The Room Our Stars Remember

Soft power, mirrored magic, and a bond that keeps rewriting its own rules. Step into their resonance. #TROSR #acheckeredpatioseries

[acheckeredpatioseries]

Welcome into…

ASHBEP (Rebirthed)

Masterlist

PROLOGUE: KIY

PROLOGUE: MIC

CHAPTER I: THE DEVELOPMENT

CHAPTER II: THE CASTLING

CHAPTER III: BATTERY

CHAPTER IV: BACKRANK

CHAPTER V: ACTIVITY

CHAPTER VI: BLOCKADE

CHAPTER VII: ABSOLUTE PiN

CHAPTER VIII: EN PASSANT

CHAPTER IX: CHECK

CHAPTER X: GAMBIT

CHAPTER XI: CHECKMATE

CHAPTER XII: HOW FAR…TO LET HIM GO

CHAPTER XIII: RECLAMATION

❤️💚Love Letters 💚❤️

Mic’s Letter to Kiy 💐

Kiy’s Letter to Mic 🌹💘

Official Playlist of ASHBEP 🎧💿

ASHBEP PLAYLIST (Rebirth)

[acheckeredpatioseries]

ASHBEP

Chapter XIII: Reclamation

I didn’t move for a long time after she fell asleep.

It took awhile to convince her too, after we nearly fell apart. But, she eventually calmed down to do so.

Her breath was still uneven—shallow and threaded with the echo of all the words we hadn’t said. She had curled into me like it was instinct. Like no part of her wanted space, despite everything we’d just torn open.

I lay there and let it burn.

Every mistake. Every shadow in me I tried to contain. The guilt sat like a stone inside my ribs, weighing down the part of me that had believed—just for a minute—that she’d walk. That I’d lost her again. This time for good.

But she didn’t leave.

She found me.

Screamed at me.

Loved me.

Kiy had cracked me open with something stronger than forgiveness. She reminded me who I was, even when I had forgotten. She didn’t want perfection. She wanted truth. The bloody, broken, tangled truth of who I was and who I was trying to be—for her.

So I did what I always do when words fail me.

I created.

I slipped out from under the covers when the moon was high and the frost on the windows softened everything in silver. I kissed her shoulder before I moved, light enough not to wake her, and crossed the room to start building something she could feel when she woke. Something that would say all the things I’d been too cowardly to tell her with just my voice.

I got to work.

| KIY

The smell of oranges hits me first.

Then cinnamon. And something smoky… like cedar?

My eyes blink open slowly, still fogged with sleep, but it’s warm. Too warm. The comforter’s tucked up to my chin like someone re-wrapped me after I moved.

I sat up, squinting at the room.

But it’s not the room.

The bed is covered in wildflower petals. Real ones. In soft bruised colors—lavender and ink-blue and maroon, tangled with tiny branches of baby's breath and dried pine.

There’s a path of them leading to the door.

A note is pinned to the pillow where he slept.

In Portuguese.

Meu lar.

Follow the music.

I pressed the paper to my chest.

Barefoot, I followed.

The house was quiet except for the creak of floorboards beneath me, the gentle hum of a record playing somewhere distant. It was one of his. The unreleased ones. The ones he only let me hear. The song sounded like starlight had fallen into water—hopeful, echoing, utterly intimate.

The trail led me to the greenhouse.

And I stopped. Frozen.

Mic had transformed the space.

Fairy lights were woven through the beams, strung low like constellations. Petals scattered across the floor in careful chaos. In the center of it all was a small table with two mugs steaming in the cold, the scent of lavender and honey hanging in the air like prayer.

But it wasn’t the scene that broke me—it was him.

Mic stood beside it, holding a canvas.

A painting.

Of me.

But not just any me—me at my most undone. Eyes red from crying, mouth soft in a way that said I survived it anyway. A crown of pearls around my head, made from the broken pieces of past lives. The snow outside framed the glass walls like a chapel.

He set the painting down and opened his arms.

I ran into them.

And I sobbed.

Because this was it. This was what our reclamation looked like.

Wordless, stubborn, sacred devotion.

We stood there, wrapped in each other, as the morning light filtered through the frost-kissed glass. The silence between us was thick with emotion, but it was a silence that spoke volumes.

Mic pulled back slightly, pouring his love into my eyes. His thumb brushed away a lingering tear on my cheek.

“I’ve been stupid,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Running from my own shadows, fearing they’d consume you too.”

I shook my head, placing a hand over his heart. “We all have shadows, Mic. It’s how we face them that defines us.”

He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to continue.

“Last night, when you confronted me… it was like a mirror shattering. I saw every flaw, every mistake. But more than that, I saw the depth of your love. And I realized I don’t want to hide anymore.”

I squeezed his hand, urging him to go on.

“This greenhouse,” he gestured around us, “it’s more than just a space. It’s a symbol. Of growth, of nurturing, of transformation. Just like us.”

I nodded, understanding the metaphor he was painting.

He continued, “I want to be the man who stands beside you, not in front of you. To face our fears together, to build something beautiful from the broken pieces.”

Tears welled up again, but this time, they were tears of hope.

“I love you, Kiyanna. More than words can express. And I’m done running.”

I cupped his face, bringing his forehead to mine. “And I’m here, Mic. Always. We’ll face everything together.”

He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that tasted of promises and new beginnings.

As we pulled apart, he smiled softly. “There’s one more thing.”

He led me to the center of the greenhouse, where a small wooden box rested on the table. Opening it, he revealed a delicate silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a snowflake, adorned with tiny black pearls.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, touched by the significance.

“A snowflake with black-eyed pearls,” he murmured. “Unique, resilient, and rare. Just like you.”

He fastened the necklace around my neck, his fingers lingering for a moment on my collarbone.

I touched the pendant, feeling its coolness against my skin. “Thank you, Mic. For everything.”

He took my hands in his, his gaze intense.

“No, Kiy. Thank you. For reminding me of who I am, and who I want to be.”

We stood there, amidst the symbols of our journey, knowing that while the path ahead might not be easy, we had each other.

And that was enough.

4 Your Eyes Only

If you made it this far,

you already know.

This wasn’t fiction.

It was me.

Loving you loud in silence,

writing you home in every line.

—Kiy

[acheckeredpatioseries]

ASHBEP

Chapter XII: How Far ….To Let Him Go

| KIY

I didn’t pack anything up.

Mic insisted.

Said something about princesses and royal treatment. About how he wanted me to rest, to drink tea, to watch snow like I always do when I’m overwhelmed.

So I did.

I stood at the window, watching white petals fall from the sky and disappear on contact. He was behind me, zipping the last suitcase with a decisive little sigh—like he’d just tucked something important into the folds.

When I turned around, he looked at me the way he always does when I smile too easily: like it unspools something wild in him.

“All set up there?” I asked.

He didn’t answer me.

Just walked over with that slow, possessed rhythm he slips into when he’s already made up his mind. My tea left his hands first—placed neatly on the counter—and then his hands were on me. Lifting me like nothing, setting me on the freezing marble. I gasped, but he kissed the sound right out of my mouth.

I melted.

Of course I did. I always do when he holds me like he owns time itself.

“Micah,” I murmured, his name already breathless.

But he wasn’t in the mood for names. He was in the mood for worship. My coat peeled from my shoulders, the dip of my sweater dragged down his path like he was tracing constellations across my skin. When his mouth hovered above my breasts, I forgot what language I spoke.

“Princesa,” he whispered to me, “I need a reminder.”

My breath stuttered. His hands were already tugging the hem of my sweater, his touch maddening in how slow it traveled.

“Care to grant me a wish?”

I bit my lip, playing coy even though my thighs had started to tremble. “Depends on what it is.”

He grazed my nipple with his teeth, and the noise I made didn’t even sound like me.

“How far can I play with you,” he asked, pinching me softly, “before you’re at your wit’s end?”

I swallowed a moan and tried to laugh. “You’re gonna make us late again, aren’t you?”

He didn’t laugh back. Just tilted his mouth to my neck and growled, “The man in charge is never late.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but I let him.

Let his fingers dip between my legs, past the lace I wore just for him. Let his tongue draw shapes against my throat while he whispered things he knew would undo me. He was relentless. My panties were wet before I said a word.

“Like I’d waste a set you bought me,” I managed to say.

He paused for a heartbeat, and then: “Then answer my question, wifey-to-be. Posso brincar com seu corpo?”

God. Portuguese.

“Merida,” I whispered, my knees knocking. “Micah—”

“Well?”

“Yes,” I said, breath catching. “Fucking yes. Just hurry up and do me.”

His smile shifted then. Darker. Hungrier. “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

And then—nothing. Just the feeling of him pulling away. My whole body jolted.

“But not yet.”

He moved me from the counter. Toward the fridge. When he opened the door, I thought maybe he wanted something to drink. I didn’t expect what he pulled out. Blue cuffs, dusted in cold, their silver buckles fogged with frost.

“Micah?” I eyed him and the cuffs. He… can’t be serious. “What is this?”

He pressed two fingers against my lips—tasting myself on them—and whispered, “Uh-uh-uh. You know my name in this serenade. I don’t want to punish you this soon, my little siren.”

I should’ve stopped him.

But I didn’t.

The cuffs wrapped around my wrists, and I let him tether one arm to the refrigerator handle. The cold bit into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. I burned from the inside out.

Then he lifted his sweater. There, tucked into his briefs, was a white feather. Soft. Pure. Completely out of place. He stroked my ass with it, like he was drawing lines of silence into me.

“Why aren’t you responding to me?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp. “I’ll keep you here as long as I please.”

“Y-yes, Sire,” I breathed.

Tears began to fall down my face. Like something broke and rippled out into the open. I was terrified. Not of him. Of my willingness to surrender. To fully let him stir me off the cliff. Flashes… grim quick memories poured like molten lava into my brain. It took everything in me not to scream fucking bloody murder.

He panicked—briefly. Reached for the cuffs. But I stopped him. Pressed my leg to his chest and said, “Don’t you dare. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded through the tears. “If you must ask me, then your hold will break, Sire.”

That made him smirk. Made me feel like I had some of the power again.

“Then your safe word for me?”

“Icee, Sire.” I said, lips shook.

“Good siren.”

Then came the second surprise. Mic pulled out the stolen spa stones from our Hot Springs endeavor. Hidden in the stove’s drawer like they’d been waiting for this moment.

“You have to recite the Portuguese alphabet,” he said. “Every time you mess up, I’ll punish you.”

“But you only taught me the vowels—”

He just shrugged. “I know you read ahead, Kiyanna.”

The first stone kissed my spine. I gasped.

The second slipped between my legs. I screamed.

“Start,” he said.

“Ah… beh… cê… dê… eh…” My voice cracked. “It’s too hot!”

“Another one?” he teased.

I blocked him with my knee. “No. I can finish.”

“You better mean the alphabet.”

But I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t focus with the heat pulsing inside me like a brand. He stared at me like he was memorizing every twitch, every whimper.

“Ah. Beh. Cê. Dê. Eh-fee. Gê. Ah-gah—wait!”

Too late.

He placed a third.

I don’t know how I didn’t faint.

Eventually, I stumbled. I sobbed. I screamed the safe word. “ICEE! Get them out—get them out now.”

He did.

And then I collapsed.

The floor was cold and hard, but his arms caught me. He rocked me against his chest, whispered apologies against my scalp. His warmth pressed against all the places that ached. But I couldn’t stop crying.

The pain was annoyingly intense but that didn’t stop me from wanting him.

“Punish me with your hand,” I said softly. “I still need to feel your touch.”

His eyes turned glassy. “Okay. What would you like me to do?”

“Three hard spanks, Sire.” I told him under little composure. My heart was leaping at my chest.

My blood ran cold.

He nodded. Kissed my forehead. Held me like I was sacred. And then I lay across his lap.

“One,” I gasped.

“Two.”

The last one—he let me choose.

“Left cheek,” I whimpered.

His palm came down hard enough to echo. “Three.”

Afterward, he scooped me into his arms and laid me near the fireplace. My body was still shaking. He kissed my shoulder and stood slowly.

“When you’re ready,” he said, “Come find me.”

I couldn’t stop the tears.

I couldn’t stop feeling so foreign. So misplaced. I was reminded how many people treated my body like a disregard—a nuisance. Then that night played. Not fully. But a glimpse into hell left me shivering with no added fire.

They fell in slow, stinging rivers down my cheeks, and I didn’t even try to catch them. I couldn’t. My body wasn’t mine yet. My mind was somewhere splintered—off in the space between now and the part of me that begged for this without fully knowing what I meant.

I asked him to show me that side. I asked him… jokingly. In passing. I was flirting. I was drunk on us. I thought I was ready.

But when it was real—

When it was his voice, low and sure, his hands steady with purpose, his rules replacing the world I thought I controlled—something in me floated too far from the shoreline.I didn’t expect the tears. I didn’t expect the way they kept coming, even after he’d stopped.

