CHAPTER ONE
The Apparatus

 

I felt my eyelids fluttering. They were so heavy with sleep that I gave up the struggle to force them open. Still, my effort was enough for me to see that the room was dark except for the glimmer from the lantern hanging on the wall. I was in the state where my mind supposed I was awake, and yet a part of me knew I was asleep.

I was lying on my side, my face towards the door. I tried turning onto the left side which is my favorite position, and that is when I realized that I wasn’t alone in bed. I had bumped into Vinnie as I tried to turn over. I began to gently extricate myself, however his breathing pattern changed.
 

“Rosanna, are you awake?” his voice sounded rusty.
“Yes, when did you get in?” I asked, my voice neutral.
“A couple of hours ago, you were sound asleep.”
“Hmm…” I said noncommittally. We had had a huge fight in the morning and hadn’t made up yet. I wasn’t ready to be my usual chatty and affectionate self with him, still; my mother had ingrained in me during my growing years, that it was a wife’s responsibility to make sure that her husband had a good meal after returning home from work. Forget that we were both the breadwinners in this marriage! I was still expected to have a hot meal ready by the time Vinnie was home from work even though on most days we returned around the same time.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“Too tired. The meeting with the visitors from Hohoe ended rather late. I had to take them back to their hotel and they insisted that I spend some time with them before leaving. It was hard to refuse because they leave for Hohoe early tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm… well, there is some boiled plantain and spinach stew on the
kitchen counter. I can warm it up for you. It is a pity the lights are off, or else I could have just popped it in the microwave,” I said. 

“It is okay Rosanna, I am not hungry. I had some meat pie at the hotel. I put the food in the fridge. It is still cool, so with any luck the electricity will be back on before it starts going bad. I can have it for dinner tomorrow evening.”  Vinnie placed a large warm hand on my shoulder and I had to restrain myself from shrugging it off. “Rosanna, we have to talk.”
“There is nothing for us to talk about,” I said.
“Don’t be like that,” he pleaded. “You know that I hate it when we fight this way. You always do that! When we have a problem you sulk instead of talking it out.” His voice had now changed from pleading to accusatory.
“I don’t sulk! I am not sulking! I just don’t see what there is to talk about. You have already made up your mind anyway, so what is the use?” I flared.
“I didn’t say I had made up my mind. I said I thought it was the best solution under the circumstances. I wanted us to discuss it. You are the one who lost her temper and started shouting!” he said.
“And you are the one who walked away before we finished talking. Now you want me to pretend as if there is nothing wrong? Well I cannot!” I answered. He dropped his hand from my shoulder and by now I knew him enough to know that he was fighting to keep his temper.
“I did not walk away from you; I HAD to leave for work. I was running late and you know how the traffic gets terrible after 6:30 in the morning. I had to be at work on time because I had to give a presentation at 8am. I told you that we would continue the conversation later,” he said. His tone was measured.

“You said you would call me during the day, and you didn’t. You didn’t even let me know that you would be home late,” I returned. All through work and conversations with my colleagues, the fight with Vinnie had stayed on my mind, and it had been so hard pretending that everything was okay. Vinnie on the other hand was pretty good at compartmentalizing his work life from his home life, and it drove me nuts at times.
“I couldn’t… there was no opportunity. I did try calling when I was leaving the office but for some reason I couldn’t get through. I wasn’t avoiding
you; it has just been such a long day, I didn’t even take a break. I hadn’t eaten all day, not until this evening at the hotel,” he said plaintively. If he expected me to be sympathetic he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Hmm…” was all I would say. We lay down in silence. It was a stalemate. I wanted to make up with Vinnie, to have a rational discussion - after all, it was a momentous step that had ramifications on our marriage, but it was hard for me to be rational about this. How could Vinnie even think of making such a decision? Why was he never content with what we had? Weren’t we happy? I realized that it wasn’t anger that was making me lash out at my husband, but fear…fear of the changes that would inevitably come between us.

The lantern flickered and dimmed further, indicating that the wick would soon die if the fuel was not replenished soon. The room felt warm and I wished the power would be restored very soon. I heard the high-pitched whine of a mosquito and waved my hand in the air hoping to drive it away.
“Rosanna?” his voice sounded tentative. I felt a bit of my anger recede. I didn’t want to continue to fight. It was just too emotionally draining. On the other hand, I didn’t want to pretend that I was fine.
“Yes?” I said.
“Rosanna, if you feel that strongly about it I won’t do it. I hadn’t intended to do it without your full support, anyway. I was just trying to have a discussion with you and let us take everything into consideration.”
“Oh…” I still didn’t feel at ease. My anger was gradually transitioning into guilt. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe I should consider what he had been trying to tell me instead of jumping at him immediately the suggestion had left his lips. What sort of wife was I if my husband couldn’t voice his thoughts without the occasion turning into a fight? Would I rather he edited everything he wanted to talk to me about?
“I am sorry Vinnie, maybe I overreacted,” I said softly.
“No…it is my fault. Forget it, okay? We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” There was no animosity in his voice. It was just like Vinnie to go on as if nothing untoward had occurred. I felt even guiltier.
“We should discuss this. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow?” I said.
“It is okay…You know I hate it when we fight,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder once more. 

 

Why was it so easy for Vinnie to make up when we fought? I relaxed my muscles until I was resting fully against him. As if he had been waiting for that signal, he placed both hands on my shoulder and began to massage them with firm bold strokes. I felt myself loosen up even further. He pulled me to him and held me tight. He began to kiss the area of my neck where it sloped down to my shoulder. I forgot all about the heat, the buzzing mosquito, and the lateness of the hour. My attention was on the feel of his body around mine, the touch of his tongue nuzzling my neck, and his fingers kneading my shoulder blade. With a groan he stopped, and then turned me over so that I was lying on my back, and looked into my face. We could barely see each other’s expression in the dimness, but I still felt the intensity of his gaze.
 

“I am sorry, Vinnie,” I said. He bent over and kissed me, his lips resting lightly on mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, tighter, feeling my lips aggressively attacking his own. My fingers touched his warm smooth back. He was not wearing anything on top, but he had on a pair of shorts. His hand started to pull down the sleeves of my cotton nightgown and I lifted myself up slightly to make the task easier for him. He began to kiss the valley between my breasts, and then he held both breasts, using his two hands, and started kissing both nipples simultaneously. The sensation was indescribably pleasurable.
 

