esther would have had fun here, a large domain to practise their baking skills; if he so much as joked about it, I would willingly swap places with him in a heartbeat.

Nodding in response, I pointed to the simmering Bolognese sauce on the cooker, "want a taste?"

"Will you feed me?" Rolling my eyes at his question, I scooped some spaghetti and sauce into a plate, waiting impatiently for his review.

"There's too much salt, too much magi, not enough pepper." King's face was scrunched as he went on and on about the things wrong with the food.

My heart dropped to my stomach as his list grew longer, dark memories of my cooking days with Umoh replaying in my head like a broken record.

Umoh never joined me in the kitchen, he was of the belief that only a woman belonged there. He never paid me any compliments except the cooking was bad, then he would go on a long tirade of how he could have done it better when we both knew he couldn't even make noodles without help.

"I'm just kidding." No soon were those words out of his mouth when my fingers reached for the nearest item close to me - a bowl of water which I emptied on his face.

The frown on my face turned upside down as he sputtered and coughed out more water, a strange sense of satisfaction filling me as I watched him.

"You joke a lot," I defended when he raised an eyebrow, grateful for the fact that he was smiling; Umoh would have never let this pass.

King suddenly raised the hem of his shirt up and the rest of my thoughts evaporated when my eyes landed on his toned abs. Water dripped to his belly, calling out to my fingers to touch him, to find out if his body was as solid as it looked.

The V lines of his abs disappeared into the waistband of his joggers and the traitorous part of me wanted to explore with my eyes and hands the rest of his body that was hidden.

"The food is perfect," his voice pulled me out from my trance then a wave of shame hit me. Biting the inside of my cheeks, I forced myself to remember my purpose here, ogling his body wasn't part of our contract.

When I looked up, his shirt was back to its original position and the water on his face was all gone. "I like those leafy things you scattered all over it."

"Scent leaves?"

"That's what it is called?" I nodded. "I like it." His remark was received with a harmless smile that contradicted my immoral thoughts.

Now that I knew what laid underneath his shirt, my eyes continuously strayed to his stomach area, my fingers itched to touch him and I found myself taking steps away from him. Maybe the distance between us would put a stop to my wild imagination.

"Do you want to eat now?" I asked.

"We should wait for my mother, she won't be happy if we eat without her."

I never got a chance to reply before car honks sounded from a distance, followed by the creaking of the gates as it was being opened. The playfulness in King's eyes disappeared, replaced by a seriousness I never thought possible with him.

Mrs. Daniels was finally here.

He must have had the same thought because he edged closer to me, his morose look keeping my feet rooted to the ground. He brought both of his hands on either side of my face, showing me a glimpse of the emotions that were dancing on the surface in his brown orbs; gratitude stood out the most.

A corner of his lip rose slightly but a smile never formed. For the first time since I met King, he wasn't radiating confidence.

"Thank you for agreeing to do this with me," he whispered in a very low voice like the words would get lost if spoken louder than that.

"Don't let her get to you," though the words were directed at me, it felt like he was saying it more for his sake. I offered him a smile, squeezing one of his hands to show my understanding.

The ruckus outside was louder now, a peculiar voice reaching both of our ears; while it had no visible effect on him, it caused me to tremble slightly. His hand immediately reached for mine, it was his turn to squeeze it reassuringly. Interlacing our fingers together, we walked out of the kitchen.

*****

You guysss . . . I have been losing my writing vibe (coupled with the fact that I'm pretty busy) but all thanks to this lovely young lady LauraNaba, here is another chapter. You have to check out her work, Cold at dusk, it's beautiful piece of art.

How did y'all feel about this chapter? I liked it because it was a mix of emotions (these characters have a mind of their own, walahi)