There was this strange, buzzing sensation in my skull. Like electricity with no outlet. The air turned tight. Smaller. My chest felt like a locked drawer someone forgot the key for.

And fuck.

What did this mean for us?

Our dynamic—our dance—had gone off rhythm. I could feel the gap forming. A bridge I couldn’t cross.

Would he regret touching me like that?

Would he see me as fragile now? Would he think I made it harder than it had to be? That I wasted the moment with my tears and silence and trembling hands?

He didn’t look at me like Mic.

When he pulled away from me, when he stood there, trying to cover up his disappointment with kindness. Cold eyes pierced my lungs.

So… distant.

And yet, that was the whole fucking point.

I asked to see the king in him. The dark, commanding pulse beneath all the softness. And he gave it to me. Without hesitation. Without apology. He gave me the most unfiltered part of himself—and I wept at the taste.

Now he was gone.

Quiet.

Probably pacing whatever room he’d disappeared into, rehearsing apologies he didn’t owe. Wondering if he’d broken me. Wondering if he had gone too far.

But it wasn’t that. Not really.

It was the sudden drop from the pedestal. The freefall. The intimacy of it. And if I let him sit with those thoughts too long—if I let him spiral without a tether—he’d build a wall between us I couldn’t scale. To him, this would feel like rejection. Like I’d seen the true shape of him and turned away.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I needed to find him.

Now.

Before silence became the answer we never meant to give each other.

| MIC

I behaved like a fucking demon.

How can I face her now?

How can I be the one who claims to protect her, when I let that part of me out without warning?

I should’ve told her. Before any of this.

This wasn’t something I just played around with. This was war. Inside me. Every day.

But she accepted me so damn easily. She loved me like it was the most natural thing in the world. It scared the shit out of me. Because I could never be that easy to love.

Her cries—

they haven’t left my head. Not even for a second.

And I just kept going.

Safe word be damned.

She said it. I fucking heard it.

I knew.

I knew how deeply she struggled to feel safe during sex. And still—I didn’t stop. I didn’t soften. I didn’t step back and hold her like I should’ve.

Fuck me.

She’s probably questioning everything now.

And I deserve it. Every second of this silence. This shower. This shame.

Even if she walks away—

Even if she looks me in the eyes and says I crossed a line we can’t uncross—

I’ll take it. I’ll let it break me.

I was still on the floor of the shower, dripping in steam and self-loathing, when I heard her voice:

“Micah, please turn the water off.”

My fear hit like a punch to the gut. My soaked briefs clung to me like a second skin, pathetic and heavy. I stood up slowly, reached for the nozzle, and cut the water off just before she fully walked in.

How much more humiliation could I take?

And then—

She came to me.

Kiy draped a warm towel over my shoulders, her movements slow, careful, reverent. I still didn’t move. I let her pull my briefs down, and I stepped out of them like a child caught in the rain. She bundled me in the linen like I was something sacred. Like I was still hers.

She led me to the bed, sat me down.

Kneeled before me like I was the one who needed saving. And maybe I did.

“I’m not upset with you,” she said softly, fingertips tracing the towel’s edge. “I just—”Her breath broke.

I saw it. Felt it.

“It’s all on me. When I asked you before, I didn’t know what it really meant—to be dominated. It… it terrified me. Brought up things I didn’t expect.”

“Kiy.”

My voice barely worked. She didn’t owe me an explanation. I knew this already.

But she kept going. Keep bleeding out. I didn’t want to see her like this.

“Micah, I love you.”

She pressed her forehead to my lap, her voice muffled in the folds of the towel.

I sat there, stunned. Silent.

“This—you—won’t change that. I don’t care how far your thoughts go. You’re not losing me. Ever. I just need… time. I need to find my footing again.”

My heart cracked in two.

I couldn’t let her carry this guilt. Not for one more breath.I threw off the towel. My body is still burning up.

“Stop.”

I pulled her up, held her wrists. “You don’t have to adjust to anything. This isn’t your fault. I heard the safe word. I chose to ignore it. That’s on me.”

Her voice turned to a whisper.

“It’s okay.”

“No the hell it’s not, Kiyanna.”

My voice broke open.

“You trusted me. You gave me the one thing you don’t give anyone, and I fucking betrayed it. I got drunk off the power. I kept pushing. And if you hadn’t—if you hadn’t cried—God, I don’t know where I would’ve stopped.”

“Micah…”

“Tell me it’s over.”

I needed to hear it. I needed the punishment.

But she stepped back like I’d slapped her.

“I won’t!”

I stood up, bare, undone. My shame is hanging off me like steam.

“So you trust me? Right now?”

I stepped toward her, testing the space between us. She backed into the wall, heartbeat rising—I could feel it.I shouldn’t have done it. I knew she was scared. But I had to see—had to know. I held her wrists. Not hard. But enough.

“On your knees.”

The words escaped before I could kill them. Her hand flew, slapping my cheek. She crumpled at my feet, sobbing.

And then, everything stopped.

I knelt with her. Held her in my arms. Not as a dominant. Not as anything other than the man who’d failed her.

“I’m sorry.”

Over and over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

| KIY

I could barely breathe.

But I had to try.

My fingers dug into the fuzzy rug beneath me, clinging to its threads like truth. He wasn’t getting away from me. Not this time. He fucking promised.

“You lied….. to me.”

Mic stopped in his tracks, turning around like I’d knocked the wind out of him.

“What?”

“You promised.”

The words came out soaked in hiccups. My voice sounded cracked and foreign. My nose was probably covered in snot, my vision too blurred to recognize the man in front of me. For a second, I almost convinced myself he wasn’t real. That he’d already disappeared.

“Kiyanna…”

“You said you’d never leave me again!” I was shouting now. Past dignity. Past fear. “How many times do we have to prove… it doesn’t fucking work. I’m willing to fight with you. Why can’t you see me?”

He just stood there, stunned—staring. For too long.

Then, without a word, he slipped on a crumpled graphic Christmas tee I got him, paired it with checkered pajama pants from the drawer. Sat on the bed like a ghost.

But I wasn’t done.

“This isn’t the end!” I marched toward the bed, voice still blazing. “Stop fucking running away. You’re not alone in this. We’re bound to trigger each other—no matter how gentle we try to be. That’s growth. But you running every time? That’s not the man I thought you were.”

His jaw locked tight. Knuckles cracking near his thighs.“It shouldn’t be like this,” he muttered. “I’m not willing to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me.”

“Kiy—”

“You stopped.”

That made him look up. Confused. Vulnerable.

“What are you talking about?”

“The safe word.”

I sniffed hard, wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt, and stepped closer.

“When I said it, you stopped. You asked me what I needed. Then you readjusted.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

I nodded, firm now.

“In the moment when it mattered most, your instincts shifted. You heard me, Micah. You changed direction.”

He went still. I could almost hear him replaying it. His eyes shut like he was watching something frame by frame. My heartbeat paused.

“So I did,” he whispered. “It doesn’t change—”

“It changes everything.”

My head tilted with defiance.

“What’s really the issue here? Because I’ve proven you wrong. And now you’re telling me it doesn’t matter? Bullshit. You hate being wrong.”

He cracked then.

“I can’t lose you again!”

His chest heaved.

“Years ago, I spun you into that dark place. I don’t want to keep repeating that. It fucking breaks me.”

“No one spun me anywhere. I’m my own damn person, Mic.”

I stood straighter.

“There’s shit I’ve dealt with bigger than you. And I’m still standing. That’s life. No one gets out unscathed. We aren’t meant to be perfect—we’re meant to choose. In spite of everything, in spite of ourselves, we choose love.”

I crouched in front of him, lifted his head until his eyes met mine.

“Do you choose me?”

He almost whispered it.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I pulled him into me like the whole world deserved us.

“Because I chose you too. Every single fucking time.”

| MIC

I should’ve collapsed when she said it.

Because I choose you too. Every single fucking time.

She doesn’t know what those words did to me. Or maybe she does, because she held me so tightly, like she was afraid I’d unravel if she let go.

And I would’ve.

I sat there, arms wrapped around her waist like it was my only means of breathing. Her heartbeat slowed down and I matched mine to it. I was trying not to cry, not because I didn’t want her to see—

But because I couldn’t bear to drown in the emotion any deeper than I already had.

She saved me again.

Without even realizing it. Just her voice, that fierce little shake in it. It was enough to yank me back from the place I swore I’d never let myself return to.

She doesn’t need to fix me. She never tried. She just wanted to see me. And for some fucked-up reason, I was still afraid that if she looked long enough, she’d change her mind.

But she didn’t.

She chose me.

Even when I showed her the ugliest parts. Even when I went too far. Even after the safe word, after the silence, after I fell apart in the shower like a goddamn failure—she still looked at me like I was hers.

And maybe that’s what love really is.

I didn’t have to perform and control her. And maybe I didn’t have to protect her all the time either.

But I felt like a stubborn mess.

Love was a terrifying thing.

This steady, burning sensation in my chest kept saying: she knows who I am… and she still wants me anyway.

So I need to show her.

How much I did love her.

With something that rewrites her story.

Our story.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

This series will be under re-write. ✍🏽👩🏽‍💻

Same characters, same love.

Different thoughts and delegations.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XVII

Loving You,

With Everything In Me

Mic

“Micah?”

Her voice drifted through the house like sunlight.

“In here.”

I called from the kitchen.

The smell of melted butter and sugar hung in the air as I slid a tray of chocolate chip cookies into the oven. Attempting to bake might be the more accurate description, but the intention counted.

Kiy appeared in the archway, still glowing from brunch with the girls. Her smile hit me first. Then she walked over and kissed me softly.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, hopping onto the counter.

My hands instinctively reached to steady her before stopping halfway. She gave me that look—relax, Mic. It was still early.

“Nothing,” I said with a shrug. “Wanted to do something nice.”

She picked up the spoon and started licking the cookie batter like she’d been starving for it.

“So,” I added casually, leaning against the counter. “What’d the doctor say?”

The spoon paused.

She exhaled slowly.

“A bit early to say for sure, however,” she said. “Dr. Jackson wants to schedule an ultrasound soon.”

My stomach tightened.

“But,” she continued, “she said it’s possible…”

Her eyes met mine.

“…we could have twins.”

Shit.

I leaned across the counter and let that settle over me like a wave.

When Kiy first took the pregnancy test, she was shaking so bad I thought she might drop the stick. We waited together in the bathroom, staring at the timer like it might explode.

Longest thirty minutes of my life.

When it showed positive, I had our driver, Phil, run out for more tests. I wasn’t leaving her side for a second.

Five tests later, the truth stood there staring at us. She was carrying our future.

And now there might be two of them.

“The girls know?” I asked.

She dropped her gaze, licking a bit of batter from her finger. That told me everything.

When she first told them about the pregnancy, the reaction had been… intense. Autumn immediately went into wedding-general mode and started rearranging the entire timeline so nothing would stress Kiy out.

Which is how we ended up here.

Detroit.
August 12th.

Soon? Definitely.

Rushed? Not really.

Everyone around us had basically turned into a planning army. Chris and Julia handling catering details. Autumn and Zune handled location and decor. And Gabriel and Stembie worked out our guest list and seating arrangements.

All Kiy and I had to do was show up.

Still, I knew she’d handed Autumn a stack of charts and color palettes thick enough to run a small country.

Our combined bachelor and bridal party would be out there soon too. We’d fly in next week.

Then the wedding the week after.

Strangely, my heart wasn’t racing.

It held a steady beat.

After that came the museum gala. Kiy’s first red carpet. I was excited for her, but the idea of piling travel and events on top of a pregnancy made my protective instincts itch.

“You sure you’re up for all this traveling?” I asked, pulling her gently into my arms. My lips brushed against her forehead as she caressed my arms.

“Mic, yes,” she laughed. “Are you sure you’re okay with everything that’s happening? The planner offered to push the date back a year.”

I shook my head quickly and pressed my cheek against her stomach.

“I’ve waited… exceptionally long for you to have my last name,” I murmured. “I’m not waiting another year. If it was up to me, those papers would’ve been signed in Egypt already.”

She laughed softly. “I’m glad it’s Motown though,” she added. “Going home after all these years is going to feel weird.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “For me too.”

The cookie timer dinged.

We spent the rest of the afternoon tossing around baby names, stealing slightly charred chocolate chip cookies straight from the tray, and talking about the trip that would end with us saying I do.

Somewhere between the laughter and the burnt sugar, it settled over me.

Home wasn’t a place we were going back to.

It was something we were building.

Kiy

“Party people. Y’all packed or what?”

Zune came through the door after they had a quick hoop session. All the guys came straggling in one by one. They didn’t look exhausted, so maybe this time the locals didn’t whoop their asses.

Well, they never did. Close games, but never a blowout. My man can hoop. He didn’t play to lose.

“I got some accessories and shoes coming in tomorrow,” I answered while Julia and I practiced our spades game on the moss living room floor. “But mostly.”

“Ah, miss bride-to-be.” Zune gripped his heart. “You glowing as usual.”

