My phone vibrating on my bedside table brings me out of my painting trance. I set up my easel right beside the glass window that overlooks downtown New York. I spent all day shopping for supplies because I couldn’t get my paint shipped from New Orleans and it be here on time. Tilting my head at the murky black shadows that I have painted on the canvas, I wipe my hands on a rag while answering my phone.

“Hello?” I’m still trying to figure out my new painting. It’s all dark shadows and blood when Devon’s voice shocks me out of my daze.

“Isa…”

“Devon!” I screech, looking down at my phone to see an unknown number displayed.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, boo. Can you talk?”

“I’m mad at you.” I place my brush back on the stand and walk to the large window.

“I know.”

“Really mad.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“Want to do lunch?” I ask, already slightly over my being mad at him.

“Sure. Donut King?”

I smile, my stomach rumbling at the thought of deep-fried goodness. “See you there soon.” Hanging up my phone, I have a quick shower and toss some jeans and a T-shirt on before slipping out of the penthouse and onto the busy street of downtown, of course, with Jerry and a couple MIB’s following very closely.

“Mrs. Royal,” Brian, Bryant’s driver gestures toward the black SUV. Brian and Bryant. Cute. Sounds like the beginning of a true bromance story. “I can take you where you need to go.”

I bite down my quirky thoughts. “Of course. Thank you.” Brian, who must be in his late fifties, opens the back door of the Range Rover, gesturing for me to get in.

I look back to Jerry and he nods, getting one of his men to get their car.

The drive to Donut King wasn’t long, like I had expected. I knew it wasn’t very far from where we were. He pulls up to the curb and gets out, opening my door.

I nod at him politely. “Thanks, Brian. I can text you when I need you to collect me.”

Brian cranks his neck until it clicks. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Royal. I can wait for you here.”

I still don’t know if or when I will ever get used to being ‘Mrs. Royal.’

I pause, watching him closely. “Bryant put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Brian gives me an apologetic smile. At least he looks a little bit sorry, even if he’s not. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You can call me Isa, Brian.” He shuffles slightly. “Unless it makes you more comfortable calling me Mrs. Royal?”

He nods. “I’m afraid I feel more comfortable referring to you as that.”

Patting his arm, his big, strong arm, I reply, “Okay, and I will try not to be long.”

He shakes his head. “Take as long as you need.” Then I turn around and walk into the large purple store. The smell hits me instantly, deep-fried pastries sprinkled in warm cinnamon and brown sugar then dipped in chocolate syrup, maybe. Oh, or caramel syrup. My stomach grumbles loudly, making it known just how hungry I am. Damn, I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven. I see Devon’s back facing me and my heart rate picks up again. Coming up behind him, I quickly wrap my arms around his neck from behind and he instantly jolts up from his chair in surprise, picks me up, and spins me around.

“Hey, trouble…” he whispers into the crook of my neck.

I relax, all my nerves contracting as I let out a long sigh. “Hey, mischief.”

He puts me back down to my feet, pushing me back softly before gazing at me up and down. “Marriage looks good on you, señorita.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat on the chair opposite him. Devon has always been a terrible liar. “Stop bullshitting.”

“No lies.” He shakes his head, and it’s then that I notice how the skin around his eyes are wrinkled at the edges and his jaw has a few days scruff on it. Not like Devon at all, he’s always been a strong advocate for the ‘no beard’ campaign. I don’t know if there is such a campaign because you wouldn’t catch me dead in it, but Devon would definitely be the ringleader of the entire operation, equipped with a big flag that would read ‘No Beards’ across it. Riding horses are cool, but have you ever ridden a beard? I have, and let me tell you…

Yikes. I’m getting distracted.

“You look good.” I remove my jacket and toss it over the chair beside me.

“Now who’s lying.” He gestures to the waiter and then looks back to me. “I’m sorry, Isa.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t care anymore.” I place my hand over his. “All that matters is that I have you back.”

His eyes remain on mine, his jaw clenching a few beats and then he abruptly yanks his hand away, his eyes finding the waiter’s. “Can I get two caramel filled donuts, one long black, and one latte.” The waiter scribbles his order down and then walks off.

“Devon?” I raise my eyebrows, trying to gain his attention. “I do have you back—right?”

