Abena dropped her overnight bag at the door and found her fiancé in the kitchen, opening a bottle of red wine.

“Wine?” She stood on the opposite side of the island.

Marc filled his glass to the halfway point. “It’s been a rough day. How was yours?”

When he made no move to get her a glass, Abena took one down from the cabinet and poured herself a more modest portion. “The usual.”

“The usual how?”

Marc took the bottle and went into the living room where the lights were dimmed, the food was located, and a cop show played, volume turned low on the television. Abena followed him. A box of pizza loaded with cheese, meats, and vegetables sat open on the coffee table, with a slice missing.

She sat down beside her fiancé and tucked her legs under her bottom. Since she’d already drunk at Patagonia, she only took a sip of the wine.

Marc hadn’t changed out of his scrubs. His hair was cut so short, his curly hair appeared straight. His caramel skin was a combination of his mother, a green-eyed blonde, who’d given up her inheritance for the love of a Ghanaian man—Marc’s father. His parents’ love story was a captivating tale, the kind retold at family gatherings and held up as a prime example of the type of sacrifices people made for true love.

True love. Was that what she and Marc had? At times, it didn’t feel like love.

She reached out and ran the tips of her fingers down his neck. Perhaps they’d simply grown comfortable in their relationship, but they hardly touched anymore. A kiss here, a kiss there. Was the lack of sex the cause, or was there another reason for the distance?

He turned to her and smiled.

“I had a crazy day.” She went into detail about the catastrophe at the restaurant and how she and Santiago resolved the issue.

The entire time she spoke, Marc chewed and nodded. Like always, he appeared very attentive. In fact, she couldn’t complain about him at all. He was practically perfect, which was why when they resumed dating and he asked her to marry him shortly thereafter, she’d seen the proposal as a sign he was the right man.

Marc was good. Patient. Goodness, was he patient. Her aunt and uncle had approved of him, and her mother had given her blessing from Kagogo.

“I’m glad you finally got everything under control. I had a crazy day myself, dealing with a sick four-year-old who threw up on my shoes, a seven-year-old whose ankle pain turned out to be a fracture, and a video consult with a colleague in another state.”

Marc’s parents had opened several clinics in the area. He and his two siblings worked in the family business in some capacity. As a pediatrician, Marc was attentive and warm with children, with an innate ability to put them at ease. Once a week, he put in time at the local hospital, where her Aunt Baaba worked.

“So, this guy, Santiago, he’s settled in now?”

Abena nodded. “He’s staying in one of the suites at the hotel, and his office is up and running.”

“Hopefully that’ll mean you’ll get a break soon. Do you think you’ll finally have time to sit down with a wedding planner?”

Abena’s stomach dipped. Their conversations always came back to the same topics—her schedule and when they were getting married. When October arrived in two months, two years had elapsed since their engagement.

She shifted under his gaze. “You know how crazy my job is. Esteban is out of the country, and when he gets back, he’s finally taking his wife on a proper honeymoon. So work will remain busy for a while. Since I’m his right hand, a lot of the responsibilities of his company and personal affairs fall to me.” Her role in Esteban’s life had no real definition. She was a Jane-of-all-trades, doing whatever needed to be done, moving seamlessly between his business and personal life to make sure he could focus on the bigger issues.

Marc frowned. “Even with the new guy on board? I would think much of the restaurant tasks would fall under his list of duties, not yours.”

“We have to work closely together to handle all of the responsibilities of the company.”

Marc’s jaw hardened, and there was silence for a moment. The TV screen flickered with a car chase by a staggering number of police cars.

“When exactly do you think you’ll have time to work on our wedding?”

Abena licked her lips. “It’s hard to say. At this point, I don’t want to box myself in and decide on a date and then not be able to follow through.”

He laughed, but amusement didn’t fill his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re purposely delaying. We can at least pick a date, Abena, and have something to work toward. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? Part of your success is because you pick a goal and work toward it.”

Abena placed her feet on the floor and set the glass on the coffee table. “You’re getting upset and there’s no reason to.”