Micah smacked the back of his head. Zune shot him a wild look. “Don’t be flirting with my wife in front of me.”

Zune cheesed, ignoring the warning. “Bet you couldn’t wait to use that one, huh? Fatherhood?”

Mic pushed past him, joining me on the floor, his arms resting around my stomach. He pecked me twice on the cheek. “Hey baby, you good?”

“Yes.” I blinked up at him. His face held this particular look like he was about to do something reckless. He cupped my face and kissed me in front of everybody.

“See? That’s why she expecting,” Zune added, finding Autumn on the couch and pulling her close. Autumn shook her head, playing with her man’s gold chain. “You need to get off her and let her breathe.”

“Nigga.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

“I know you of all people not giving me PDA advice,” Micah shot back. “I’m in my home. With my woman.”

“Baby,” I chuckled, and he kissed me again—longer this time.

“Handle that.” He got up abruptly, proving a point, not before whispering in my ear. “Imma go shower.”

I nodded, my attention back on the game with Julia. I laid down an ace, she cursed under her breath.

“What do y’all think of the cathedral we found?” Autumn changed the subject. “It’s basically emptied. We’re replacing the benches with either velvet or silk.”

“I love it.” I laid down a spade. Julia cursed again trying to keep up. “Why choose? Mix them.”

Autumn clasped her hands. “That’s why you’re always the creative genius.”

“What we miss?” Gabriel came back with Stembie after she had “forgot something in the car.”

Guess all the baby fever got to them too. Well, the act of creating one.

But nobody called them out.

“Nothing,” I drew another card and laid it down. “You gotta teach Julia properly, Stem. She’s losing to a pregnant woman.”

Chris leaned out from the den, split between the Pistons game and the living room. “Don’t patronize my girl. She trying to learn now.”

Stembie chuckled as she took a seat beside us, getting her cards ready. Gabriel joined Chris, dapping him up just as the Spurs lost the ball and the two of them erupted.

“You shouldn’t make motherhood sound like a disability,” Julia muttered, studying the table before sliding a card down.

“The way my hormones are,” I said, landing the final spade, “it’s leaning nuclear.”

I gathered the win and pushed myself up, deciding to check on Mic.

Not that he needed help getting dressed. But lately—especially tonight, the night before we fly to Detroit—I felt pulled toward him in a way I couldn’t explain.

I slipped past the arch corridor that led to the back of the house. Warm steam drifted into the hallway, my bare feet catching the mist that settled on the tile like morning dew.

His back was turned when I stepped into the bathroom. A fresh towel wrapped low around his waist, a simple tank and shorts folded neatly on the counter.

I leaned against the doorway, one hand resting over my stomach.

And suddenly it hit me.

Like a wave reaching shore.

Like a sailor finding the lighthouse through fog.

The man I loved across lifetimes wasn’t a dream anymore.

Not a memory.

He was here.

His existence had become my superpower. And with him—as my husband, as my best friend—I knew there wasn’t anything in this world we couldn’t face.

“Meu lar.”

He turned quickly, the moment he saw my face. His hands came up, warm against my cheeks. Tears slipped down and dotted his palms like small proofs of truth.

“You’re crying,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re my best part, Mic.”

The words left me softly, like something I’d been carrying for years.

He pushed the door closed behind me, sealing us inside the warmth and steam. My back rested against the wood as his hand came down beside my head, bridging the small space between us.

“It just hit me,” I said quietly. “How real this is. How real you are.”

His eyes held mine—deep, warm, steady—like I was something precious.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?”

Micah tilted my chin slightly, studying my face the way he always did when he knew my heart was running faster than my thoughts.

I laughed softly, brushing the tears away.

“Sometimes I feel like we’re still on that porch with the checkered patio rug,” I whispered. “Talking up at the stars.”

His arms slipped around my waist, pulling me closer until there was barely any space left between us.

“In that moment,” Mic said gently, “I had no idea you were about to bring me my whole world.”

His thumb brushed my cheek. “And you did it so effortlessly.”

He kissed my temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth. Small sparks everywhere he touched.

“I can’t wait to become the man you always saw in me.”

“You already are, Micah,” I whispered.

He held me tighter, like he believed that now.

We stood there in the steam, the bathroom suddenly feeling like its own quiet little universe. Down the hallway our friends laughed, their voices echoing through the house like life continuing exactly as it should.

Micah’s hands slid down slowly until they rested over my stomach.

“And you,” he murmured, his voice softer than before, “are the star in a room I’ll always keep safe.”

His hand stayed there. Warm. Certain.

Outside the window, the night was still. The kind of quiet that listens.

And for the first time, something simple settled deep in my chest.

The stars weren’t above us anymore.

We had built one.

Maybe even two.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XVI

The Sky Held Our Answer

Kiy

We didn’t fly home just yet. After a heart-wrenching murder mystery dinner, I was still shaken up. I wasn’t actually Claudette, of course. But I understood the weight of that story. It felt ancient somehow—like the pain belonged to another lifetime.

Maybe it did.

To inherit the world and lose your heart. That was one thing I promised myself we would never do.

But I’d be lying if I said my feet didn’t run cold.

Were we ready to be married? Could something like that bring us closer—or pull us apart once the hidden secrets started surfacing? The shadows we hadn’t dealt with in so long.

“Meu lar.”

I flinched.

Micah tilted his head as we lounged in a quiet cabana outside Cairo. Concern crept across his face as he draped an arm over my stomach.

“You’re still thinking about that dinner.”

I huffed and pushed my sunglasses up. “I mean… how could I not? That ending was so…”

“Bleak?”

“More than that,” I said. “It stopped being about the killer. It became about the systems. The people who build them. The ones who get trapped inside them.”

A chill slipped down my spine. I couldn’t imagine us—being us—becoming that compromised.

But the truth was, not that long ago, we almost had.

We both fought hard for each other. Could we still? Or would one of us give something away… the way Agustí and Claudette did?

He nodded the way he does when he’s fully tuned in.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It hit me. Even while I was playing Agustí, I could feel the tension. Doing the right thing… or protecting someone he loved.”

He knelt beside me, grounding my runaway thoughts, tracing slow circles around my navel.

“I think you’re right,” he continued. “It stopped being about murder. It became about the people standing around the chaos. That’s what makes the ending good though. It leaves you with questions.”

I turned on my side to face him.

“It….scared me.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “But we aren’t them. Believe me.”

“I do. Always.”

I exhaled, letting his words settle, then rolled onto my back again. The sun warmed my skin, slowly melting the last cold corners of that imagined future.

We’d hauled in more souvenirs than I could count. A quick FaceTime from Autumn flickered across my screen before boarding, her laugh bouncing through the lounge. Micah and I said our last goodbyes to the digging crew at the airport the next morning. Every one of them saved as a personal contact. Every one invited—verbally, earnestly—to our wedding.

I finally understood why Micah needed these excursions. It wasn’t about space or adventure. It was about people. About real connections. Priceless ones that leave echoes long after the footprints vanish.

“Damn, y’all still in one piece, huh?” Autumn’s voice pulled me back, warm and teasing. Our flight was delayed, the Cairo lounge buzzing with soft chatter and the hum of rolling suitcases. “That’s what I like to see.”

Mic waved at her before brushing his lips across my forehead. He drifted toward the buffet, leaving behind the scent of Egyptian spices, searching for something a little closer to home. Burgers. He always knew my weak spot.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” I said, sinking into a corner by the window. Sunlight dappled across the polished floor, planes glinting as they taxied and took off. “This… this was the most liberating trip I’ve had.”

“Next time, we should all go,” Autumn said, fanning her fresh nails across the screen like she was swatting at impossibly delicate air. “I know, I know—it’ll be after the wedding, but a bitch can dream.”

“Like you and Zune need a getaway?” I teased, grinning. “Gotta come up for air from that.”

“Hefta,” she laughed, signing off. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

I exhaled, letting the calm settle around me like sunshine warming my shoulders.

“You’re glowing,” Mic said, settling across from me with a plate of fruit on one side, two burgers on the other. “I love seeing you like that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect this trip to be so… captivating,” I admitted. “And you found--“

“We found.” He corrected, feeding me a strawberry like it was a secret.

I let the flavor linger, the sweet tartness mixing with the quiet airport hum. “We found pieces of history,” I said, voice soft, “that’ll end up in a museum. The one in New York where celebrities strut their walkways.”

“That reminds me,” he murmured, scrolling through a group chat. “When do you want to go to the opening? They’re already obsessed.”

I glimpsed the messages: Will Kiy be attending? And is she coming to the fall excursion in Thailand?

Mic shook his head, arm draped casually over the back of my chair. He snapped his phone closed. “Knew they’d be like this after meeting you. You’re contagious.”

“I didn’t know I’d have that much fun,” I said, laughter light and easy. “But I get it now. I get you now.”

“Baby, you have me,” he said, lifting my chin, strawberry still teasing our lips. “That’s why I’m not sharing.”

Mic

July 21

The Pollux Notes

Mood: Truth has weight. It’s never easy. Especially to someone who’s your entire world. But regardless, it will spill. Might as well do the spilling.

The plane hums beneath our feet. Kiy-surprisedly wide awake, reflecting on all the photos we took. Some appropriate. Some not.

Her headphones plug in, lost in optics that were only a mere days ago. Us on the steamboat, us at the temple. Us at the pyramid.

Her, naked, a slight thin covering across her as she was reading in our suite. The night after our charity dinner. Me, ass out, staring into town on our balcony.

Us … well you get it. I can see how this trip changed her. It changed me too. Like the past has finally stopped looming over us. We have a chance to be ourselves.

Openly. Carefully. Vividly.

I learned so much in Egypt. About Ra. About Horus. About the real story between Hathor and Sekhmet split. It authenticates unbounded love.

A domino effect after one goddess chose love. Choose us. And I knew it was only the beginning.

I knew in my heart our marriage would no longer give doubt. It’s destined. It’s chosen.

I felt tied to her in every shape and form. And to be honest, it didn’t scare me anymore.

I relied on it.

She’d be my anchor anywhere and no matter how far we go, Kiy kept me grounded. Safe.

I know I have the pleasure of doing the same. In this life… and the next.

My forever rain.

My pen tucked behind my ear, I closed my latest entry and saw Kiy drifting off to sleep.

I chuckled, her neck resembling a toddler. I lean her head back against my shoulder… us snuggled in a luxury cocoon I might have spent an arm for.

Sure, I spoil her. A lot. But her presence gave me a lot of warm feelings I’d never let go. The blanket, pulled our body heat, and the window drawn close create a cozy atmosphere.

My eyes darted to the last picture she flipped through, causing my curiosity. I zoomed in on it a few times, settling on a unique position that we both enjoyed. Her ass in the air, and my face hovering right there.

Thank god for a tripod.

I edited it in black and white. I didn’t care if no one saw it (since it wouldn’t be publicized), but thinking about her like this… remembering the moans bouncing off the walls as our bodies clapped against each other…I stiffened before it could be stopped. My dick pressed against tight fabric, only made it impossible to be comfortable.

I sighed, knowing how to deal with it so I could sleep. I lowered my headphones and stared at Kiy. Sleep. Unmovable. Then, my hands wiggled around in my sweats. I wore looser boxers, and it wasn’t hard to grab onto him. He strung out like a chording string, and the heat grew more intense.

“Shit,” I muttered. I was about to get off on a picture, but this wasn’t the first time. I didn’t want to wake her up. Besides, I knew how to take care of myself and be discreet.

One stroke.

Groan.

Second stroke.

Another groan.

Quietly, under my breath, I thought about how captivating she assembled as Claudette. My mind led back to the steamboat hallways and corridors with untold secrets. Betrayal. Her French words went from my ear to my arousal. And I wasn’t surprised how bold she became as her. In another life form.

When I grabbed her in the hallway, as secrets became known, my body wanted to take her then. Her French garment suit—torn. The fog swallowing us whole. The Nile becoming a witness as I persisted on tattooing my name onto her shivering body.

Shit.

Finer than wine.

Couldn’t believe murder mystery dinners left me wanting and her vexed, needing me to arrive in her pussy.

Kiy told me she wanted role playing. Some time ago. When I’d imagined her speaking ferocious French things to me, my head lean back and my eyes were filled with excited anticipation.

“Damn.”

My precum covered my hand. I wiped it against my Calvin’s. I began again, closing my eyes. Then, I beat myself faster and faster until—

Those familiar soft lips enveloped me, and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

“Kiy—!”

My other hand flew to my mouth, biting down hard. It was a chilling sensation, convinced she was asleep and couldn’t hear me. But her head continued to bounce as her lips greeted me, repeatedly.

Soft.

Subtle.

Warm.

“Fuck.” I uttered. But her spontaneity was exactly what I needed. My headphones fell and the camera escaped my hold, she adjusted herself. Now on her knees in front of me, I was glad the cocoon held us privately.

“Keep going. Fuck—baby—you’re taking me all in.”