“Oh!” I heard myself cry out, and then my eyes shot open. I was alone in bed. No Vinnie, just me in my big king sized bed. I was breathing fast and heavy as if I had been running a marathon. I was lying on my back, with both hands clenched into fists by my side.
 

“Oooh…” I heard myself moan softly. The dream had been so real it was a shock to wake up. It was as if I could still feel Vinnie’s hands and lips on my body. All the nerves in my body felt so alive…and frustrated.
Unlike my dream, the room was not dark. The light was off, but it was a full moon and white moonlight steamed through the lace curtains. I sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp and it came on. I looked at the wall by the door, and there was no lantern there. It had been another room in a different time in my life. It had been all part of my dream.

 

CHAPTER TWO
The Last Straw

I settled back onto the bed with a sigh. The bedside clock indicated that it was two minutes to four. My alarm would go off in about an hour. There was no way I could get back to sleep. I shut my eyes momentarily, trying to recapture the dream. For some reason, my dream had gone down memory lane to one of the last fights I had had with Vinnie while we lived together. Instead of dwelling on the fight, my mind was on the last scene in the dream when we had started making love.

Without planning it, I found that one of my hands caressing one of my breasts and then moved to the left one. I was still aroused from that imaginary bout of sexual foreplay with Vinnie. After moments of deliberation, I got out of bed and went over to the large wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom. I had to kneel and rummage at the far back where I kept a box of shoes I didn’t often wear. I threw out most of the shoes, taking care not to create a lot of clatter that would wake the others up. I eventually found the package and took it over to bed and opened it. My best friend Sheila had bought it for me when she returned from one of her trips to the States a couple of years back.

“I have a rival for your darling Vincent…something that would keep you company when he isn’t around,” she had said conspiratorially as she handed me the package.
“What is it?” I asked excitedly. I knew Sheila well enough to sense that she was up to mischief. Her eyes had this way of dancing with secret laughter when she was being naughty.
“Oh…just something I bought you from America. I tell you, it was so hard bringing my stuff through Ghana customs. I had to bribe them not to search my luggage,” she said. “Hurry…open it before someone comes. I want to know what you think.” It was a long rectangular brown box with no inscriptions. I shook it and could hear something rattling in it. It didn’t seem very heavy…maybe about 1-1.5kgs. I opened the box and pulled out the object.
 

“SHEILAAA!” I screamed, and dropped the hard long brown plastic penis onto her bed as if it were a living creature.
“SHHHHHH!!!!” she hissed at me, sweeping the object under her pillow as we heard footsteps hurrying toward the door. There was a brief knock, and then the door was shoved open.
“Is everything okay, Aunties?” It was Alice, Sheila’s niece who was spending the holidays with her.
“Everything is fine, Alice,” my friend said. Alice looked intrigued, as if she knew something was up and wanted to be a part of it. However, none of us provided any more information, and she didn’t have the courage to press for more details.
“Okay, Auntie,” she said and turned to leave after one last look in our direction.
“Make sure you close the door behind you properly…oh and start preparing the chicken stew for supper,” her aunt shot back as Alice left the room.
“ARE…YOU...CRAZY?” I hissed immediately I heard her niece’s footsteps recede in the distance.
“Calm down, Rosanna,” Sheila said, and reached a hand under the pillow. I drew back as if the object were a snake.
“Don’t be afraid, it is just plastic,” she said with a laugh as she placed it in my hand.
“I can’t keep this! What if anyone sees it? What would Vinnie think?” I was horrified. I looked down at the object in fascination. Apart from the plastic feel it looked so lifelike; they had even put lines on it that looked like veins. So this was a vibrator? I had come across references to vibrators in novels but I hadn’t envisaged that it would look like this. It was so long.
 

“It uses batteries. I got a pack for you. Let me show you how it works,” Sheila said as she removed the vibrator from my hand.
“What?” Before I could control my thoughts, an image of Sheila pulling down her panties to give me a practical lesson of how to manipulate a vibrator popped into my mind. We had been friends for almost 30 years, but this was one level I didn’t want to reach with her. She knew me well enough to guess what I was thinking.
“Honestly, Rosanna, you have such a dirty mind!” she chuckled. She went to her chest of drawers and returned with a pack of batteries. I watched in silence as she opened the pack and unscrewed the top of the vibrator. “This is where the batteries go…look there is the positive and the negative terminals,” she murmured. Soon, she was screwing back the top. Even before she finished, I heard a deep whirring sound. “Oh…you just turn it this way to put it on, and the opposite way to turn it off. It has three levels of power, see?” she demonstrated, twisting the cap three times. The whirring sound became more and more insistent. Finally to my relief she turned it off and placed it in my hand once more. “I think you can take it from there. I don’t need to demonstrate how it is used, do I?” she laughed.

I tittered nervously, but I had to admit even if only to myself that despite my horror, I was intrigued. Of course, Sheila would know how I would feel about her gift. She knew me better than anyone else. We had been very close growing up. Our mothers had been close friends, growing up in the same village, and that may have been enough to have created a bond between us. In addition, we were only four months apart in age. We also ended up in the same boarding school. Sheila and I were different temperamentally. Sheila was naturally adventurous and always getting into one scrape after another (and dragging me along with her). Sheila was the first in our posse to kiss a boy, to have a steady boyfriend, and to wear a bra. She always regaled us with her escapades. My mother loved her, but said she was a bad influence on me, while her mother loved me because she said I was a good influence on her daughter. After we finished sixth form, Sheila went to America to live with her father’s sister and attend college there. We kept in touch with letters and phone calls.
 

Sheila met her future husband during college. Paul was a second generation Ghanaian-American. She returned home with him after earning both a bachelors’ and masters in engineering. At first I was worried that our different lifestyles and educational levels would weaken our bond, but she was the same mischievous person she had always been, laughing her way through life and all its problems. The family divided their time between Accra and New York.
 

I hadn’t used “Vincent Junior” (as Sheila had named the apparatus) many times in the past two years. I felt odd and guilty using it, and I also
had to be careful that the bedroom door was locked so that no one would catch me in the act. Afterward, I would sneak “VJ” into the bathroom and wash it with soap and water, dry it carefully and stow it away under my pile of shoes in the corner of the wardrobe. I hadn’t yet told Vinnie about Sheila’s gift. However, this morning, there was no room in my mind for guilt. 