“No reason? I disagree. I’m really starting to worry.” His voice sounded harder and louder.

“Worry about what? I’m wearing your ring, Marc. Isn’t that enough?”

This time he chuckled and tossed a half-eaten slice of pizza into the box. “You make it sound like I’m hassling you because I want to pick a date for our wedding and actually start planning it. It’s been almost two years, Abena. How much longer should I wait?”

“The wait is not completely my fault. Besides, we spend a lot of time together. Getting married wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

Actually, Marc had caused the first delay. On top of buying this house, he worked diligently to help his father set up the third clinic, resulting in long days and weary nights. The second delay came about because she’d wanted to get her mother’s approval, so Marc encouraged her to set up a Skype call.

Of course her mother approved. He’d been friendly and very polite. Now, her career and schedule presented the only barrier to them moving forward.

“Actually, we don’t spend a lot of time together. Not enough for me, anyway, and on the contrary, marriage would make a huge difference. For one, I’d finally be able to have sex with the woman I love. And I’ve told you how I feel about your work schedule.”

On second thought, Marc was not perfect. This was his one flaw. He hated how much she worked and how she traveled several times a year, sometimes for extended periods. He would much prefer to have her available to him whenever he needed her to attend events, or waiting for him when he arrived home from work. At times she worked later than he did, or left him behind when she took a business trip, which never failed to incite an argument between them.

“I feel like we keep having the same disagreement,” she said.

“Because you keep giving me the same ridiculous answers.”

“They’re not ridiculous answers. They are legitimate answers. I don’t understand why you can’t respect my work.”

“I respect your work, but you wouldn’t have to work as much if we were married. Right now we’re maintaining two households, when we could combine them into one. You could easily move in here with me.”

“I told you I can’t.” She stared down at her hands. Her mother would flip.

“Right, right. Because your aunt and your uncle wouldn’t approve. Because it would be an embarrassment to your family back home.”

“You’re half-Ghanaian. I would think you’d understand.”

“My family is from Kumasi, not some backward town that hasn’t made it into the twenty-first century yet.”

Abena stood and launched into a tirade in Twi. When she finished, she made to walk away, but Marc grabbed her by the wrist.

“You know I don’t know what you said.” Born and raised in the US, Marc didn’t speak any of the local languages or show much interest in his father’s home country.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know what I said.” Abena glared at him.

Marc continued to hold onto her hand. “Have a seat.” When she didn’t budge, he added, “Please.”

Reluctantly, Abena lowered onto the sofa and he finally released her.

Marc stared at his hands in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice contained an edge, telling her he was barely keeping a cap on his anger. “I don’t understand why you continue to let other people control your life. You’re a grown woman. With the amount of money you send home, I think your family would learn to suck it up and let you live your own life.”

“I know this is hard for you to understand, but it’s a cultural thing.”

“Isn’t it also a cultural thing for a man to be the head of the house?”

“Yet another reason why I maintain my own household.” Unable to sit still during the uncomfortable conversation, Abena stood. This time, Marc stood, too.

“Do you want to get married?” he asked.

Abena’s mouth fell open. “Of course.”

“Do you love me?”

“I… Yes.” She did, didn’t she?

So butterflies didn’t manifest in her stomach when Marc came around. He was kind, great with kids, could financially support her, was good-looking, and her family adored him. What else did a woman need? He was the right kind of man. The kind she always envisioned herself married to.

Nothing like Santiago, who looked down on marriage and bedded women with impunity. Who, with his touch and a mere glance, could set her skin on fire, and made her fear the carnal side of her nature. There was nothing pure or chaste about her thoughts where he was concerned.

“I can’t believe you would ask such a question,” she muttered.

“I have to ask, because I’m no longer sure. When I suggested we rent a place downtown for a possible summer wedding, you said the venue has a lot of bugs in the summer. When I asked about whether or not you’d found a dress, you told me you had no one to go dress-hunting with. Every weekend you buy shoes, but you need someone to hold your hand while you dress-shop?”