And she didn’t stop until my knuckles were white and there were stars in my eyes. My chest heaved up and down, catching my breath. Then she unzipped her jacket, threw it over my head.

Everything went completely black. At first it was a moment of silence. And with my eyes covered, I couldn’t control much of anything. It felt so fucking good not to.

“Oh!”

Her warmth struck, raw. She slid down onto my dick and I melted inside her. The heated retention blew my resolve. I wished her riding the shit out my dick. Her hips slowly grinding, rubbing me, back and forth. A steady rock, I almost lost.

“Ha.” I huffed, winded. “Ha. Kiy baby, don’t stop. Take me. All the damn way.”

I couldn’t fathom what she was doing. It was a risk for us both, but that didn’t matter. The repercussions were far away. And our bodies, slicked with heat. I groped her ass, bringing our collision to the moon.

How did a simple hand stroke escalate into a surreal moment—her riding me mid-flight?

I couldn’t question her. My mind wandered freely. Her making love to me, our bodies moved better than oil machinery, unraveling me gradually.

And her climax, glorious. Me feeling every pulse her pussy made after the fact. We took on a different state of surrender, unable to resist this heightened pleasure.

I let go soon after her, spilling like the secrets did not too long ago. It was a shot in the dark that we didn’t plan for consciously. It’s like we both gave up our hearts in one decision.

She felt so fucking amazing.

“Oh, Mic!”

Gabriel laughed as we went out for celebratory drinks the next day. We were at Waikiki’s exclusive club, Sky Leila. He and the guys weren’t letting me off the hook on every single detail that had me join the Mile High club with them.

“You got some? In the air? I’m blown away.”

“Hey man, keep your voice down,” I warned him. “But yeah, she took care of me.”

“What a woman.”

Zune mentioned that. He and Chris were playing pool, and he executed a trick shot that resulted in two balls landing in the same pocket.

My eyes shrunk. I’m starting to think Zune would’ve made a play to Kiy if I wasn’t around. He and Autumn are fluent like that. But too bad, I was here. And I wasn’t losing the one person who made living prosperous.

“Careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Bruh. You’re about to become a married man.” Chris remarked. “Trust me, there’ll be more stories to tell.” He patted me on the back before taking his shot.

“Aye, welcome,” Zune clapped in admiration. “It’s about time you joined the club. You’ve been traveling so much that I was starting to worry.”

I raised my glass and gazed directly into it, dismissing his comment with a shrug. “I’m only sharing this because… well, I didn’t pull out.”

They all stared at me, as if I had grown antlers or something.

I continued preparing for my round with Gabriel. “It wasn’t like she gave me much choice. She caught me off guard.”

Zune, seated and sipping whiskey, couldn’t help but wonder, “And she… what? Ain’t she taking birth control?”

I shook my head, leaning on the pool stick. I couldn’t help but smile. “Nah. And that’s your second strike. You a little too invested.”

Kiy trusted me enough to be completely free with her body. And it was a honor—to hold that trust—in so many positions I’d get her in.

That’s why I didn’t stop her, and couldn’t stop myself either. The feeling surged through me, warming me from the inside out.

Plus, I did promise her. She would be the mother of our kids, someday.

“Damn.” They all uttered in unison.

Chris wagged his finger. “I sensed something was amiss about you all the moment we arrived. That was a life-altering decision.”

Gabriel broke into a fit of laughter at the top. “But are you ready for what comes after?” We all stared at him, and he chuckled again. “No pun intended.”

“Yeah,” I said. Not hesitating. It didn’t only shock them. “I am.”

Zune shivered, a chill running down his spine. “Oof. Married and a father? That bachelor card long gone.”

I clenched my teeth and said, “Fuck you. You’re next. As much you and Autumn go at it.”

“We go at it because I know she’s good,” Zune replied. “Lord knows we’re not ready. We have too much prime left. Besides, she’s about to reach the peak of her career. Only the fastest lane here, ya dig?”

I pushed his shoulder, and he suddenly perked up. “Besides, we only have one chain per group. You and Chris have already fallen. Gabriel and I gotta be extra cautious.”

“Oh, that’s been settled.” Gabriel shot back. “My sunflower and I made up our minds that we’ll be the wealthy auntie and uncle.”

Zune dapped him up. “Aye, come through on that.”

Night had settled over Waikīkī like a velvet curtain. Neon rippled across the ocean-facing windows of Sky Leila, and the bass from downstairs thumped through the floor like a second heartbeat. The kind of place where secrets floated between glasses of whiskey and the city lights looked close enough to steal.

Gabriel leaned over the pool table like a scientist studying a rare specimen. Except the specimen was me.

“Man,” he said, dragging the word out like taffy. “You really just dropped that like it was nothing.”

Chris whistled low. “Not nothing. That’s the kind of sentence that changes tax brackets.”

Zune laughed into his drink. “Nah, forget tax brackets. That’s the kind of sentence that changes bedtime.”

The table erupted.

I rolled the cue stick between my palms, trying to look calm while lining up my shot. The ball cracked clean against the rack. Two dropped.

Inside though… my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Not to Cairo.

Or the plane.

Not even the night.

It was the look on Kiyanna’s face when she said she’d stopped taking them.

She wasn’t nervous.

And it wasn’t calculated.

She was free. Soaring.

Like she’d stepped out of a cage no one else even knew she was in.

That kind of freedom does something to a man. Makes the future stop looking like some distant country and more like a door you’re already walking through.

Zune snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Yo fatherhood, you still with us?”

I blinked. “Shut up.”

Gabriel laughed so hard he nearly scratched his shot.

Chris leaned against the table, studying me with that older-brother expression he wore sometimes now. Ever since the adoption thing started moving forward.

“Real talk though,” he said quietly. “You sound different.”

“Different how?”

“Happier. Lived.”

Those words landed heavier than the cue ball.

Happy? Yeah, I am.

But lived?

Only because when she is with me, I feel so fucking invincible.

Funny how guys act like it’s a prison sentence. Like peace is some kind of trap.

Gabriel chalked his cue. “Man went from international mystery man to suburban dad arc in one flight.”

Zune lifted his glass toward me. “To Mic. The first of us to fall gloriously into domestic bliss.”

They all laughed again.

I raised my drink anyway.

“To whatever comes next.”

The glasses clinked.

Outside the windows, the Pacific stretched into the dark like a living thing breathing under the moon. And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something I had to outrun.

It felt like something I’d already chosen.

Kiy

“Come on out and let us see now,” Julia called through the changing room curtain. “I have another selection if you’re worried.”

She had taken full command of bridal shopping until Autumn finished her meetings. I didn’t mind. It was comforting watching Julia operate with purpose, clipboard energy and all.

Autumn, meanwhile, was still bulldozing the business world. Poetic Ink Co. had become a beast. She’d already closed three signage deals this week—including one with a boutique winery that apparently made bottles too pretty to open.

She’d already volunteered them for our wedding.

Which was sweet. Except we didn’t even know where the wedding was yet. My thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.

The plane.

The soft cocoon of that ridiculous first-class pod Mic insisted on buying. The quiet hum of the engines. The way the cabin lights dimmed until the world outside felt like nothing but clouds and midnight.

The moment I decided to be spontaneously driven, I didn’t stop him from pooling into me. In fact, I rode him all the way through, to the point of existential pleasantries.

I could still feel him if I thought too hard. My hips rolling into his, his breath caught against my shoulder while we tried—and failed—to stay quiet.

The memory made my stomach twist.

It had only been a few days.

Friday would tell me everything.

My palms dampened as the thought circled again. Was I ready to be a mother?

“Kiy,” Julia called again.

“Yeah,” I answered automatically. “Coming.”

I pushed through the curtain.

The reaction hit me instantly.

Gasps.

Julia’s hand flew to her mouth before tears rushed out like she’d been waiting for them all morning. Stembie blinked rapidly, pretending to swat invisible dust from the air.

Autumn arrived, champagne in one hand and her oversized pink Marc Jacobs bag dangling from the other. She froze mid-step.

“Well damn,” she breathed.

She walked over and helped me onto the little podium.

“And this is the first one?” she asked, shaking her blond curls. “Girl… he’s not going to know what hit him.”

I looked down at myself.

Ivory sequins across a ballroom gown clung across my shoulders like scattered starlight, the fabric flowing down into a long embroidered train. Sunlight from the boutique windows caught every tiny bead, throwing little sparks across the mirror.

The pins in the back held everything together, but I already knew.

This dress was right.

I could walk out of here happy.

But Julia would absolutely accuse me of cursing the wedding if I didn’t try on at least three more.

“Alright,” I sighed. “What’s next?”

Autumn lifted one manicured finger.

Shit, I thought. I’ve been made.

I became very interested in the stitching along the bodice. She circled me slowly, eyes narrowing like a detective.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” she said. “But something about you is definitely different.”

“You’re crazy,” I laughed nervously. “Come on, we’ve got dresses to get through.”

“Mm-mmm.”

She grabbed my arm before I could escape back behind the curtain. Her purse landed on a nearby bench with a dramatic thud.

“You look like a changed woman,” she said. “And desert heat doesn’t do that.”

My hands folded in front of me instinctively.

“I don’t know yet,” I blurted. “Dammit, Autumn. I cannot keep anything from you.”

Her smile widened with pure victory.

“As your maid of honor,” she said proudly, “you should know that by now.”

Stembie leaned forward. “Hold on. Someone want to fill the rest of us in?”

I exhaled and smoothed the dress over my hips.

“I’d rather not,” I admitted. “But she will make me say it anyway.”

My eyes lifted to all three of them. My spine braced for impact. “Our last flight was… eventful.”

Autumn nearly choked on her champagne.

“How eventful?” she grinned. “Like the kind that leaves your man—”

“Let me say it!” I squealed.

They froze.

“We may have joined the Mile High Club…” I swallowed. “…and possibly the parenting club.”

The boutique fell eerily quiet.

Even through the walls we could hear heels clicking across the marble floor as associates helped other brides. But inside our little room, time stalled.

Every face turned toward me.

“Y’all,” I said softly. “Please say something.”

Julia moved first.

She wrapped her arms around me so tightly I almost lost my balance on the podium. Tears slipped onto my cheek.

“I’m happy for you,” she whispered. “And Mic. You may not know yet… but if anyone deserves to be a mother, it’s you.”

“Julia…”

I held her just as tight.

I knew that conversation wasn’t easy for her. For years she’d imagined motherhood a different way. But after the adoption interview, something in her heart had shifted.

She’d found a new path to love.

Stembie leaned back in her chair like her brain had short-circuited.

“Seems like yesterday I drove you to go get that man,” she said. “And now you might be somebody’s mama.”

Autumn stepped forward and took both my hands. “You’re not alone in this,” she said gently. “Whatever happens, you have us.”

She squeezed my fingers.

“We’ll raise the little tyrant together.”

I laughed through sudden tears.

“And that includes Julia’s future baby too,” she added.

The handkerchief made its way to me next, courtesy of a slightly stunned boutique associate standing nearby.

I dabbed my eyes as my girls surrounded me.

This was my reality now.

And for the first time in a long time… I didn’t feel like I had to face it alone.

We stepped out of the boutique slightly buzzed, dresses and champagne still floating in the air around us. The afternoon sun spilled across the sidewalk like it had been waiting for our little parade of laughter.

“Y’all hungry?” Stembie asked first. “Let’s hit a food truck. I’m craving shrimp tacos.”

Autumn snorted. “Look at her. You’d think she was the one eating for two.”

Stembie flipped her off and kept walking toward the parking lot. “Don’t ever wish that on me. I plan on being rich auntie for life.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said, slipping the keys from Autumn’s hand. “And I’m driving.” They gave me suspicious looks but climbed in anyway.

Her pink Porche curved along the coast until we pulled up to a sleek black storefront glowing softly against the ocean.

Shelly Noir.

A new Black-owned seafood spot everyone had been whispering about. Inside, warm lights bounced off polished wood and brass fixtures.

The air smelled like butter, cayenne, and something deeper—slow-cooked and sacred. Jazz drifted through the room from a trio near the window, the trumpet bending notes that floated out toward the sea.

Once we settled into our reserved table, Autumn snapped her fingers twice after the first bite.

“Come through, Baton Rouge,” she said, eyes widening. “It’s like Mardi Gras moved to Hawaii.”

“Right?” I laughed.

And that wasn’t even the best part.

The chef had prepared a special Louisiana tasting menu just for us. Each dish arrived like a small celebration—blackened shrimp, buttery cornbread, and a gumbo so rich it felt like somebody’s grandmother had personally blessed the pot.

Julia paused mid-bite, studying the room like a detective chef. “How did you even find this place?” she asked.

“Mic,” I said simply. “This was supposed to be our anniversary dinner spot. But he wanted something more private that night.”

I smiled to myself. “They catered the whole evening though. Didn’t miss once.”

Stembie leaned back, shaking her head while the jazz hummed around us. “Let me find out this man isn’t just booking trips,” she said. “He’s planning entire culinary adventures.”