 

The dream had left me throbbing and moist below the waist and I had to act fast before the rest of the house woke up. I held VJ in one hand and twisted the cap so that it was at the lowest speed. I lifted up my nightgown with the other hand and moved the crotch of my panties to the side. I closed my eyes as I placed the tip of the equipment at the opening and pushed it gently inside. It took a while to get a quarter of the length inside. I tried hard to visualize the dream, to replay the sensation of Vinnie’s hands on my breasts, but although the picture came to mind, it was hard to hold onto it. I turned my thoughts to a phantom, a nameless man who was touching me all over, and that seemed to work. I began to move my hips in circles and then blindly reached out with one hand to increase the level on the vibrator. The whirring became louder and then sputtered and stopped, and started…and stopped. I pressed hard against it, but it switched to an irregular reluctant whine. The power was not enough to give me any relief.
“No, oh no!” I muttered aloud and then pulled out the vibrator. The batteries must be almost dead. I hadn’t changed them in close to a year. I did have some batteries somewhere in one of the drawers, but I didn’t have the inclination to start searching for them. I was still frustrated, but the desire to satisfy that itch was dying down.

I looked around me. It was a beautiful room. The room was decorated with pictures from my life with Vinnie; our wedding pictures, photos of our first anniversary, and photos of family. I had a study area with the Apple MacBook Pro Vinnie had bought for me on my last birthday.  The latest model of the mini-iPad (my present for our last anniversary) had been charging on the desk when the power had gone out. My dressing table was loaded with cosmetics, perfumes and jewelry. I had a wall-mounted 55-inch flat screen TV and a DVD player. There was the portable “boom box” which I could connect to my iPhone to listen to music and audiobooks while I went about my daily tasks. My wardrobe had shoes, dresses, and jeans with expensive brand names. Vinnie took care of me and made sure I had the best of the best. That evidence of how much he had lavished on me over the years made me angrier than I had ever been before in my life.

I snatched up the vibrator. I forgot it was early in the morning, that people were still sleeping, and that I didn't want anyone to ever catch me with VJ. I was overcome with rage and hurled the apparatus across the room where it crashed into the mirror and shattered it.
“I hate you Vincent! I hate you!” I muttered. I should have felt guilty, I should have asked for forgiveness, but I didn’t. Even though I heard the house stirring, I didn’t stop pounding into my pillow. “I hate you! I do, I do!”

​

 

CHAPTER THREE
The Family Meeting
 

Mummy’s eyes held mine for a split second and then slithered away. Her upper teeth bit down into her quivering lower lip, a gesture that was so revealing that I felt sorry for her even while my annoyance toward her had not dissipated. Mummy and Uncle Gabriel were side by side on the long settee, while I sat adjacently on the shorter settee with Auntie Winifred.
 

“God would never give you a burden that is more than you can deal with. He knows our every wish even before we are able to articulate them in our thoughts. He will make a way where there seems to be no way…” Auntie Winfred droned on. I kept a polite look on my face and allowed my thoughts to drift.

It was two weeks since I awoken the household by smashing my bedroom mirror in the early hours of the morning. The sound of shattering glass had sent the household members racing for my bedroom in the mistaken notion that they were rescuing me from armed robbers. I barely had time to sit up in bed and push down my nightgown when they burst into the room. It took a while to explain that no one was attacking me. I didn’t have a story for why the mirror was shattered, and so told a version of the truth—I had had a bad dream, woke up upset and had thrown something at the mirror. That “something”, fortunately, had bounced after impact with the mirror and had landed underneath the bed. Since then, the household members had been tiptoeing around me, as if afraid that the slightest thing would set me off again. Mummy had repeatedly asked me what was going on, but as close as we were, I found it hard to articulate the pent up emotions that were threatening to explode from within. Then three days ago I had informed her of the decision that had left her bewildered and upset. She had tried to dissuade me, but I refused to change my mind.
 

The fact she had asked Uncle Gabriel and Auntie Winfred to speak to me was a clear indication about how worried she was, for Mummy had always believed in solving problems within the immediate family. Uncle Gabriel was my father’s younger brother and head of the family, and Auntie Winifred his much younger wife. I had always held Uncle Gabriel in awe. He was tall with piercing brown eyes that seemed to see all my shortcomings, and dark skin that got more and more leathery as the years progressed. His short hair has been grey as long as I have known him, and the hair, in combination with his demeanor led credence to his role as family head.

 

Uncle Gabriel has played an integral role in my life since I lost Daddy almost 20 years ago. He was my father’s last surviving sibling and after the funeral, he had declared that he was going to represent my father in my life from then on. My mother kept him up to date with important events taking place in my life, when I graduated from university, when I got my first job, and when Vinnie and I started planning to get married. Uncle Gabriel played the role Daddy would have played had he been alive during these life changing events. I was grateful to him for taking his responsibilities seriously, and until now, have always been respectful and submissive in his presence. He had barely said a word since they arrived, and had been sitting upright, hands interlocked. Most of the time his eyelids were partially shuttered as if he were viewing something downward, but periodically when one of us said something, he would shoot one of his piercing looks at the person before reverting to his previous posture.

Auntie Winifred was his antithesis—short, round, fair, and talkative. She was always bustling around, giving everyone the benefit of her opinions, and acting as Uncle Gabriel’s spokesperson. I liked Auntie Winifred but did not really take her advice seriously most of the time because I had found out that she looked at the world with a simplistic attitude. As usual, she was not telling me anything new, just repeating all those worn out bible verses I have heard several times about adversity and perseverance.

And what does she know about my type of adversity? I think. She has a husband and four children. She has been married for over 10 years and she is still younger than I am. Try being nearly 40, childless and with no man to count on, and then come back and preach to me about patience in the face of adversity.

 

“A Christian marriage is not one that is abandoned in the face of difficulty. Bad times are when we need to cling to God, and giving up is just giving in to the devil,” Winfred intoned, nodding enthusiastically. I began to get angry at her sanctimonious speech.
 

“I am not giving in to the devil. I want out of this marriage,” I said sharply, making the two women jump. Uncle Gabriel’s eyes opened a fraction wider,
but otherwise he gave no indication that my words that affected him.
 

“Rosanna!” wailed my mother, both at my rudeness and stubbornness. I sensed her embarrassment at my behavior but was determined to be heard.
 