“Shopping for a wedding dress is a different kind of shopping, and you know it.”

“Then I’m sure your aunt or cousin would go with you. Hell, I bet Esteban’s wife, Sonia, would go with you. I want you to pick a date.”

“Is that a command?”

“It’s a request. A request I expect you to follow through on to show good faith and convince me you’re serious about us getting married.”

Abena twisted the ring on her finger. When Marc’s gaze dropped to the motion, she stopped.

“I’ll check my calendar.”

“And then pick a dress.”

“Don’t expect me to find one right away. The process could take a long time.”

“All I’m asking is that you at least try. I haven’t seen you try, Abena. Pick a date. Get a dress. My schedule is wide open for now. I just need to hear from you.”

He walked away, his face sullen.

“Marc.” He turned, and she took a deep breath. “I’ll do better. My life is chaotic right now, and I want a clear head when I work on our wedding.”

“Then do a little bit at a time. You’re the assistant to the president and owner of a multi-million-dollar company. You manage Esteban’s personal life as well as his business affairs. You do it all without any stress and plenty of aplomb. So why is something as simple as planning your own wedding such a strenuous task?”

The question echoed in her head as he went down the hall toward the bedroom.

Abena sank onto the sofa. She picked up her glass of wine and then set it back down. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her feet onto the table and crossed them at the ankles.

Marc was right. She needed to act.

She slipped the ring from her finger and examined it. The brilliant princess-cut diamond glinted back at her. Perhaps she had been too hasty in accepting this proposal because she had been upset about Santiago.

As she thought about him, she wondered what he was doing at the moment. Despite his denial that his social life was not as busy as she’d heard, she didn’t believe him.

Abena couldn’t remember exactly when she started falling under his spell, but their attraction to each other blossomed over the course of several trips to Argentina, spending time with him, working together. Tonight she saw a glimpse of what used to be. He was funny, and back then, their verbal sparring started out as fun, but soon spiraled into heavy flirtation. Like everyone else, she showered him with attention and loved when he shot a smile in her direction or focused on her in the midst of conversation.

Then she saw him tango at a political function in Buenos Aires. On the dance floor, he held his own with the host’s wife, herself a professional dancer, and wowed the crowd. By the time they saw each other a couple of days later, she’d become completely susceptible to the sweet words he whispered in her ear.

What he’d done to her had been indescribable. His dark head between her thighs, her ankles over his shoulder, he inflicting stomach-tightening pleasure until she came so hard she thought for sure she’d pass out. Even now, just thinking about that night, her private parts grew moist and her pulse skipped at a faster rate.

When he didn’t call after she returned to the States, she told herself the lack of contact made sense. After all, they lived on different continents and she suspected there were other women. Dozens, for all she knew. But suspecting was one thing, knowing another.

She’d been crushed to learn through the company grapevine that he was sleeping with a restaurant manager in Buenos Aires. By then, she’d already reconnected with Marc. The news about Santiago’s other woman prompted her to devote more time to the man who clearly wanted more than a casual fling.

Months later, Santiago showed up, sexy smile in place, fully expecting to pick up where they left off. When she showed him the ring, he’d been completely taken aback. Probably thought she sat at home twiddling her thumbs, waiting for him to call. And she would have done that. Had done that and debated whether she should reach out to him, until she found out about the restaurant manager.

They argued. Cursed each other. Said ugly, vicious things. In the end, he left, and she’d known at that point that whatever type of relationship they were inching toward was over before it began.

Abena replaced the ring on her finger. The stone sparkled under the low lights.

With Santiago living in the same city, her doubts about the wedding surfaced with more frequency. The rooftop kiss the other night didn’t help. Her attraction to him worried her. It wasn’t normal.

She should be focused on Marc. Yet here she was, instead of picking a wedding date, wondering what Santiago was doing tonight. Was he thinking about her even a fraction of how much she was thinking about him?

Was he as hard as she was wet?