I grinned.

“That’s not all.”

Right on cue, the restaurant staff approached our table carrying small black boxes and ivory envelopes.

Autumn’s eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my God,” she shrieked when she opened hers. “You said you deleted this picture!”

I shrugged.

“I lied.”

Inside each envelope was a photo from our Mardi Gras trip—laughing, dancing, beads tangled everywhere. Beneath it sat a laminated card with gold lettering that read: Will You Be My Bridal Maid?

And tucked inside the velvet boxes were emerald-and-gold pearl sets I collected from the house the day we flew back.

“You all deserve the best,” I told them softly as the waiter set down their signature cocktails. “And I would be honored if you stood by me on my wedding day. ”

For a moment nobody spoke.

Stembie blinked hard like she was fighting tears.

“Girl, stop,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her chest. “Between this and the baby news, y’all really trying to send me into cardiac arrest.”

The table burst into laughter as she dramatically fanned herself with the menu.

Outside the windows the ocean shimmered under the setting sun, and inside Shelly Noir the jazz kept playing like the whole night had been written for us.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

No chapter release tomorrow.

TROSR returns next week.

Thank you!

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XV

Ink and Instinct, Side by Side

Mic

Agustí de Erbtide Green

I snapped a toothpick in half watching Virginia pass by me as if she hadn’t just tried to steal my reason for living.

I wasn’t a gambling prince. But if I had to wager anything, Virginia intended to—as the Americans say—have her cake and eat it too.

Não enquanto eu estiver vivo.

Claudette stepped out of the inspector’s temporary office, her composure fractured at the edges. I crossed the space between us and placed my hands on her shoulders, steadying what I could.

“What is it?”

She exhaled. “It’s about my inheritance. Someone else knows.”

My eyes lifted toward the inspector and Black. They gave a small, confirming nod.

The inspector paused, deliberate as ever. “It’s best to sleep for now. Come morning, we will assemble everything.”

Sleep.

As if sleep were possible.

When they exited, I remained where I stood, grounding myself through the soles of my shoes. I had done a remarkable job protecting her secret thus far. Or so I believed. Now every thread felt loose, tangled, threatening to expose more than intended.

“Meu lar,” I said gently, though my voice carried steel beneath it. “Be honest. Do you want to leave? We can.”

She shook her head almost immediately.

Of course.

We were too close.

With her mother silenced, who knew when another opportunity would arise to uncover the truth about her father.

Because that was the real gravity pulling this vessel forward.

Her Egyptian heritage.

The encrypted invitation.

The temple awaiting us downriver.

Miss Windleblossom hadn’t meant to overwhelm her. She wanted Claudette to step into her origin willingly.

And whoever committed both murders understood exactly how deeply this would wound her.

As expected, I didn’t sleep.

I led Claudette into our cabin and stayed beside her until her silent tears softened into steady breathing. Only then did I slip away.

It had to be half past midnight.

I stepped outside for a smoke.

That’s when I heard it — a dull thud, followed by harsh whispering.

“You better not be lying.” Sir William’s voice cut through the dark.

Layette was pinned against the dock’s railing, trembling under William’s grip. One wrong shift of balance and he’d tumble into the Nile.

“Is it true?” William snarled. “What’s your source?”

“It’s—it’s true,” Layette choked out, William’s hand tight at his collar. “She told me before the guests arrived. That’s where this boat is going.”

William laughed. Satisfied.

He released Layette abruptly and smoothed his jacket as though he hadn’t nearly thrown a man into the river.

“You might be valuable after all,” he said coolly. “And just in time.”

I stayed in the shadows until they calmed down.

Then I heard something else. A different kind of struggle. Low voices. Breath catching. A muffled moan followed by unmistakable kissing.

I turned toward a cabin I had no desire to open.

But I needed answers more than comfort.

I knocked twice.

“Come in,” Virginia called.

I entered without hesitation.

She was draped in white silk, a pale robe slipping from one shoulder, cigarette balanced between two elegant fingers. An old society magazine lay open in her lap. When she saw me, her brows narrowed.

“You?” She flicked her lighter and drew slowly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I ignored the performance.

“What are you playing at?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not subtle, Rose.”

She exhaled smoke in a thin ribbon. “I’m not playing at anything.”

I stepped closer. “Don’t insult me.”

She sighed theatrically. “Fine. Sit.” She glanced toward the darker corner of the room. “Butch? Get Mr. Green something strong.”

Butch emerged from shadow like she’d been there all along, then slipped out without a word.

Interesting.

“You’ll lose her,” Virginia said lightly, tapping ash into a crystal tray. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“There it is,” I replied evenly. “Still clinging to last year?”

“This isn’t about that.”

“But it is.” I stood again, refusing the seat. “You never would have noticed Claude if she hadn’t been with me. You want her because I have her. You’ve always been this way.”

Her eyes flashed.

“No,” she hissed. “I wanted you alone.”

The air tightened.

“And if I’m not?” I asked quietly. “What then? You’ll kill me too?”

She laughed — too loud, too sharp.

“Kill? Darling, do you strike me as capable?”

“You tell me.”

She shook her head, pressing her cigarette into the coaster beside the bed.

“I don’t kill,” she said softly.

She looked at me then. Calculating.

“I collect.”

Kiy

Claudette Desjardins

This was it.

The boat eased toward the docks of

Luxor Temple— raised by Amenhotep III and later expanded by Ramesses II. Stone layered upon stone. Dynasty upon dynasty.

I stood near the railing as the breeze struck my face. For a brief moment, I was alone with the question.

Did I truly want to know what my blood carried?

This journey had already birthed enemies.

And two deaths.

Including… Miss Windleblossom.

Que dieu repose son âme.

I swallowed hard and steadied myself before bile rose again. Breakfast had been served before docking, but I could not bring myself to eat.

If my parents could see me now, they would fuss over my well-being. A kind southern French couple who believed no one should go without.

Ce sont des gens qui ont moins, donc nous mangeons plus, Ma would say.

There are those who have less, so we eat more.

It felt distant now. A simpler philosophy in a world that had suddenly grown teeth.

I smelled him before I saw him.

Warm spice. Clove and cedar. Something steady.

Agustí emerged from below deck. He’d gone to speak with the inspector at first light — searching for updates, answers, control.

His emerald suit caught the morning sun like moss under forest light. Gold cuffs glinted. His hair was woven into deliberate spirals, immaculate as ever.

He looked composed.

Too composed.

My teal suit brushed against the wind. I wore a white rose at my collar — Aurora’s gift. The family crest.

Inheritance pinned over my heart.

I did not ask where he had gone in the middle of the night.

He did not explain.

Whatever transpired left a faint severity in his posture. And Agustí was rarely displaced from his equilibrium.

“Anything?” I asked quietly.

He shook his head and removed his dark cape, draping it over my shoulders.

“But we’re here now, amor.” His voice was low, reassuring. “It will be over soon.”

Soon.

The temple loomed ahead.

Layette passed us first, moving quickly, eyes lowered, as if speed alone might absolve him.

Sir William followed, twirling his favorite lighter between his fingers like a nervous tic disguised as confidence. He caught our gaze and gave a small, dangerous grin — a reminder that fire is always playful until it isn’t.

Butch Lawry appeared next, dressed in a suit richer than the night before. Dark, tailored, immaculate. A quiet ember under heavy wool. She met Agustí’s eyes first — something unreadable passing between them — then turned to me.

Her look did not soften.

A chill traveled up my spine, and I gripped Agustí’s arm instinctively.

Last, as expected, came Virginia Rose.

Crimson silk clung to her frame as if stitched by vanity itself. Her lipstick matched the dress. Of course it did. Her smile stretched wide — too wide — polished for an audience.

Reassurance, perhaps.

Or theater.

She walked toward us, then glided past, deliberately slow, before locking arms with her soon-to-be betrothed. The gesture was precise. Measured.

She knew exactly how to affect me.

My head clouded. My pulse thundered.

The wind struck hard against my back, but Agustí held me steady. His arm tightened around my waist. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, gentle and possessive all at once.

It was the most normal gesture since yesterday.

“Quickly assemble, everyone,” the inspector called. His voice carried easily over the docks. “The EMP will arrive shortly after we depart. For the deceased.”

No one objected.

Black moved at his heel like a shadow given orders. It made sense. He was the last standing Windleblossom by name.

All except me.

The thought landed heavier than I expected.

One by one, we disembarked. Some in pairs. Others drifting alone, fractured by suspicion. Agustí did not release me. His arm felt fused to my waist.

I did not protest.

I had loved him, after all.

When we crossed into the temple, silence gathered around us like something ancient and patient.

“Miss Desjardins, if you would please.”

I stepped forward with a lump in my throat, my hands trembling. I steadied them as best I could and glanced back at Agustí. He offered a small smile meant to reassure me.

It didn’t feel right.

I turned and walked into the temple.

What I expected to happen… didn’t.

It was quiet. Still. So still a pen might have echoed if dropped on the floor. The only sound was my own breathing.

Yet the stone beneath my feet — the worn granite, the towering pillars carved like monuments to forgotten kings and queens — did not suffocate me.

Strangely…

I felt at home.

“Take two paces to the right.”

The inspector’s voice startled me. I clutched my chest, catching my breath, and obeyed.

It felt foolish to think something might leap out at me.

Or, as we say in France—

C’est la vie.

Then I saw it.

A red X.

Faded by sand and years of footsteps, but unmistakable.

“Am I supposed to know what I’m looking at, Mr. Digory?”

“No,” the inspector replied calmly. “But it’s a start.”

He left me standing there.

Alone.

While somewhere behind me, he must have been circling the killer.

I tried not to think of the bodies. The word alone made my stomach twist.

Then I heard him.

“Claudette, watch out!”

I froze.

I knew that voice. The same voice that had whispered me to sleep night after night. The same voice that had comforted me on this journey.

The same voice now echoing through the temple like a warning.

Or a trap.

I tried to scream.

Nothing came.

Non… n’importe qui sauf lui.

Anyone but him.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Virginia.

Her voice cut sharply through the chamber.

A struggle followed. Shuffling feet. Something striking stone.

I gripped the knife at my hip.

Both of them had deceived me.

Two people I had loved.

All for money.

So this was the end of romance.

“Claude—”

Agustí stumbled into the temple, breathing hard. As he crossed the threshold, a stone barrier dropped from the ceiling with a violent crash, closing the distance between us.

He staggered, nearly falling. Somehow, came around the other side, unscathed.

“Let me explain.”

My hand shook as I raised the knife.

“You… you—”

The words collapsed under the weight of fury. I cursed him in French, in English — anything that might carry the pain out of my chest.

“Why?” I demanded. “Why would you do this?”

“Claude please—”

He stepped toward me cautiously, stopping a few feet away.

“I—”

“Stay away from me!” I shouted. “You told me you loved me. You told me loving her would only destroy me. But that was a lie too, wasn’t it? You still love her.”

My voice cracked.

“You never stopped.”

He swallowed hard.

“À cause de la culpabilité,” he said, his French clumsy in his panic. “Parce qu’elle tient quelque chose sur moi.”

Because of guilt. Because she holds something over me.

“Meu lar…”

“Stop.” My strength gave out and I sank to the ground on the faded X.

“I never want to see your face again.”

My voice came out hollow.

“You’re dead to me.”

“Amor,” he said desperately. “Hear me out.”

Then he rushed forward.

We struggled. My knife clattered across the stone floor as he wrestled it from my hand.

“You don’t mean that,” he pleaded, gripping my shoulders. “You can never mean that.”

“Black!” I screamed.

The pirate moved instantly.

He and the inspector stormed into the chamber, pulling Agustí away from me and forcing him to the ground.

Metal cuffs snapped around his wrists.

And I was left alone on the ancient stone floor…

weeping in the temple of my ancestors.

Mic

Agustí Erbtide de Green

“You need to go back for her,” I pleaded. “I don’t care what you do to me, but she cannot be alone. Entender?”

The inspector nodded to Black, who immediately turned back toward the temple. The inspector kept hold of me.

When they finally returned with Claudette, she couldn’t even look at me.

For some reason, that hurt worse than the cuffs.

Even if I wasn’t guilty, I still knew the truth. And I hadn’t told her. That was my sin. Loving her… while still holding a torch for Virginia.

Stupidly.

Our cycle seemed destined to repeat itself forever.

The inspector cleared his throat.

“I do apologize for the scare,” he said calmly. “But that was the final piece I needed.”

He clapped his hands once.

“Now… shall we begin?”

We formed a loose circle beneath the towering stone of the temple. The inspector walked slowly around us as he spoke, his voice steady against the ancient granite.

He explained everything.

The timeline between the minister—Windleblossom’s ex-husband—and Windleblossom herself. Dr. Khatibi’s movements. Layette arriving late to dinner.

Six official invitations… yet nine people on board.

Then the smaller details.

Windleblossom’s fan disappearing after the first death.

Layette later finding it lodged outside his cabin door. A warning—or perhaps a taunt.