“No, Mummy. I have listened to what you and Auntie have to say and it is now my turn. I have been married to my husband for 10 years and haven’t lived with him for the last seven years of that marriage; in fact, I have only seen him twice in close to eight years. I am almost 40 years old and soon it will be close to impossible for me to have children of my own. My friends are all married and some of them even have children who are almost ready for marriage. Vincent has left me in a state of limbo where I am married in name, but do not have a man by my side. This is not what I signed up for.”
Now the women were looking at me with eyes wide open and mouths slightly ajar. They looked identical. A part of me wanted to burst out laughing. Uncle Gabriel didn’t move.

“But…But… Rosie, you can’t just leave the marriage! From what Vincent tells us, he is at the point of a breakthrough. Things will change in a year or two. This is not the time to give up. You have suffered all these years. How would you feel if you get divorced and soon afterward, he has everything you have been wishing for all these years? How would you feel if another woman ends up enjoying the fruits of your labor?” Auntie Winifred asked.
“That is a risk I am prepared to take. I have heard that song over and over again. Next year will be different… next year will be different…over and over again. I can take no more.” My nails were digging into the palms of my hands. I was trying to stop myself from saying more than I should, and I felt myself getting close to tears.

“But…it is not right…Efo, do something!” Winfred wailed as she turned to her husband. “Efo” means “brother” in our language. Uncle Gabriel looked up and I felt a surge of acid in my stomach. I didn’t know how to handle him. I didn’t want to be rude to him, and yet I was determined that he wouldn’t make me bend to his will.
 

“Rosanna, I have one question for you,” he said in that low gravelly voice that always reminded me of Daddy.
“Yes Uncle Gabriel?” I tried hard to stifle the quiver in my voice.
“What has changed?”
“Pardon? Please Uncle I don’t understand the question,” I said.
“I saw you less than a month ago. The situation with Vincent was still the same as it is now. You seemed resigned to it. What happened between then and now?”
 

I fumbled to find an answer. He was right and wrong. Yes, on the surface nothing had changed over the years, but deep down I had become disillusioned and pessimistic, and the last straw that had broken the camel’s back was my dream and its aftermath. I did not know how to explain it to him. Then I heard Mummy speak and could not believe what she was saying in response to Uncle Gabriel’s question.
“I think it is because she had a dream two weeks ago. That is when she changed…that is when it all started.”
“A dream?” Auntie Winfred perked up. “Was it a vision? A spiritual attack? It cannot be from God, can it Efo? Maybe we should fast and pray? What do you think Efo?”
 

Uncle Gabriel ignored his wife. “Is what your mother saying true, Rosanna? Did you have a dream that is guiding your decision to end your marriage?”
I felt my face heat up. I didn’t know how to answer the question. They were thinking I had a dream that had given me a sign to end my marriage. My dream may have been what had given me a push to get on that path, but if I mentioned that a dream had played a role in my decision, they would ask me to recount the dream so that they could judge its authenticity for themselves. I decided the best thing to do would be not to respond. I bent my head and used my right foot to rub the surface of the floor. However Mummy was not done with her acts of betrayal.
“She didn’t tell me specifically it was a dream, but she had a nightmare two weeks ago and threw something into the mirror in her bedroom and it smashed. The noise was so loud that we all woke up and raced to her bedroom…we were so scared we had been attacked by armed robbers. You know they broke into Papa Jato’s house two months ago,” Mummy said. I couldn’t believe she was spilling everything out. 

 

Auntie Winfred looked very excited; eyes wide and mouth open as if she couldn’t wait to chip in. She was practically drooling. I was not surprised—dreams were Auntie Winfred’s specialty. She was always telling us her dreams and their meaning, or interpreting other people’s dreams. Once, she had refused to sit on a bus on a trip to her hometown for a wedding because of a dream she had had the previous night. When she learned later on that the bus had a flat tire on the way to its destination, she had used that as confirmation that God had wanted to protect her from harm (even though the only harm had been a one-hour delay in the journey). I could feel her twitching with eagerness to get her “hands” on my dream. I didn’t look up. There was no way I was going to describe that dream to them; absolutely no way.

 

CHAPTER FOUR
The Counselors

Silence fell among us. Even Auntie Winfred stopped her yammering. Uncle Gabriel had asked me a question and was still waiting for an answer I couldn’t give him. My mother and I had never discussed sex before. How could I describe an erotic dream to her in the presence of the family head and his wife? Also, there was no way I could talk about my vibrator and how it had let me down when I tried to slake my lust after the dream. I watched Uncle Gabriel stretch out his long legs for a few seconds and move them back against the settee.

“Rosanna?” he said quietly. “Rosanna,” Although the level of his voice had not increased the tone was more intense. I forced my head up and looked into his sharp discerning eyes that felt they were stripping me of my layers. He gazed at me for a while and then nodded, as if he saw everything, even my disastrous episode with VJ.

“Rosanna, none of us here can fully understand what you have gone through these past years because we have not been in your position before. I must say that I am very proud of you; not only of your hard work and success, but of the way you have conducted yourself with dignity over the years. Many women in your position would have moped around or acted in a scandalous fashion, but you forged ahead regardless of all difficulties and you even have a successful career. Despite the envious gossip mongers in the family I have never heard anyone say anything negative about you. You mind your own business, but you are always there to lend a helping hand when needed. You are held up as an example for other women in the family. You are my daughter, and I know that your father, my brother even though not with us in the physical, is still proud of you.” 

 

Unexpected tears gushed into my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. It was the first time that Uncle Gabriel had indicated that he felt more for me than the responsibility tradition had handed to him. The tender note in his voice reminded me so much of Daddy and the numerous times he had comforted me-- like when I fell off my bicycle and hurt myself when I was seven years old, or the time I had sobbed in his arms because I had not gotten a part in the school Christmas play, or just before his death when he had comforted me after one of my classmates had been severely injured in a car accident and we thought she would not make it. Before this meeting, I would have been thrilled if Uncle Gabriel had given this speech, but now it was acting as a deterrent to the decision I had taken.