He stares down at his glass of water and then picks it up. “Honestly, Isa, I don’t know.” He leans forward as he reaches for my hand but it’s my turn to yank it away from him. Tugging on his hair in obvious frustration, he leans back on his chair again. “What we’ve been, how we’ve known each other…I just—I don’t think it’s going to be as easy to change from that to something more mainstream.”

Mainstream. If there was anything to sum up Devon and I’s friendship, it would not be mainstream.

I gaze out the window. “Why is that hard, Devon?” I look back at him. “It’s simple. We are still friends, we just don’t do that side of what we used to do.”

He laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, not a light laugh. Not a laugh I’ve heard come from Devon. “Oh, right, and so I should just forget how you use to come to me when you needed sex or anything? Or I should forget how your skin felt under the palm of my hand?” He tilts his head. “How am I supposed to forget all those things, Isa? How am I supposed to forget the moans that would leak out of you right before you’d combust all over my dick.”

“Devon!” I look around the restaurant, hoping no one heard his little outburst. Regardless whether or not that he would find it hard, I thought we had always been clear about where we stood with each other. It was always just sex and that’s why when we would have sex with other people, it was never a big deal. “Devon…” I change my tone to a whisper. “Do you have feelings for me?”

The waiter comes over placing the donuts and the two coffees down. “Here you go…” he smiles, but both Devon and I are glaring at each other from across the table, none of us flinching, and he doesn’t have to say it because I see it there. Point blank right in his face that he does, in fact, have feelings for me. The waiter leaves once the silence gets uncomfortable.

“How long?” I ask, picking up my coffee.

“Too long,” he mutters, taking a drink of his coffee after blowing on it.

“Devon, you can’t—”

“—You don’t think I know that, Isa?” He leans forward, dropping his tone to a low whisper. “And that’s not even the worst of it.”

“Great.” I pick at my donut. I need carbs and sugar.

“Your husband?” he questions, and I pause. “Is my first cousin.” My chewing stops.

Dead.

My breathing even stops because what. The. Fuck.

My hand begins to shake as a deep buzzing sound pierces through my eardrums. “Not possible,” I whisper, dropping the donut back onto the plate like it was infected. Though by this point, I’d take an infection. If a demon possessed my body right at this very moment, I’d submit. Yo, I tried this life shit, homie, now take me home.

“Actually, it is. My mom and his mom are sisters.” He leans back in his chair. “You weren’t the only person who ran away to New Orleans for a chilled life, Isa.”

Chilled life? If his mom is anything like Bryant’s mom then he’s deluded. I wonder idly why I’d never met his mom.

“I’m confused. How can this happen? How does this happen?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I’m trying to figure out why he married you.”

“Huh,” I laugh, taking a sip of my coffee. “Well, it doesn’t have anything to do with you, Devon. That much I can tell you.”

“Isa… I’ve known Bryant all my life. It’s not something I’m proud of and I don’t go broadcasting our connection—as you know—” he adds at the end, casting a gentle look at me. “But I’ve known him since we were born and he’s not a good man.”

“He’s not that bad, Devon.”

That’s a lie. He’s all things bad, and even though I know Devon has known him longer, I don’t feel comfortable with him talking about Bryant that way.

Devon scoffs. “Really? And you know this… how?”

I don’t. But over the past couple days, I’ve been getting to know Bryant a lot. Slowly but surely his ice wall has been melting toward me, I can just feel it. Whether that ice wall melts and drowns me, we will see, but I also don’t know what he and my father have that needed him marrying me. At least I’m not disillusioned with the thoughts of him being in love with me. I can’t get hurt this way because I have no expectations out of this marriage, I’ve known what was going on from the beginning.

“I just do.”

Devon shakes his head. “I can’t do this with you, Isa.” He stands from his chair and looks down at me, tossing some bills onto the middle of the table. “Unless you can see Bryant for what he truly is, I can’t do this with you. I’m sorry.” Then he walks out and leaves me there alone, gathering my thoughts. I feel like that was it. No matter what, Devon and I will never be how we used to be. We will never be as close as we used to be. That bridge has been burned and there’s no going back from it. Finishing my coffee, I get up from my chair and walk out of the restaurant. Brian is still parked in the same spot and when he sees me he gets out of the front seat and opens the back door.

I smile, not being able to say anything else. “Thanks, Brian.”