Blissfully Yours (Mills & Boon Kimani) (5 page)

Chapter 8

T
he bright rays of the midday Caribbean sun kissed Ayana's brown skin as she lounged on the sandy Negril beach in a snow-white two-piece swimsuit. She looked up from the romance novel she was reading and stared off into the calm turquoise waters. Looking out into the ocean, Ayana took a moment to reflect on the recent events that had shifted her life momentarily.

The past week had been a traumatic whirlwind. It all began with Ed's unexpected heart attack. He barely escaped death that day on the shoot when he collapsed. His condition was critical, rendering him bedridden, hooked up to intravenous drips and monitors in the intensive-care unit. Steve, the executive producer, had told the cast and crew that because Ed was the visionary for the show, he had no other choice but to halt production until Ed made a full recovery. And, based on the cardiologist's grim prognosis, that wouldn't be anytime soon.

During the same week, Ayana's father had had a mild stroke. Her mother's tone had been cool and calm when she called to tell her the news. She had told Ayana that everything was under control and that she didn't need to rush home. But with the show on hold indefinitely, Ayana booked a flight to Jamaica and was at her father's bedside two days later. Luckily, his stoke hadn't caused any major paralysis. He was back to his old self, piddling around in the garden, in less than two weeks. Although her father was back to normal, Ayana was sticking around to monitor his condition. She wasn't taking any chances.

With her father's health under control, she used her time on the island like a holiday. After dealing with fake confrontations and staged fights, and acting like an out-of-control hyena, Ayana welcomed the downtime.

The more she gazed at the aqua-blue waters, the more inviting they seemed. Growing up on an island and spending her summers at the beach, she was an avid swimmer. She stood up, took off the oversize, floppy straw hat, tossed it on her towel and padded through the warm sand toward the ocean. She then dipped her toes in the water and splashed around a bit before wading in farther. This secluded spot along Seven Mile Beach was off the beaten track where tourists didn't tread.

Ayana slowly waded in until the water was waist high. The ocean was so warm that it felt like bathwater. She cupped her hands, taking in the salt water and splashing it on her face. Gone was the heavy makeup, long, flowing wig, false eyelashes and ugly personality. Ayana dipped down into the clear waters, submerging her entire body. She held her breath and said a silent prayer of gratitude. Even though she hated her job, she was grateful for the opportunity to make a living and not have to rely on a man for her financial security. She was also grateful for her father's speedy recovery and for the CPR efforts that had saved Ed's life. When she reemerged, she felt renewed, as if she had been through a much-needed baptism. Ayana lay on the water, arched her back and floated. She felt free and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of being carried away by the gentle waves. Her body drifted effortlessly, and her mind was clear of any negative thoughts. With her head tilted back and ears partially submerged, she could hear only muffled sounds. Ayana felt as if she were in a safe cocoon and continued floating without a care.

The tranquillity of her solitude came to an abrupt halt when she heard the roar of a motor. Before she knew it, she was flipped over and submerged by a series of violent waves. Her eyes popped open underwater, and she kicked her legs quickly until she was back on the surface.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” asked a handsome man straddling a bright orange Jet Ski. “I'm so sorry, but I didn't see you. What are you doing floating all the way out here by yourself?”

Ayana glanced around the vast body of water and didn't see the beach. She had drifted out farther than anticipated. “I hadn't planned on floating this far. Guess the waves carried me away,” she said, treading water.

He reached out his hand to her. “Get on. I'll take you back to shore.”

She brushed her hair out of her face, rubbed the salt water out of her eyes and looked up into his face. She couldn't believe her eyes. Behind a pair of dark aviator shades was Brandon. “Uh...sure.” She took hold of his hand, climbed out of the water and settled on the back of the Jet Ski. Ayana wrapped her arms around his bare chest and held on tight as he sped off.

“Where are you staying?” he yelled.

With the Jet Ski creating a cascade of waves and the roar of the motor, she could barely hear him. “What'd you say?”

“I said, where are you staying?” he repeated more loudly.

“Just keep straight,” she responded, finally hearing him.