“Thank you, Uncle Gabriel,” I felt the need to acknowledge his praise, but was not certain of how to do that.
“Rosanna, I know it is tough for you but divorce is not the answer,” he went on. “This branch of the Acolatse family does not deal in divorce. We have good marriages, bad marriages, indifferent marriages, but divorce is not in our vocabulary. Spouses work through their problems and if they cannot resolve it, the families intervene. We don’t throw away marriages like dirty water down a gutter. Nowadays married couples bandy the word “divorce” anytime things go wrong. It is all that western influence from the television programs that the youth watch. No matter how the world changes, our family will still hold onto its values. You and Vincent are a good match despite the difficult times you are going through at the moment. I don’t think you have gotten to the stage where you should be considering divorce,” he ended.
“Your uncle is right,” Auntie Winfred chipped in.
“Uncle Gabriel, thank you for your advice. I am not coming to this decision out of the blue. It is something I have considered for at least two years. I have talked to Vincent but he won’t listen to me. There is nothing more I can do,” I said.
“Rosanna that is not the whole truth is it?” Uncle Gabriel said.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“I said, that is not the whole truth, is it? According to your mother, Vincent has offered an alternate solution, hasn’t he?”
Mummy’s face was averted from me as if she had been anticipating the glare I had sent her way. Was there no secret of mine she had not spilled to Uncle Gabriel?
“That is not a solution for me,” I muttered.
“What do you mean it is not a solution for you?” Auntie Winfred burst out. “I cannot believe my ears! A million women would jump at that opportunity, and you threaten your husband with divorce!”
“Winifred.” The soft spoken word from her husband made her shut her mouth with a snap. “Rosanna, why is that not a solution you are willing to consider?” he asked me.
“I don’t want to leave here and move to America,” I said bluntly. “I have my mother here, and I have my life here. Vincent promised to come back and I expect him to keep his word and not ask me to come and live with him there.” Auntie Winfred gasped at my audacity but refrained from speaking.
“I thought it was just for a year or two while Vincent sorts out some issues?” Uncle Gabriel inquired.
“Well…that is what he says, but when he left home initially it was supposed to be for a year or two. It is now going on seven years,” I returned.
“So to summarize the situation, Vincent left for America. He was going to work there for a year or so and return home. He has been there longer than anticipated but believes he will be back here in two years. He says you can come and stay with him there while he sorts things out but you don’t want to go. You are tired of waiting, and if he doesn’t return you will dissolve the marriage?” Uncle Gabriel asked dryly.
“It sounds like I am acting selfishly, but that’s not it,” I muttered.
“No, Rosanna, I do not think you are a selfish person, however I am not convinced you have considered all angles of this situation. Bottom line, you are blackmailing your husband to either return prematurely or lose you, and you know that most men would not allow themselves to be pushed when it is something that important to them. In short, you are breaking up your marriage because, even if Vincent is one of the few men who succumbs to your demands, how do you think it is going to affect your relationship from now onward? He is going to be resentful because you made him come home when he had not finished what he went there to do. All I ask is that you think carefully over this before you take any drastic and irrevocable actions.” 

I nodded and then tried hard to swallow. Presented the way he had done made it seem like I was throwing a temper tantrum because my husband wasn’t doing as I wished, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Still, I didn’t think explaining things would change Uncle Gabriel’s mind on this issue. After all, hadn’t he already said that divorce was not the Acolatse way?
“I think we have gone on this topic long enough. It is late and Rosanna has work tomorrow. Is there anything anyone would like to add before we end the meeting?” Uncle Gabriel asked. Mummy shook her head, but Auntie Winfred jumped in before her husband had even completed his sentence.
“Efo…hmmm…you are right. You have said it all. All that I want to add is that Rosie needs to be strong. She is being tempted and she needs to hold on and claim the victory. Rosie, you have a good husband. How many men will go to America and send their wives money every month as well as all those presents? What about the flat screen televisions, computers, iPods, iPads, cell phones, camcorders, and clothes…all those stuff he sends to you and your family? Doesn’t it show that he loves you and is thinking about you and planning to come back to you? This is the time to hang on and not let go. If you get divorced, where are you going to find another man? How are you going to have those children you yearn for? Aren’t you cutting your nose to spite your face? That is all I have to say.” 

 

I was surprised she had been able to stop there. By now they were ready to leave. Mummy thanked Uncle Gabriel and Auntie Winfred for their help, and I forced myself to echo her gratitude. I stood with Mummy by the gate where we remained till the car receded in the distance, but immediately the vehicle was out of sight I stormed indoors, raced to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I couldn’t believe what Mummy had done. It was the first time she had called in Uncle Gabriel to intervene and I had been taken off guard at all she had revealed. Mummy and I were very close; she was exactly 17 years older than I was and had been a stay at home mom when I was growing up. I worshiped Daddy, but interacted more with Mummy on a daily basis. We had gotten even closer after his death, and I had lived with her these past seven years ever since Vinnie left the country. I was used to sharing my thoughts and feelings with her without reservation and vice versa. We acted more like sisters than mother and daughter ...until her betrayal. I was aware that the fact that she had done so indicated her level of anxiety and hopelessness, but it still made me furious. How could I trust her in the future?

I didn’t come out for supper and no one came to tell me the meal was ready. I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the house; running water, dishing rattling, low voices speaking as if someone was ill. I listened to Mummy’s footsteps as they traversed the corridor towards her bedroom and stiffened as they paused for about a minute behind my bedroom door. I hoped she was not going to knock on the door or try to enter the room. I didn’t know what I would say to her if she did so.

I lay in the darkness reflecting over what Uncle Gabriel had said. I agreed with his assessment of the situation to an extent but felt I had reached the point where I needed to give an ultimatum to salvage any hope of my marriage to Vincent. Yet I was terrified of taking a step that would make Uncle Gabriel disappointed in me, especially after all the praise he had heaped on my head. How I wished he had told me how he felt about me long before this issue had come up! What would he do if I pursued my ultimatum? If it came to a divorce, would he wash his hands off me? I suppose I was too old to want his approval, but Uncle Gabriel was the last strong link to Daddy, and disappointing him would be the same as letting Daddy down.

An image of Vinnie came to mind; tall, dark and lean, with liquid intense intelligent brown eyes. I recalled that soft loving expression in his eyes as I approached the altar on the day we got married, and how his hands trembled as his fingers slipped the wedding band over my finger. I remembered the mix of searing passion and tenderness in his eyes the first time we made love. How could things between us have come down to this?
As I lay there trying to ignore the hunger growls from my tummy, I was so glad I kept one significant secret from Mummy: I had mailed my ultimatum letter to Vinnie nearly a week ago.