Sir William’s constant arguments with Layette about the expedition’s destination. His obsession with hidden riches. When he finally believed the temple might hold treasure, he tried slipping away from the others to claim it first.

Except the treasure had already been moved.

Transferred.

Into Windleblossom’s will.

Everything—her estate, her London home, even the temple itself—left to Claudette Desjardins.

Murmurs spread through the group.

But the true killer… the one who orchestrated both deaths… was someone none of them expected.

The inspector stopped walking.

“Dr. Khatibi.”

Silence fell.

“Your hands, please.”

Khatibi frowned. “Why?”

“Just reveal them.”

He hesitated, then slowly removed his gloves.

Dark stains clung to his fingers.

Not human blood.

Steak juice.

The inspector smiled faintly.

“These imported steak bites were quite special,” he explained. “They created the illusion of poison—something exotic, something deadly. In reality, they simply marked whoever handled them.”

He gestured toward Khatibi’s hands.

“Unfortunately, my good friend didn’t realize that when he carried both the minister… and Miss Windleblossom… to their deaths.”

The weight of it crashed into my chest.

I had realized it too late.

After leaving Virginia’s cabin that night, I noticed the faint trail—traces leading from Windleblossom’s room… straight to Khatibi.

And worse still—

He had seen me leaving Virginia’s cabin.

He wanted me to take the fall. I could have exposed his involvement that night. Could have told Claudette everything.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t break her heart again.

“Take him away,” the inspector said quietly, nodding to the EMP officers.

The cuffs were removed from my wrists.

I collapsed to my knees with a dull thud against the temple floor.

Across the room, Claudette still refused to look at me.

Até a verdade é pior do que a morte.

Even the truth is worse than death.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XIV

Truth, Stripped of Performance

The Interrogation

The inspector claimed a corner office no one had yet disturbed. Outside, the river brushed the hull in steady taps, louder now that voices were absent. Mr. Black kept watch at the door, turning a compass in his palm as if testing whether the night still knew its direction.

In the waiting room, the guests held themselves still. Eyes measured. Shoulders angled away. No conclusions yet—only the slow understanding that everyone would be called in alone.

“Miss Virginia Rose,” Inspector Digory said, rising to shake her hand.

She met it—awkward, arm stiff—then took the chair across from him. “Let’s begin with why you were invited.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” she said, gum working relentlessly. “Butch was.”

“Am I to assume Butch is—”

Digory’s pen paused. He wrote anyway.

“My fiancé,” Virginia added. “Recent. I was his plus one.”

“And how does your fiancé know Miss Windleblossom?”

“They run in the same circles. Same parties.”

“A newsie?” Digory’s tone remained neutral.

“Honestly—yes. But he isn’t just a newsie. He owns the factory uptown from Windleblossom’s estate.”

Digory looked up. “The factory that offered to purchase her property?”

“I know nothing about that,” Virginia said quickly. “He promised me a life of wealth. With my luck, it felt unwise to refuse.”

“Are you marrying for love, Miss Rose?”

She stared at him, blinking once. Hard. “Of course.”

Digory closed his notebook. “You may go.”

Virginia hesitated, unsettled. “You didn’t ask me about the body.”

“No,” Digory said, already turning the page. “Send in the next one.”

“Butch Lawry, Digs.” Black announces as he eyes Lawry square before closing the door behind him.

“Care to sit Mr. Lawry?” The inspector offered.

“I rather stand,” she paces the office and fumbles a book that was dusty. “Me and my girl didn’t do this.”

“I know,” the inspector says, jolting down something else. He fixes his glasses. “But I rather know how the invitation got to you.”

“Well, I was just as surprised as you are,” Butch answered. “Especially after the bidding war. It got ugly.”

“Yes, the papers—your paper company—inquired about Windleblossom’s London estate?”

“Well, it was apart of an expansion.” She popped her suspenders into place, then leaned on the back wall. “Windleblossom would’ve got a plenty penny for it. Until it burned to the ground.”

“Her estate caught fire?”

“Oh yeah, almost nuclear.” She chuckles lowly. “For the longest, she blamed me. So I’m not sure why I’m here, inspector. But I accepted because of Rose.”

“Your fiancé?”

“Yes.” She went on, “I’ll do anything for her.”

“That is all.”

Butch dipped her hat then left the office.

“I’m going to be sick.”

The cook went pale. Inspector Digory slid a bin toward him without comment and continued writing.

“You were a last-minute addition,” Digory said. “No formal invitation.”

“That’s—” Layfette paused to breathe. “That’s correct. I was hired to cook. That was my only role.”

“The meals were imported from—”

“Everywhere.” He swallowed hard. “I know some of the world’s best chefs. The ingredients were gifts.”

“Especially the steak bites.”

Layfette retched. When he finally lifted his head, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Forgive me. It’s been a strange night. I only wanted to redeem myself.”

“The loss of your third star,” Digory said, flipping a page. “You encountered Miss Windleblossom later in the evening?”

“She found me,” Layfette said hoarsely. “Pulled me from my own misery. I was… not well.”

“You felt indebted to her?”

He vomited again, then answered through it. “Not enough to kill a man.”

“You may go.”

Layfette staggered out, leaving the bin behind.

Sir William John entered next, posture stiff, expression rehearsed.

“Why can’t you bloody do your job and stop wasting my time?” he snapped. “I’m obviously innocent.”

“Why would an innocent man sound so aggrieved?” Digory asked calmly.

“Because you’re mishandling this room.” William flicked his lighter, restless. “Any one of us could be next.”

“Sit down, William.”

He did, heavily, crossing his legs, lighter still clenched in his hand.

“Your relationship to Layfette?” Digory asked.

“What relationship?” William scoffed. “We were having bit of fun is all.”

“Did you know him before Miss Windleblossom?”

“Yes. At his restaurant. I’d just earned a promotion. My colleagues insisted we celebrate. I ran into him in the alley. Things… ignited.”

“By ignited, you mean—”

“Sex,” William said flatly. “I smashed him, of course.”

“I see.” Digory adjusted his glasses. “You were a stockbroker.”

“The best,” William replied. “A family title.”

“Yet your family objected to your departure.”

“My forced departure,” he snapped. “I was accused of a crime.”

“The estate fire.”

“That very one.”

“Thank you, William.”

William stood abruptly and exited, displeasure radiating behind him.

The pirate opened the door for Dr. Khatibi.

The inspector rose at once, pulling him into a brief embrace—two men who knew each other too well.

“Cedric,” Digory said warmly. “How did you end up tangled in this?”

Dr. Khatibi laughed softly. “I wish I knew. I only wanted to ensure Miss Windleblossom was well. But… there were complications.”

“You and she were absent with the deceased for some time.”

“Yes,” Khatibi said evenly. “But not for murder.”

“He had been drinking?”

“Extensively. We didn’t realize he was an alcoholic until recently. The man was unraveling—going through a painful divorce.”

Digory’s pen stopped.

“With whom?” he asked.

Dr. Khatibi met his gaze. “With Miss Windleblossom.”

Mic

Agustí de Erbtide Green

I was called just after they announced another death.

The kind that steals expression from a room.

Aurora Windleblossom had been found in the corridor adjacent to the health minister’s quarters. A bottle of pills lay spilled at her feet. A whiskey glass sat empty beside her. She rested against a vanity mirror as if she’d simply fallen asleep.

That’s what it looked like.

But she had no pulse. Her skin was already cold.

Isso não está parecendo bom.

“Lord de Erbtide Green,” the inspector said, shaking my hand with practiced firmness. “It’s a pleasure. Your family stands in the highest regard with our Queen—Madame Victoria Elizabeth Henry II.”

I nodded and removed my coat as I sat. “Agustí is fine, Mr. Digory.”

“Oh please,” he waved it off. “Matthew.”

“Very well, Matthew.” I adjusted my cuffs and settled into the chair opposite him. The pirate lingered behind me, watching. His presence was deliberate. Noted.

“It’s a fleeting tragedy,” I said evenly, “when lovers fall.”

Matthew’s brows lifted. “You knew they were married?”

“Sim. My family attended their wedding. One of the finest of the season. I hadn’t realized aristocrats celebrated quite like royalty.”

Matthew laughed. “Care for tea, Agustí?”

“May I?” I asked. “Forgive me—I’ve not often been this close to death.”

He signaled to the pirate, who returned with two cups of dandelion-mint tea. As he set them down, I noticed the ring on his hand. A crest.

Windleblossom’s.

I sipped and smiled politely. “My apologies, Inspector. Was there something you wished to ask?”

“Oh yes.” He set his cup down a bit too firmly. “After seeing so many faces before yours, I admit—I relaxed.”

I returned the smile. “No worries, amigo.”

“Agustí,” Matthew said, adjusting his glasses. “You know Virginia Rose?”

“Yes.” My body stiffened before I could stop it.

“What is she to you?”

“Now?” I answered plainly. “The woman trying to steal what’s mine.”

Silence. Clean. Expectant.

“So Miss Rose and Miss Desjardins are involved?” he asked.

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “My eyes have been closed far too long.”

“Ah,” Matthew said lightly. “To be young.” Then, gentler: “What can you tell me about both women?”

“Virginia,” I tasted the name—bitter after years. “She’s the kind of lover who grows bored once she’s succeeded. It takes serious money to keep her attention.”

“And Claudette,” I continued, without hesitation, “may be timid—but her heart is full. One look from her captures my devotion entirely. How could I not love her?”

Matthew nodded once. “Any relation to the deceased?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Windleblossom.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “She is Claudette’s birth mother.”

The pirate let out a low whistle. “Didn’t know I was guarding royalty.”

I chuckled softly. “She wrote Claudette once. A long letter. Explained she would have cared for her—had politics allowed. She loved a colored man. A scandal she couldn’t survive.”

I looked away, unwilling to recall the pain that memory carved into Claudette’s face.

“I would give my life to keep her content,” I said. “Even if that means tolerating Virginia—whatever shape that takes.”

“I assume Claudette was adopted,” Matthew said.

“Yes. By a respected French family in the countryside. She earned everything since—through her writing. Her second book was recently published.”

Matthew reached into his coat and produced a worn copy. “I know. I’ve been reading. A bit vulgar for my taste,” he admitted, “but sustained. Honest.”

“Indeed,” I said, pride warming my chest. “She is the crown jewel of romance.”

Kiy

Claudette Desjardins

The waiting room emptied once the interviews began. The boat rocked steadily through the Nile, as if the night itself hadn’t changed.

But it had.

Two possible futures sat in my mind, existing at once, and I didn’t like either of them.

Pas un peu.

“Can we talk?”

Her voice startled me. Virginia stood over me, and my journal slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. When she bent to pick it up, crouching low, my eyes betrayed me—drawn where they shouldn’t be.

Mon ami, Claud.

Now was not the time for this. For her. For my body remembering things my heart had buried.

I snatched the journal back too quickly, averting my gaze.

“I’m sorry if I misled you,” she said, twisting her new commitment around her finger. “But I always knew I was going to be married. With a man.”

The words landed clean. Surgical.

“Is that all?” I huffed, flipping through the pages of my journal as if her fingerprints had stained them. They hadn’t—but the hurt screamed anyway, loud and insistent.

“No.” She sat beside me, studying my face. Then she took my hands, threading her fingers through mine, magnetized and deliberate. “I want… I was wondering—”

I looked up. She bit her lip.

I hated when she did that.

“Rose,” I said quietly. “Qu’est-ce que c’est ?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled my face into hers and kissed me like she was running out of time. My eyes stayed open, shock freezing me in place—until my body caved, traitorous and aching. I held her the way I’d imagined too many nights before. Her breath tangled with mine. Her tongue found mine.

I was already lost.

A throat cleared.

We broke apart instantly. She gasped and shoved me away, as if I were the one who’d crossed a line.

Agustí swept into the room, his gaze passing over Virginia as if she weren’t there at all.

“Meu lar,” he said calmly. “They’re ready for you.”

“Yes—I—” I stood too fast, brushing at nothing, desperate to look composed while everything inside me fractured. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the office led down a narrow corridor. It wasn’t silent—not with my heart pounding loud enough to echo off the walls. Agustí walked ahead of me, steady, measured. I followed, trying to gather the pieces of myself.

Just before the office door, he stopped.

He turned. I nearly collided with him.

Without a word, he guided me gently toward the corner just out of sight of the entrance—a small, shadowed wedge of privacy in an otherwise exposed night. My back met the wall. I held my breath.

He studied me carefully, as though measuring how much of me was still intact.

“I’m sorry,” I began.

He didn’t let me finish. His mouth found mine, quiet and certain, stealing the apology before it could fully form. His hands settled at my hips.

Each kiss was deliberate. Slow. Reassuring.

“Agustí,” I whispered, half warning, half surrender.

“You’re not very good at hiding from me,” he murmured, lifting me slightly so my back pressed more firmly against the wall. His forehead rested briefly against mine. “I love you, meu lar. Whatever your move is, I’m behind you. I said I would be. Until the end.”