He doesn't know it's me.
Ayana held him a little tighter, enjoying the anonymity of the moment. She thought back on his unexpected kiss and smiled. She could see the beach coming closer and closer and wondered what Brandon would say once he learned who was hitching a ride with him. It was no secret they bumped heads on the set and that Saturday gave him a hard time whenever she could. Her heart began beating faster and faster in anticipation of the reveal.
Might as well enjoy the moment.
As the Jet Ski cut through the water, she took in the sights. She spotted a bright yellow banana boat filled with tourists. A catamaran was heading farther out into the ocean, probably taking people snorkeling. Waves crashed against the Jet Ski, and the spray of water in her face was refreshing. Being a native of the island, Ayana had never bothered renting a Jet Ski; that was something tourists did. This was her first time on one and she found the ride exhilarating.

“Is this it?” he yelled, approaching the sand.

“Yeah.”

Brandon turned off the engine and slid the Jet Ski into the shore with the precision of a race-car driver. He hopped off first and then helped her.

“Thanks for the ride,” Ayana said, keeping her head down. She was enjoying his kindness and wasn't ready to be outed.

“No problem,” he said, secretly admiring her toned, bikini-clad body from behind his shades. She was au naturel and beautiful—wet hair and all. The more he stared, the more familiar she seemed. He took off the dark glasses to get a better look. “Saturday?”

Ayana hung her head even farther, trying to bury her chin in her chest. Realizing there was no use attempting to hide her identity, she inhaled deeply, exhaled and said, “Yes, it's me.”

He stood there seemingly in shock. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I grew up in the area. I'm here visiting my parents.”

“Wow!
You're
Jamaican?”

“Yes, I am. Why are you saying it like that?”

“Most Jamaican women I know are sweethearts, but...”

“Stop right there. You really don't know me like you think you do.”

“I know enough.”

Ayana knew the impression she made on Brandon as Saturday Knight wasn't a positive one, and that was putting it mildly. Standing there in front of him stripped of that persona, she was embarrassed about the way she portrayed herself on the show and how badly she had treated him. She looked into his eyes and could see judgment. She wanted to tell him the real reason for the fake persona, but what was the use? His impression of her had already been sealed in his mind. She couldn't take his critical stares any longer; she had to get out of there. She reached down, grabbed her hat, plopped it on her head and put her beach towel and novel in her tote. “'Bye, Brandon,” she called behind her as she walked away as quickly as the sand would allow.

Brandon stood there in shock and watched her scurry away. He was speechless. The last person he'd expected to see was
the
diva of
Divorced Divas.
He also couldn't believe that Saturday was a beach person, floating in the water and actually getting her hair wet. Nor in his wildest dreams did he think that she was Jamaican. She seemed to have been born and bred on Madison Avenue among the multitude of designer boutiques. He watched as she disappeared over the cliff, and then he returned to his Jet Ski. Riding back to his hotel, he wondered if he would bump into Saturday again. She had thrown him a curveball, and now he was intrigued and wanted to know more.

Chapter 9

I
t had been two days since Brandon scooped Saturday out of the ocean. He still couldn't believe how different she looked without the heavy makeup, wig and designer clothes. With the water splashing against her face, he didn't recognize her as she recovered from being flipped over by the waves created from his Jet Ski. She had a vulnerable quality as she stood in front of him on the beach clad only in her bikini. He had quickly dismissed that thought and reminded himself that she was the same person who demeaned the cast members on a regular basis. Be that as it may, Brandon couldn't help but wonder where she was staying. She had fled so fast that he didn't get a chance to ask where her parents lived—not that it mattered because he wasn't planning on visiting. Seeing her in New York on the set was more than enough.

The reason for Brandon's trip to Jamaica was twofold. He was there to unwind after the untimely hiatus from the show and to check on his sister-in-law. His brother, James, had married a Jamaican woman, and they'd had one of the best relationships that Brandon had ever seen. Even after ten years of marriage, they were still inseparable. The vows “till death do we part” fitted them. They were together until the day James died of cancer two years ago. Before he'd passed away, James made Brandon promise to look in on his wife from time to time. Marigold was such a sweetheart that Brandon didn't have a problem flying to Jamaica whenever he had the chance.

“Marigold, I don't know how you do it,” Brandon said. He was having lunch in the industrial-sized kitchen of the shelter that his sister-in-law ran.

“Whatcha mean, mon?”

“I mean, dealing with all these kids on a daily basis is so much work.”

“T'is no problem a'tall. Most of dem mommas is here wit dem. And da ones wit no momma are da sweetest, so I don't mind givin' dem extra attention.” Marigold ran a private shelter for women and children. She and James had never had any children, so she treated every child at the shelter as if they were her own.