 

CHAPTER FIVE
The Past

Vinnie Tagoe was the last person I thought I would have married. When we were in the University he was the student the girls laughed at and the one the men dismissed. Vinnie had three strikes against him: he was older than his peers; more of a nontraditional student than a young college student. He had a quiet personality and usually appeared just before classes started, and disappeared immediately after. Lastly, he was obviously poor and made no obvious effort to hide it. He seemed to pay little attention to his appearance; his shirts were rumpled most of the time and we had seen him wear flip-flops to class on occasion. He was tall and lanky with shoulders that looked bigger in proportion to his hips. I didn’t know the color of his eyes then because I seldom looked into his face. He had sideburns and the beginning of a goatee. When the girls laughed at Vinnie I didn’t join them, not because I didn’t agree with their comments about his appearance, but because I knew what it was like to be poor. However, I thought poverty didn’t mean one shouldn’t take care of one’s appearance. I was partly sorry for him but even more so, I admired him for being brave enough to not care what anyone thought.
 

We spoke only a few times; the nods and greetings I exchanged any time our paths crossed. I would say “Hi Vincent!” If I was alone he would look at me briefly and say “Hi” but if I was with other people he would only nod in response. 

“He is treating you as if he is doing you a favor by acknowledging your salutation. I don’t know why you bother,” Millicent, my roommate had once said angrily. But I continued to greet him anyway, and to this day I cannot explain why. It became a game I played with myself. Was he going to speak, nod, or just wave? Once he dropped a stack of books outside a classroom and I stopped and helped him gather them. All he did was to thank me by grunting.

Vinnie was two years ahead of me. According to rumors, he should have graduated a year before I entered college, but he had to repeat a whole year because he had failed his exams. The other rumor about Vincent was that he had started university late because it had taken him three tries
before he passed the entrance exam. There was more gossip I dismissed: the assertion that he had sold dog chains on the streets, and that he drove a taxi for a living.
 

I spent my first two years in the university as a resident, but lived off campus during the last year. Mummy had some health issues that year and I felt more comfortable being with her in the evenings than stressing over her at school. After I graduated I fulfilled my national service requirements teaching English and history in a co-ed secondary school and then stayed on as a permanent staff afterward. I was satisfied with my lot. The school was so close to home that I could get there in 15 minutes. I enjoyed the challenge of keeping the students on their toes and I liked the staff members. I was content to continue with things until someone suitable came along to marry. Marriage was important to me and I felt that teaching was a job that would be the best fit for a woman who wanted to combine a career with a family, plus the long vacations would give me the opportunity to play an active role in family life.

I met Vinnie three years later. It was at a wedding reception of one of my teaching colleagues. I was at the reception seated in a corner of the room, munching on a chicken thigh when a young man dropped into the chair next to me. He wore a navy blue suit, an immaculate white shirt without a tie, and black leather shoes that gleamed in the afternoon sun. He was clean shaven with a long lean face and dark brown skin. His hair was short and trim. Despite his spit spot appearance it was his eyes that drew me. They were intelligent, intense deep brown eyes that were sending me a message I felt I needed to decipher. Most women I talked to were attracted to attributes in men such as like height, skin color, personality, wealth and looks. For me, nothing mattered as much as the eyes. They told me a lot about the essence of a man. The man and I looked at each other for a long moment and I felt my heart skip a beat. Who was this man?

“Hello Rosanna,” he said in a warm dark voice that accelerated my heart rate all the more. It brought the image of thick luscious honey to mind. I felt I had known this man all my life. Maybe this is what the romance novels described as love at first sight. How did he know my name?
“Hello,” I responded.
“Long time, no see. How is everything?” he asked.
“Fine…thank you. How are you doing?” My mind was frantically searching
for any recollection of this man. Was it primary school? Secondary school? University? Maybe a relative of one of my past students? He was observing me with an amused expression.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” 

I couldn’t lie. “No…I am sorry…I have a bad memory for faces. Where did we meet?”
“University of Ghana. You were a couple of years behind me but we lived in the same hall.”
“Oh?” I responded, trying to picture this man on campus. There is no way I would have forgotten him if I had met him. He was too striking to be ignored.
“I am Vincent. Vincent Tagoe,” he elaborated. I must have looked blankly at him because he went on. “You once helped me pick up my books. I know I look a bit different. I used to wear slippers to class?” he added with a wry smile.

Oh my gosh! This heartthrob with magnificent eyes was Vincent Tagoe, the man that both sexes dismissed as inconsequential? Was this the face that had been hiding under the side whiskers and goatee? Wow! I was taken aback and slightly embarrassed because the reminder about his penchant for slippers was what had sparked my memory.
“Hello Vincent,” I said weakly.
“I am glad I found you. I always wondered what happened to you and then recently Christine was talking about her fellow teachers and mentioned your name. She told me you were going to be at her wedding,” Vinnie said.
“You know Christine?” I asked feebly. My mind was racing to discern why on earth Vinnie had thought about me all these years as we had barely communicated while in school.
“Yes, she is my cousin,” he said.
“Oh, I see. And why were you looking for me all these years?” I asked. “We hardly knew each other.”
 

He looked intently into my eyes and I felt a warm surge go through me. “I know something about you,” he said.
“What?” I asked feeling breathless.
“I know you are very kind,” he said not taking his eyes off me. It was the last thing I expected.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You were the only girl on campus who spoke to me without insult or condescension. You always greeted me when we met, even though sometimes I did not acknowledge your salutations. When my books were scattered on the corridor you did not hesitate to help me even though most of the students were around, and you did so without any appearance of self-consciousness. That was very rare and perhaps that is why you stayed in my mind long afterward,” he elaborated.
“Oh…that was nothing,” I said, feeling like I was being given credit for something I had not earned.
“It meant a lot to me,” he returned. I looked down at the plate on my lap only to discover that two of the chicken pieces had ended up on the ground.
“Oh no!” I exclaimed. We looked at each other and laughed. Vinnie helped me dispose of the chicken. I noticed the time and realized I needed to start heading home.
“It was nice meeting you again Vincent. I have to leave so that I don’t get home too late.”
“Did you come with your own transport? If not do you have someone to give you a lift home?” he asked.
“No and no. I am going to catch a taxi at the junction,” I said.
“Let me walk you to the junction,” Vinnie said. I had already spoken to the bride and groom and so we slipped away without much ado. We walked in silence to the junction. The silence was comfortable, but there was an undercurrent between us (at least from my end). I wanted to meet Vinnie again but wasn’t sure how to make my wishes known. The walk seemed to be very short even though it hadn’t appeared so when I had arrived at the church earlier. Before long, we were at the junction and Vincent was flagging down taxis. All too soon a taxi driver drew to a halt at the side of the road.
“Where are you going Sir?” he asked Vincent. Vincent turned an enquiring look at me.
“Mamprobi…not far from the school,” I responded.
“How much will you charge?” Vincent demanded. I stood in a haze as they haggled over the fare. Before long, things were settled regarding the fare and Vincent paid the driver, ignoring all my protests.
“Goodbye, Vincent,” I said, trying hard not to let my disappointment show.
“Bye, Rosanna,” he responded. He opened the door for me and after I got in, he shut it behind me with a thud. The driver shifted the gear from park to neutral and then to first gear, and turned on the traffic indicator.
“Wait!” Vincent said loudly. The driver braked, the tires squealing in protest. Vincent opened the door and joined me. The driver took off without much ado. Vincent and I looked at each other.
“I hope you don’t mind that I came along for the ride,” he said.
I felt a warm glow of pleasure. The day was so beautiful and I wished it would never, ever end.
“No, I don’t mind…I am happy you are here with me,” I answered.