My pulse throbbed between us. Something wailing like hymn choosing solidarity.

We parted reluctantly, both of us breathing heavier than we should have been for a corridor outside an interrogation room. He adjusted my sleeves, smoothed my hair with a careful hand, restoring order.

“There. Off you go.” he said softly. “Bonne chance.”

I knocked, even though I knew they were expecting me.

“Come in, Miss Desjardins.”

The inspector didn’t look up immediately. I stepped inside, peeling off my gloves one finger at a time, unbuttoning the bottom of my vest to breathe.

They stood exactly where they belonged. The inspector behind the desk. The pirate by the window.

It felt like a story unraveling its threads without my consent.

“Bonne nuit, Mr. Digory. Mr. Black.”

“Good evening,” the inspector replied. Bearded Black tipped his hat.

A pen clicked. A quiet exhale.

“Let’s start from the beginning.”

So I did.

I told him about the adoption. How, at fifteen, Aurora Windleblossom sent a letter claiming I was her daughter. The timing had been unsettling. I had just won my first writing competition; my name had begun to circulate.

Wildfire is fast. Reputation faster.

“My parents,” I said carefully, “believed I had the right to know her. À des fins intensives. But I didn’t want to. I was happy. I didn’t need my past interrupting my future.”

I folded my hands in my lap.

“I wasn’t rich. But I wasn’t poor either. Wealth has more than one currency.”

“Windleblossom was a complicated woman,” the inspector said. “But I don’t believe she was chasing your rising fame.”

“I know she wasn’t,” I answered. “It was a protection letter. The more known I became, the more people would look backward. She knew that.”

“Do you have the letter?”

I hesitated only a second before retrieving it from inside my vest. He handled it carefully. The pirate leaned over his shoulder, reading in silence.

“You refused to live with her?”

“Oui. It was kind, perhaps. But she was a stranger. London was foreign. I had a life already.”

“Did that refusal create tension?”

“Yes.” My voice steadied. “After she married the minister, she said she wanted a family. She knew she could not have children again.”

The inspector nodded, flipping the letter over once more.

Then, without warning, he held it close to the flame of a candle.

“Que fais-tu?!” I stepped forward. “Don’t burn it!”

“It’s not destruction,” he said calmly. “It’s revelation.”

Heat licked the paper. Faint lines began to surface—ink blooming where there had been none.

Coordinates.

The three of us stared.

“I don’t know what that means,” I admitted.

“I do,” the inspector replied softly, handing the letter back. “It means this evening was never the end of anything. It was a beginning.”

The room felt smaller.

“Inspector,” I said, rising slowly. “Am I guilty?”

“No, Miss Desjardins.”

He studied me, not unkindly.

“You accepted this invitation after years of denying inheritance and status. That does not read as ambition.”

His pen clicked again.

“I suspect whoever committed these murders did not even realize you were a player on the board.”

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XIII

The Night of Borrowed Names

Mic

| Agustí de Erbtide Green

Everything should have calmed once Miss Windleblossom and Dr. Khatibi returned.

It didn’t.

If anything, the flames climbed higher. Their absence lingered too long, and everyone knew it. Suspicion has a smell—metallic, impatient—and it drifted through the dining hall. I watched Claudette beside me, deep in conversation with Virginia Rose, her body angled away from me without realizing it.

As if that weren’t complication enough, I was seated only a few feet from a past lover. A woman I swore I’d never see again. Yet here she was—maravilhosa. Hair pinned tight, red lipstick daring me to smear it off her mouth just to see if she’d let me.

Não estava certo.

Neither of us came alone.

I had Claudette. Keeping her attention had never been simple, but I managed. Tonight, though, her interest drifted—toward Virginia Rose. And not in a way I enjoyed.

I stretched my fork toward her lips. She paused mid-sentence, eyes settling on the swirl of pasta I offered. Her favorite.

“Merci,” she said, clapping lightly, then looking down, suddenly shy.

“Forgive me,” I said smoothly, turning to Virginia. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Agustí Green.”

“I know exactly who you are, Mr. Green,” Virginia replied without looking at me. Ice-cold. “Your contributions to my agency are… appreciated.”

“Agency?” Claudette turned sharply toward me. “You know her?”

“No,” Virginia said gently. “I just know of him. He has a reputation for spotting talent.”

Claudette’s eyes narrowed. Her fingers tightened around her fork like it might confess something. I cleared my throat.

Through clenched teeth she said, “Je sais qu’elle ne parle pas de sexe.”

“Non, ma chérie.” I kept my voice even. “Elle parle d’actions. Je possède la majorité des parts de Dandelion.”

“I don’t know what y’all are saying,” Virginia cut in, flashing a ring, “but I’m spoken for.”

“To who?” Claudette and I said in unison.

“What—did I turn invisible?” Butch snapped, standing. “To me. And you can bet no one else.”

“Madame,” Claudette said softly to Virginia, like sharing a secret, “I thought you were leaving her.”

The room froze.

“What?” Butch slammed her hands on the table. “Who’s leaving who?”

Virginia popped her gum. “I changed my mind.”

“Change it back!” Claudette shouted. “Je n’arrive pas à te croire. Tu l’as promis.”

“I tried, sugar,” Virginia said, cupping Claudette—my Claudette’s face. My blood heated. “But I can’t be with you.”

She rose abruptly, napkins whispering as they fell, her chair scraping back like a warning shot. She turned and left without a word.

There’s much this demoiselle should explain.

And very little time to do it.

I scanned the room once—counted faces, noted reactions—then followed her.

Some mysteries don’t wait for permission.

KIY

| Claudette Desjardins

I rushed out the door, hands trembling from the suddenness of my choice. I loved Virginia Rose.

We met once—years ago—inside a boutique near the Eiffel Tower.

When I saw her, magnificent.

Fresh curls glowing like captured sunlight. She burst through the door with the rain clinging to her blue vintage trench coat, porcelain skin untouched by the storm. She shook out her umbrella too quickly and dropped a book.

My book.

Ma douce: doux, affectueux, presque privé.

I picked it up for her. We stared at each other a breath too long. That was the moment I understood—my heart had more rooms than I’d ever admitted.

“Meu lar.”

Agustí’s voice snapped me back. “O que foi aquilo?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know she’d be here. I’m sorry.”

He sighed and drew a Cuban cigar from his coat. “Light, Claudette.”

I reached for the lighter. When I leaned in, he stopped me abruptly. My muscles locked. His eyes held mine—testing.

I failed.

That was how I fell in love with two people. Virginia and Agustí.

He guided my hand closer to the flame, close enough to feel its heat, to respect it. Smoke curled from the cigar. Only then did he release me. I rubbed my hand, grounding myself.

“I’m a coward,” I said.

“No,” he replied. “You’re very good at keeping secrets.”

“I wanted to tell you. I did.” My voice dropped. “We left Paris. I thought I’d never see her again.”

“And the letters?” he asked quietly, exhaling a low fog. “I found them in your suitcase, Claud.”

“You had no right.”

“No right?” He laughed softly and turned to the window, toward ancient ruins—Pharaoh statues standing taller than any claim he could make. “I love you, meu lar. Isn’t that rightful enough?”

A scream cut through us.

We burst into the hallway with the others, moving without words, instinct dragging us forward. Mr. Downey lay crumpled on the floor, steeped in his own vomit. His eyes were rolled back. His clothes stained dark.

I turned away and collapsed into Agustí’s arms.

It had to be a tragedy. I had never seen a dead body before. My stomach rebelled. The world tilted.

And the person standing nearest—silent, shaking, unmistakable—

Was Virginia Rose.

“Let’s all calm down,” Windleblossom says. “EMP should be here momentarily. Let’s gather in the waiting room.”

“It’s down right mutiny, that is.” The pirate proceeded.

“Are you accusing something Blackbeard?” She rested her hands on her hips, defensively.

“My name ain’t Blackbeard. It’s Bearded Black.” He corrected. “And all I’m saying is you were the last to see him.”

“No she wasn’t,” Dr. Khatibi speaks up. “I was.”

We all looked at him. He fixes his glasses and continued, “but I assure you he was sleeping like a new pup. Sound asleep.”

“So you say.”

“So I say, Mr. Black.” Windleblossom sits at the bar, pouring another whiskey. “I happen to be excellent judgement of character.”

“Aye.” Black started to say, “but it ain’t me who’ll need convincing.”

A man rose from his seat and nodded to Black, which indicated well acquaintances. Windleblossom looked flustered.

He flashed a silver badge. “Inspector Digory. I guess my invitation got lost.”

“Matthew,” she breathes. “I thought you were abroad on a case.”

He walks around, eyeing each of us slowly. “Yes well, Mr. Black was so kind to tell me about your little soirée. Glad I got here in time.”

We all fell silent under the eye of the law. I knew this is going to be the beginning of a painful night.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XII

Touch First, then Masks On

| Mic

July 16

The Pollux Notes

Mood: The power of choice is infinite.

I could’ve blown up the whole thread in rage.

I didn’t. Loving her has always felt like a quiet power.

Last night in Cairo.

A luxury stream boat carrying us down the Nile.

I feel lighter. Who knew the beginning would become my favorite starting point.

Now I understand.

I could say a lot,

but my thoughts held a steady pulse.

For the first time, I didn’t need to prove anything.

I was worthy to be with her.

I mattered, enough to be in her presence.

And that joy felt lived in. Like a bouldering weight casted out and lifted. I’m okay with the inevitable idea of forever.

Not because she belongs to me—

but because we choose each other.

This time, we get it right.

No more missed moments.

No more miscommunications or misunderstandings.

No more absence where love should be.

We are whole.

Not halves reaching,

but two people standing steady on our own feet.

And she’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen.

She twists and twirls, hangs onto me—

and I won’t let her fall.

Unless it’s for a dip—worthy of a lifetime.

Only then—she becomes the shining crystal ball.

“Mic?”

Kiy called me, I glanced from my journal. She presented a hell of a tease, dressed like that. Barefoot, she wore a black mesh bikini-top that pressed against her breasts firmly. Black matching bottoms that I needed to feel my weight in and her—but mine—silk button-up, left opened.

She leaned on our cabin door with two champagne glasses, waving in front and an unopened moscato behind her back. Her smile could touch from ear to ear.

The pen fell onto my lap, witnessing my briefs bulged up. My hand flew to my mouth, reminding myself I still had feeling.

“Damn,” I muttered.

She hummed softly and walked over, then proceeded to lean forward to make sure I ain’t miss nothing. My eyes roamed around her curves before stopping at her breasts.

“What were you writing?” She asked me, pouring the champagne into the glasses. I didn’t mean to not answer, but my mind fled in directions we didn’t have time to play out.

Damn. Damn.

My eyes were lost in her precedence. Curves held me full and grown. She bent her ass over and her thighs clamped just right. I don’t think… no. I know she was a temptress.

Had to be in a past life.

My hand widened enough to lace her delicate fingers. When a gentle pull had her ass seated in my lap with a thud! It wasn’t graceful, but she knew the point I was making. Her glass slipped a bit on us both. Without thinking, my mouth followed the sweet trail off her right shoulder. My lips pressing against her rising skin. She didn’t stop me and I was glad. Especially since I was planning so much ahead.

Her eyelashes bashful, she had me tightroped.

My mouth continued to tease her collarbone, her body flickering against my hold.

That part I loved.

Like every sensation was still brand new to us. We both grew a sharp breath. I continued to tease her exposed skin, and she was trying to reach in until I stopped her hand from swaying.

“Mmm-mm.” I warned. “We’re going at my pace now.”

I squeezed her ass like she wasn’t close enough. And she listened to my warning, despite her body language.

But that wasn’t the problem. Her warm, sugary scents loomed over me like a candy dream and I must’ve been out of my mind, cause what I did next definitely caused me to pause.

I marked her.

Not on purpose. Not because it was easy. But that was the first time I did something of that sort in a while. And it almost took me back to grade school. Until she reached up and petted the mark I left on her neck, like a child.

“Sorry,” I told her admittedly. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” she responded. “I was… it just took me by surprise.” She offered a warm smile, enough to leave me gaping. Like my action didn’t strike any sense, but somehow she always understood.

“Lay on the bed.” I whispered a little above her ear, her sensitive side. She moved slowly off my lap, regaining her momentum. And though I told her to leave, I hadn’t moved.

Instead I watched her. My love. My heartbeat. My sunlight. Illuminating in sun-kissed skin. The light bouncing off the beige walls, showed me how much she shined. Better than a diamond.

I felt my mouth watering. When she flipped around graciously and then locked eyes on me, my heart skipped twice. She did look good enough to eat. And my appetite soared through all the butterflies I felt previously.

“Mic?” Her head did the cutest tilt. “What’s with you? Come here.”

I laughed low, grabbing the end of her ankle and pulling her towards me with intensity. She shrieked with amusement. “What? Thought you’d like it if I took my time. To lavish your body instead.”

“That’s what you’re doing,” she says softly. “I thought you were….morphing.”