“No, Marigold, you're the sweetest. Not many women would give of themselves like you do.” Brandon thought back to the cast of
Divorced Divas.
They were some of the most selfish women he had ever seen.

“Go on now wit dat,” she said, getting up from the table and waving her hand. “You want more goat stew?”

“No, I'm full, but I will have another glass of your famous pink lemonade.”

“Comin' right up.” Marigold took his bowl, put it in the sink, then went to the double-door refrigerator and took out the pitcher of homemade lemonade.

“Is that my favorite drink?”

Brandon's back was to the door, so he turned around to see who had come into the kitchen. His mouth flew open as he stared at Saturday coming toward Marigold. She was looking directly at his sister-in-law and didn't see him sitting at the long communal table. Being unnoticed gave him the opportunity to check her out before she spotted him. She wore a simple yellow cotton sundress with matching yellow flip-flops. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and again her face was makeup free. Her toned-down look gave her an innocent quality, which he found very attractive. He sat there in silence and watched their exchange.

“Oh, me Lord!” Marigold gave Saturday a big bear hug, released her and asked, “Whatcha doin' here, chile?” Her voice was full of excitement.

“My dad had a mild stroke so I came to check on him.”

“Oh, no! He okay?”

“Yes, thank God. It wasn't major and my mom got him to the hospital quickly, which is so critical when someone has a stroke. He doesn't have any paralysis. He's even back planting in the yard. I keep telling him to take it easy, but he won't listen. You know how stubborn most men are.”

“Yeah, me do.” Marigold poured two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Saturday. “Come, chile, let me introduce ya to me brother-in-law.” Marigold walked over to the table with Ayana following behind.

When Marigold stepped to the side to make the introductions, Ayana instantly began to perspire. One, she hadn't expected to see Brandon. Two, he was related to her friend, and three, she wondered if he would unknowingly divulge her secret. No one on the island knew she worked on a reality television show, and for obvious reasons she wanted to keep it that way.

“Ayana, this here is Brandon, me late husband's brother,” Marigold said, handing Brandon his glass of lemonade.

“Nice to meet you,” she said quickly before he had a chance to say that they already knew each other. Based on the look registered on his face—mouth agape and eyes slightly bulged—he was just as shocked as she.

“Ayana, huh?”

“Yes, but we call her Ana 'round here. She a gem. Without she pitchin' in and helpin', we wouldn't have enough clothes and shoes for da women and chilrin. Ya know most residents come here wit only da clothes on dey backs. She ships boxes and boxes of stuff on a regular basis. And she even send checks, which we need so much.” Marigold gave Ayana another hug. “Me couldn't get along witout she.”

“Is that right?” Brandon remarked in a shocked tone.

“Yep, dat's right. I'm surprised ya don't know her since ya both live in Manhattan.”

Saturday—Ayana—and Brandon glanced at each other. She quickly spoke first before he could respond. “New York isn't like a small village where everyone knows each other.” She evaded Marigold's comment with a generalized response, probably because she didn't want to outright lie to her friend, but she wasn't prepared to tell her the truth either.

Before Marigold was able to ask any questions or make any more comments, her assistant came into the kitchen. “Excuse me, Marigold, but ya have a phone call in da office.”

“Me be right back.”

When Marigold was gone, Ayana exhaled. She smoothed down the front of her dress and then ran her hand over her hair. She seemed to be a ball of nerves and didn't know what to say or do.

“So, Marigold is your sister-in-law? Small world,” she said, sitting across the table from him. Ayana took a long sip of lemonade and exhaled.

“Yep.”

He'd answered with an edge to his voice, still viewing her as the troublemaker on the show.

“Brandon, I'm sure you have a ton of questions.”

“Yep, I sure do.”

“First of all, my real name is Ayana Lewis. Saturday Knight is a name that Ed created.”

“Did he create your wicked personality too?”

She cast her eyes down in shame, stared in her lap for a few moments, then looked in his eyes and said, “As a matter of fact, he did.”

“And you're okay with demeaning yourself? If what you're telling me is true, I would have told him to take a hike, as any other person with decency would.”

“I wish I could have, but I wasn't in the position financially to turn down the job. I was recently divorced and my bank account was running on fumes.”