 

CHAPTER SIX
The Proposal

Whenever I got angry with Vinnie (which was now quite often) I tried to remember the reasons I fell in love with him. I remembered the early days when I daydreamed about him from the moment I woke up until I went to bed, and how sometimes I was even fortunate enough to take him with me into sleep, and how I would leap out of bed each morning because it was a day bringing me closer to another opportunity to spend more time with him. We talked several times a day and saw each other whenever possible. It was hard to say goodbye at the end of our time together, so on many occasions he would ride with me to my home and then I would ride back with him to town. It was crazy, but I didn’t care.

I remembered the long distance conversations I had with Sheila while she was in America, telling her the attributes of the man I had fallen madly in love with. “He makes me happy. He is everything I ever wanted in a man without even knowing it. He is so handsome! I love his eyes. He is thoughtful and brilliant. He knows a lot about everything and he is hardworking. He doesn’t look down on people because they are poor but neither is he intimidated by the wealthy or people far older than him. You should have seen him with Uncle Gabriel! Oh Sheila, he is the best kisser in the whole wide world, and even when we are only holding hands, my insides dissolve as if we are making love.”
“The best kisser in the whole wide world, eh, Rosanna Acolaste? And how many men did you kiss before coming to that statistically significant conclusion?” Sheila had teased.
“Not many…only two other guys as you know. But I can tell that Vinnie is the best!” I said recklessly.
“And is there something you are hiding from me? How do you know about insides dissolving when one is making love?” Sheila persisted with her joshing.

 

My laughter was threaded with a hint of embarrassment, but this was
Sheila and we told each other everything. “Stop teasing. I know I am babbling and acting irrationally about Vincent. I am just so happy! Sometimes I know it will go on forever and other times I am terrified it is going to end.”
“It is not going to end. I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposes marriage soon,” Sheila soothed.
“He did last night. That is what I called to tell you and digressed,” I said, and then had to hold the phone away from my ears as Sheila began to shriek with excitement.
“I cannot believe it! You only met him again two weeks ago! That is the quickest proposal I have ever heard of. How did he propose? Tell me every detail! When do you plan to get married?” she asked.
“As soon as possible. We wouldn’t mind just having the engagement and a court ceremony but Mummy wants a wedding. The earliest time will probably be in 6-8 weeks,” I explain.
“SO SOON? That is quick. Can’t you wait a little bit? The semester just started and it will be hard for me to travel to Ghana. If you make the date three months from now I can be your bridesmaid,” Sheila coaxed. I was tempted. I wanted Sheila to share the experience with me, but wouldn’t change my mind and delay the wedding even for her.
“No, I am sorry, Sheila. It won’t be the same without you, but I don’t want to delay it for three months,” I said.
“Wait…why not? Don’t tell me you are… Rosie, do you need to get married?” she asked in a low voice.
“Oh no…I am not pregnant! Vinnie and I haven’t… That is why we want to get married,” I stammered.
“I don’t understand. You want to get married because you haven’t done it? Or what you are trying to say is that you want to make sure you are married before making love? Vinnie is against premarital sex, eh? Hmm…I am sure he is going to think I am a bad influence in your life when he gets to know me,” Sheila mused.
“No, it is not that. We need to get married because it is hard to keep our hands off each other,” I burst out and then looked furtively around to make
sure no one was there to overhear my conversation. It felt so strange talking to Sheila about this; usually she was the one regaling me about her exploits in the romance arena.
“So if you can’t keep your hands off each other why not just do it? You plan to get married anyway and as long as you use protection you won’t get pregnant. You can hang on for three months until I can be part of the wedding. I…” I cut into her persuasive arguments.
“Sheila there is not enough privacy for us to make love. Each time we start down that path, we get interrupted and I don’t think we can afford to be checking in and out of hotels, not to even talk about the sneaking around we’d have to do…. We are getting married so why not sooner than later?”
“Are you sure it is love and not lust?” Sheila asked, a concerned note in her voice. “It is not everyone you have the hots for that you should marry. Sometimes it is best to just sleep with the person and get it out of your system rather than pay for a mistake the rest of your life.”
 

“I do love Vinnie… but I also lust after him,” I admitted in a very low tone, taking another furtive look around the room.
Sheila laughed and laughed, and when she had recovered her breath she asked me to give her a gist of some of the experiences we had gone through having our privacy invaded and so I spent the next half hour reliving Vinnie’s whirlwind courtship.

For our second meeting, Vinnie passed by my school after work and we went to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Afterward he walked me home. We stood outside the gate talking desultory, but reluctant to leave each other. Being in close proximity to Vinnie made me feel as if I was experiencing a low grade fever. I was also conscious of a feeling of heaviness below my waist, something I normally experienced during my period as well as a sweet feeling between my legs that made press my thighs together periodically. I had to hold back from an impulse to touch him. I didn’t think the attraction was one-sided either, or why would he still be lingering at my gate? I had to go in soon; it was past time for the gate to be locked for the night and also Mummy wouldn’t go to bed until she was sure I was safely home. When I finally announced I was going indoors, he reached out and touched the left side of my face, and then drew me close to him. I lifted my head just in time to meet his lips with mine. We clung to each other briefly and then let go when we were hit with the lights of an approaching vehicle.
 

After the first kiss we wanted to kiss more and more, but there were very few opportunities for us. He visited me at home, but Mummy operated her business from home and was there most of the time. We also lived with two of my cousins. There was no privacy. Vinnie’s home was nearly two hours away and he lived in a compound house. We couldn’t kiss in public because it was not a common Ghanaian practice. My job as a teacher of young and impressionable children meant I couldn’t afford to act brazenly. My past and present students lived all over the city and when I went about my daily routines, it was not unusual to hear someone shout “Teacher!” and come over to greet me. How could I establish discipline among the students or counsel them in matters of decorum if I went about necking in public?
 

One Saturday evening we went to watch a movie together. Before the film was 10 minutes in, Vinnie and I were holding hands. Our hands were joined loosely at first, and then the clasp became tighter and tighter. Vinnie used his thumb to stroke the back of my hand, alternating between whorls and vertical strokes. I lost track of what was going on in the movie and my whole world was centered on what he was doing to me. I felt as if I was gradually melting into a puddle of molten desire.

“How are you finding the show?” he murmured after about half an hour.
“Good…I don’t know…It is hard to concentrate, with what you are doing to me,” I admitted.
“Do you want us to leave?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes!” I said and scrambled to pick up my purse. We stumbled over the legs of people in our row and got out of the theater.
“Do you mind if we go to my place? It is half an hour from here,” Vinnie asked.
I took a deep breath and let it out with my sigh of “yes.”
“Taxi!” Vinnie immediately began to flag down a passing vehicle. Fortunately the driver acquiesced and we tumbled into the cab without even attempting to pre-bargain with the driver. As the driver weaved through traffic toward the destination, we sat on opposite sides of the back seat, but our hands were joined in the middle. I had to consciously make an effort to draw in rasping breaths. I knew by accepting his invitation I had signaled to Vinnie that I was ready to take things to the next level.

 

The nearest I had come to such a situation was in my second year at university when Kojo Amissah had invited me to his room after he had taken me out to watch a concert. He kissed me immediately we entered the room and then went out to talk to his next door neighbor. While he was away, I took a look around his room and saw evidence of a serious girlfriend—the studio portrait of the two of them on his desk and a card prominently displayed with the words “ To my Beloved Boyfriend on Valentine’s Day ” in the title. When Kojo returned I informed him that I had to leave. He did his best to persuade me to stay but I didn’t. Since then, most of my relationships with men had been platonic or had not gotten anywhere close to this level.

Vinnie lived in a large compound house. It had been a family house and the owners had decided to rent out rooms. When we arrived there were tenants bustling in the courtyard, some returning from town, others on their way out. Some women were busy cooking supper over coal pots. Everyone who saw Vinnie began calling out greetings. When we got to his room, Vinnie pulled open a screen door and then unlocked a green wooden door with chipped paint. He shut both doors behind us and flipped on the light. The front part of the room was a sitting room and kitchen, and the back was the sleeping section. The two areas were demarcated by a curtain. The bathroom and toilet facilities were outside in the courtyard and were shared by all members of the compound.

I dropped my purse on the sofa and looked around. I saw a stack of books on a desk and went over to examine them, partly out of shyness but also because the types of books people read gave me an insight to their personality. An  old and battered-looking almanac, an economics textbook, a New King James bible, several Agatha Christie novels, a book with a French title (could he read in French?), and a biography on Muhammad Ali. It was hard for me to pigeonhole Vinnie’s taste in reading.
 

“Rosanna?” I looked in the direction of his voice and my knees buckled. He stretched out a hand and I moved to his side. He pressed me against him and I buried my head in the nook of his shoulder and then lifted my face to his for a kiss. Just as our lips touched there was a knock on the door.
“Brother Vincent!” It was a woman’s voice. Vinnie pushed me aside. I sat on the sofa and he went over to the door and opened it. Through the screen door I could see a young lady in khaki shorts and a tank top. She was holding a cup in hand. “Hi Bro Vincent, I just wanted to borrow some sugar,” she continued.

“Borrow some sugar?” that is the oldest ploy for barging into a neighbor’s home! Why can’t she be more original? I thought. Vincent opened the screen door and she slid into the room. She was a couple of inches shorter than I was, so perhaps around 5 feet 3 inches, but her slender frame made her appear taller. She was pretty and her short hair devoid of any chemicals made her even more striking. She stared at me with unabashed curiosity, but Vinnie seemed oblivious to her interest. He took the cup from her and went over the area that served as the kitchen. Moments later he was back and handed the cup to the girl. “Here you are Letty.”
“Thank you Bro Vincent, I will return it as soon as possible,” she said, gazing into his face admiringly. Vinnie waved a hand dismissively. “No, you don’t have to do that. Neighbors help one another.”
Thank goodness he told her not to bother; she would have turned up half an hour later using the “I am returning the sugar I borrowed” excuse . I thought.
Letty lingered in the doorway as if reluctant to leave. Vincent seemed to get the message.
“Oh, forgive my rudeness. Rosanna this is Letitia Tamakloe. She lives three doors down with her mother. She will be going to the University of Ghana next semester. Letty, this is my friend Rosanna. We were at university together. She is a teacher.” We exchanged nods.
“Where do you teach?” Letty asked. As I answered her questions someone else came to the doorway to chat with Vinnie. It was almost an hour before we had the room to ourselves once more. By that time the mood had changed and I knew that there was no way we were going to make love that time when there was the possibility that anyone would pop in at any time. Anyway, it was almost time for me to start the journey back. Vinnie and I sat on the sofa and held hands but made no move to do anything else.
 

“I have to leave Vinnie. It is getting late and it will take me longer to get home from here than the movie theater,” I told him.
“I am so sorry. I forgot what this place is like. I thought we’d be able to have some time together,” he said despondently.
“That is okay Vinnie. I am glad I got to see where you live,” I comforted.
 

We got up to leave and once again he pulled me into his arms for a goodnight kiss. We started innocuously enough, but the heat swept through us like fire through tinder. We were kissing passionately, arms tight around each other when there was another knock on the door. Vincent muttered an expletive as he moved me aside for the second time that night.
“Who is it?” he growled.
“It is me, Cynthia. I wanted to know if I can borrow some salt. I didn’t know I had run out until I started cooking,” a demure feminine voice called back. Vinnie cursed again. I was torn between being irritated over these staged interruptions and being amused over the ludicrousness of the situation.
“I will be out in a moment Cynthia. I will bring it right over,” Vincent yelled, and we soon heard receding footsteps. He turned back to me. “This is so frustrating! It seems like we will never get any time alone together between the busybodies in this compound and the people in your home.”
“I know…!” I concurred.
“Rosanna, let’s get married,” he said abruptly.