Brandon hadn't expected her to be so open. He'd automatically assumed, based on her Saturday Knight persona, that she would get defensive and come up with a ton of lies. Upon hearing the truth, his resolve began to soften. He more than understood her financial situation. He had been in the same predicament after moving to Los Angeles trying to become a Hollywood director, exhausting his savings in the process. “Why didn't you ask him to cast you as the good girl of the show?”

“I did, but that role was already taken. When Ed initially approached me, he wanted me to play Trista's role, but I turned him down. I had no interest in acting on a reality show. To be honest, I think the entire reality genre has become one big joke.” Her eyes were welling up. She looked down in her lap and said softly, “And now, unfortunately, I'm the headliner.”

Brandon studied her face and could see she was on the verge of tears. He reached across the table and patted her hand. “Don't cry. It's not that bad,” he offered, surprising himself.

Ayana seemed to try to fight back the tears, but they fell anyway. She sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Brandon gave her a napkin and she blew her nose. “I'm sorry for being such a crybaby,” she said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“No problem. I've been where you are, so I completely understand. Actually, the reason I'm working on the show is because I also exhausted all my savings.”

Ayana stared at him inquisitively.

“I quit my job with a major network, moved to L.A. and tried to break into the movie business. I pounded the pavement for a year with no luck. My living expenses, as well as trying to schmooze and network in La-La Land, devoured my savings quickly. When I moved back to New York, the only show hiring was
Divorced Divas.
I had no choice but to take the job. I already have my agent contacting the networks so I can get back to ‘real'—” he put his fingers in the air and made quotation marks “—television, once my contract is over.”

“I have an exit strategy myself. I don't plan on being a
Diva
forever. Acting the way I do on the set is so out of my comfort zone. You have no idea how bad I feel every time I insult Petra. The poor girl doesn't deserve my constant brutal tongue-lashings.”

Brandon was both pleased and surprised to hear her confess. His judgment of her had been all wrong. “So what should I call you?”

“Ayana or Ana. My family and friends here don't know about the show or my fake Saturday Knight persona, and I'd like to keep it that way. My parents would have a fit if they knew I degraded myself for money. If they had known about my financial hardship after the divorce settlement ran out, they would have tried to scrape up and send me whatever money they could. I think grown children should provide financial support to their elderly parents, not the other way around.”

“I totally agree.”

The more they talked, the more Brandon admired her. Not only did she do good deeds for the shelter, but she also took care of her parents. She was exactly the type of woman he could see having a future with. “Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks. I'm relieved that you now know the truth. I saw the way you looked at me on the set every time I acted out.”

“Honestly, I couldn't stand you. I'm glad you told me the truth. I must confess you are a really good actress. The way you portray Saturday Knight, no one would ever guess that isn't the real you.”

“It's really hard to pull off, but for now I have no choice.”

“Have you ever thought about acting as a career?”

“You mean in the movies?”

“Yes, or television. You're acting anyway, so you might as well put your talent to good use.”

Ayana was silent for a moment, digesting his words. “You know, I never thought about it that way, but you're absolutely right. I portray a character on the set every day, and the audience thinks that's the real me. Thanks for the idea. I will definitely look into it.”

“What ya two over dere gabbin' about?” Marigold asked, coming back into the kitchen.

“Nothing much. Just getting to know each other,” Brandon said, smiling at Ayana.

“So, are ya goin' to da dance tonight?”

“What dance?” Ayana and Brandon asked in unison.

“Da Reggae Fest down at da pier. Dey gonna have a live band, plenty of food and barrels of rum punch.”

“Sounds like fun. Ayana, would you like to go?”

Her eyes perked up. “Sure,” she answered with a huge smile, exposing her pearly bright teeth.

“Where are you staying? I can pick you up.”

She gave him her parents' address. “Do you know how to get there?”

“Yes. I'm familiar with the island. I've been here enough times. Marigold, what time does it start?”

“Eight o'clock.”

“How about I pick you up at seven-thirty?”

Marigold looked at her brother-in-law and then back at Ayana, watching their conversation. She smiled.

“Sounds good. Let me dash. I have a few errands to run. Marigold, I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay, me love.”

Brandon watched her leave and couldn't believe the sudden change of events. He had totally misjudged the woman he knew as Saturday Knight. Now he couldn't wait to get to know Ayana Lewis.