I caressed her right thigh in small pulsing circles, turning her sideways as I slid in a warm embrace.

“Don’t make me sound like a villain, Kiyanna.” She didn’t hold her laugh, I took it as a sign to continue. “I got it handled now. You can say… he’s … dormant.”

Her sigh of relief caused my eyebrows to rise. “That’s good to hear.”

I faced her, my arm supporting my neck. “It is?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost swallowing her nerve, “gods in bed can be very exposing.”

I chuckled, putting my head between her breasts. “I can imagine. You okay with just me?”

“If you have to ask that,” she smiled cooly, caressing me freely. “I should show you… how okay I really am.”

“Shit.”

My lip bit down hard. My hand split between her hair and the comforter. “Baby.”

Her mouth closed around me and moved like sucking me was no contest. And I was on the verge of losing everything.

“I love…when you do this.”

Her mouth warmed me perfectly. Her hair shook around like dancing fire, feeling every inch of me. Taking me in like I was her survival. Shit. Right now? She’s mine.

She continues to blow me. Never rushing. Every chance made me squirm and my muscles tighten around every gag she pushed through. I know I was deep but she led me here. She knew how to get arise out of me. And from her captivating throat to her tongue, my mind melted in a pool of sweat and feverish undertones.

Her sounds were utterly degrading, yet I couldn’t help but devour them. As she consumed me, and then—

“Fuck!” My body trembled with a wild chill that radiated throughout the entire room.

Her hand groped my jewels as I paced her rhythm before I took flight. She was bent over the edge of the bed, and her ass a beautiful sight. My hand occasionally smacking, a disruptive force. While she lavished all my reasoning. I stood directly in front of her, split between watching and craving.

“Kiy,” I warned, feeling the heat flickering around me, my legs faltered. “I won’t be able to—.”

“Let go.”

She disregarded me like the wind being silenced. She seized my torso and rocked me against the current. I roared against a sharp slick flash with my eyes rolling back. And my arms dropping, weightless. The Nile had vanished. Leaving me in a coma. A framed one. Where she conducted all my movements.

I blinked a few times, seeing her forcefully swallow. It was a lot that spilled in her mouth. She leaked a little and used her hand to catch the rest. Making sure each fingers of hers were clean.

My fingers lifted her chin, wiping her teary eyes. She was a mess. Freshly—my mess. I would catch her wrecked look every time. I parted her mouth slowly, pushing two fingers against her tongue. She twitched while I smirked.

“Put it in.”

Shit. Her voice poured like her sex was lingering a frequency. A frequency I always met. Until the very end. I carried her in my arms, lifting her ass with my knee and held her hands above her hand. She wobbled until the balance stilled. Then I slowly sunk into her, waking up so many desperate desires.

“More Mic.” She taunted me. Though, her body kept her honest. She was soaked. A few streams ran down her leg but I ignored this. My fingers fell inside, stroking her bud, tasting all she offered me.

Only me.

Purely divine.

Her voice—shaken—rose hairs off my ears. “My legs shouldn’t be there by morning.”

“Kiy.” I almost buckled. Relieved I didn’t bust. Our thrusts gotten too lucid. My head only held air. “You can’t tell me that and not have me go harder.”

I pulled back, making the tip visible. She whimpered. God, she really loved me. And I was going to continue to show her my heart. All of it. By working her pussy like a steel drum.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Fuck.” I muttered. “Plus—the way you feel….sodamngood,” I let her hands fall to squeeze her breasts repeatedly. “You can convince me of murder.”

Her face, flushed with heat and friction held her award winning smile. But her screams after were the perfect atonement to her beautiful demise.

I gripped her ass, harder than before. “You can say—or scream—anything you want.”

| Kiy

The waiting room sat on the edge of the steamboat’s wing, half indoors, half surrendered to the river—upholstered chairs arranged as if they were bracing for gossip. Warm lamplight hummed against polished wood while the Nile exhaled just beyond the rail, close enough to hear, too far to interrupt. It felt like a threshold space, where secrets queued patiently before being allowed inside.

“Gather around, everyone!”

To celebrate our desert excursion, Peggy and a few others put together a full murder-mystery dinner, bells and whistles included.

Characterized garments waited for us in standard-issue mailers outside our cabin doors. I asked Mic how they even got our measurements. He said he’d had to fill out the usual questionnaire before he could accept the trip. Casual. Slightly ominous. Very on theme.

Peggy looked radiant in yellow, sequins streaming like captured sunlight. A feather boa framed her shoulders, golden gloves sealing the illusion. She was Miss Aurora Windleblossom—a wealthy aristocrat with a disturbing past—and she wore it like a well-kept secret.

Rayne arrived as an English newsie: white cap, black button-up, denim knicker-style trousers, crimson suspenders cutting clean lines through the look. She played Butch Lawry, hopelessly pining for a 1920s waitress who wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Her character mirrored her partner’s. Elaine—whom we met as soon as we boarded—played Virginia Rose, a waitress turned old-Hollywood actress. She wore a powerful blue uniform, glittering red heels, a pink apron, and a golden pen pinning her dark, tightened curls in place. She popped pink bubblegum relentlessly, standoffish, eyes trained on the Nile like it owed her money.

Micah was cast as a Cuban prince—Agustí de Erbtide Green—who fell into a slow, rigid love with a French novelty writer. Me. He lounged in a vintage leather chair while I sat near his right arm. He wore a deep velvet coat, long and dramatic, with a layered black high collar, a structured vest, metallic buttons, and gold chains draped like punctuation marks.

My character was Claudette Desjardins. Calculated. Intolerant of discrimination and petty theft. A heart of ice until a Cuban prince softened it with song and devastatingly good food. I wore a cool blue three-piece suit: tailored vest with soft buttons, draped wide-leg trousers, a crisp white button-up beneath. A brown briefcase rested near my leather boots. My hat sat in my gloved hand as I examined the fabric, pretending not to watch him.

The rest of the characters blurred at the edges, but I remember Dr. Khatibi—a world-renowned scientist who’d uncovered a groundbreaking cure. A ringmaster from a famous circus. A mysterious traveler. A pirate. A stocky businessman. A cook. A health minister.

Too many secrets for one river. The Nile flowed on anyway, unimpressed.

“Each of you should have received a letter with your package,” Peggy explained, pacing the center of the room. “It contains confidential information—who you are, and why you’ve all ended up here. A good mix to start. Who would like to go first?”

A silence pooled. Then the health minister cleared his throat.

He wore a single-framed glass resting over his left eye, a flipped gray mustache, and a suit so plain it seemed intentional.

“Where’s the loo?” he blurted, hiccuping mid-syllable.

We blinked. Only then did we notice the empty bottle of schaaps dangling from his fingers. The minister swayed side to side, awaiting instruction like a man who’d misplaced both dignity and gravity.

“Oh—it’s…” Windleblossom—Peggy—studied him, momentarily stunned, before snapping back into character. “Down the hall. Far right.”

“Are we eating now?” Butch Lawry—Rayne—asked. “Before there’s any murder business, I’d rather do it on a full stomach.” Her fingers slid down her suspenders and ended in a snap.

“Yes, yes,” Windleblossom replied briskly. “Off you go—to the dining portion of the evening. Can someone see to it that Mr. Downey is all right?”

“Mr. Downey, Madame?” I asked as we began filing down the hall, passing her in a narrow line.

“The health minister.”

“I’ll go,” Dr. Khatibi said calmly. “Everyone else—dining hall. Quickly.”

Cocktail hour gathered us like static. Murmurs overlapped, low and wary. The silvery chandelier trembled with the boat as the sun slipped toward the horizon, the river bruising into evening. We chose corners instinctively. No one trusted the geometry of closeness.

“Meu lar—your frown lines,” Agustí murmured.

I adjusted my hat and lifted my glass. “It’s already begun,” I whispered.

“Even so, don’t let your enemies mark you,” he warned, smiling into his drink. Then, softer, “We have company.”

We lifted our heads in unison.

Sir William John stood nearby—a former stockbroker, once connected to a colleague whose story I’d declined to tell.

“Claudette.” He tipped his hat and bowed with unnecessary flourish. “You look well. An invitation too? Your old champ sends his regards.”

Agustí stepped in front of me, smooth as shadow. “If I were you, I’d mind my manners.”

Sir William raised his hands. “No offense intended, I assure you.” He flicked a lighter open and shut. “Enjoy the evening—both of you.”

I nodded after his retreat. “You didn’t need to do that. I could’ve—”

Agustí’s expression stopped the sentence cold. He leaned in and murmured a trail of Portuguese—low, deliberate, unrepeatable.

I gasped, stepping aside to hide the bloom in my face, the river outside laughing quietly at my expense.

The cook burst through the doors in a panic, his chef’s hat torn, apron soaked dark with blood. He was breathless when he announced, “Din—dinner is served.”

Trays followed him in a quiet procession. We looked at one another, clocked the details, and asked nothing. Silence seated us. Even so, alliances were already forming—subtle glances, angled shoulders. Everyone played their part well. Perhaps too well.

“My, my,” Virginia Rose said, breaking her silence at last. She twirled her gum, then tucked it neatly behind her ear. “This all looks delicious. Aren’t those steak bites imported?”

“Good eye, my beloved flower,” Butch said, lifting a finger with a small, knowing smile. “That explains the blood on the apron.”

“Est-ce que…?” I murmured. “He did seem very hasty, no?”

Agustí slipped a napkin from beneath the table and rested it on my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles through the linen. Our code. Someone was already lying.

“Where’s the health—Mr. Downey?” I asked aloud. “And neither the doctor nor the aristocrat have returned.”

“Aye, fair lady has a point,” the pirate said, tipping his feathered hat aside. “No one’s gone that long unless there’s mutiny.”

“You mean foul play?” Sir William scoffed, flinging a butter knife so it clattered against his mostly empty plate. “Ridiculous. The only crime here is this course. Why can’t anyone serve steak properly?” He rose and headed for the bar, lighter flicking in restless rhythm.

“If it displeases you, Sir William,” the cook said, reentering the room, “you are free to leave this ship.”

“That’s an idea,” Sir William replied, eyes trailing the cook with unpleasant interest as he passed. “But who would entertain you, Layette?”

The room inhaled sharply.

Layette—the disgraced diver turned chef. The headlines came rushing back: the shuttered restaurant near Cairo, the scandal, the once-lauded three Michelin stars now treated like a punchline. Since foreclosure, he’d been drifting the Nile, collecting grudges.

“And suddenly, I have no appetite,” Agustí muttered, pushing his plate away. The others followed, a quiet flock.

“Please,” Layette snapped. “There is no poison here.” He lifted a butcher knife and drove it into one of the steak bites. Red juice spilled onto the plate, pooling thick and theatrical. He swallowed the meat whole, wiped the blade on his already ruined apron, and said, “See?”

“Then why were you invited?” someone asked.

“Aurora,” he said, circling the table with a bottle of the darkest wine. “She asked me to accompany this… gathering. And now, seeing you all, I understand why.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Butch said sharply. “I don’t take kindly to judgments made before conversation.”

“No offense, Mister Lawry.” Layette bowed, still gripping the bottle. “Only that she promised me a dinner I wouldn’t forget.”

“Apologies! Apologies!” Windleblossom arrived flushed and breathless, fidgeting with her garments as Dr. Khatibi followed, silent as a reprimanded child. “The first course is served—excellent.” She seated herself and fanned her face with an embroidered fan far too expensive to misplace.

“You’re familiar with Layette, Miss Windleblossom?” I asked immediately.

“Layette? Ah yes.” She laughed lightly, dipping bread into her wine and eating it without pause. “I knew this would raise questions, but I assure you—he’s as clean as a whistle.”

No one commented on the manners.

“And Mr. Downey?” Agustí pressed.

“Steven?” she said too quickly. “Oh heavens, no. That schaaps has him out for the night.”

“Entre autres choses,” I murmured.

“Pardon, my dear?” she called from the end of the table.

I smiled. “Bouchées de steak à l’ail sur pain français. Exquisite.”

“Oh mercy, madame,” she said, fanning herself again. “I hoped you’d be fond of it.”

The dining hall dissolved into the clatter of clearing plates and low, guarded conversation. Glasses chimed. Knives scraped. Somewhere beneath it all, the boat groaned forward.

The night, it seemed, had only just found its teeth.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter XI

When the Sun Speaks Back

Kiy

When Mic came back into the suite, I was in the bathroom, rinsing away the weight of concealer and eyeliner. I hadn’t changed yet. Maybe I wanted to feel like royalty one second longer.

“Who was that?” I called out, cloth pressed to my face, pores open under water that bordered on too hot.

“It was Zune,” he said. I heard his wallet, his keys land on the dresser. “He said hi.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.” He leaned against the archway, door wide open, arms crossed. “Among other things.”

I lowered the towel and looked at him. He shrugged.

“Word travels fast.”

“Micah, I didn’t—”

“Kiyanna,” he cut in gently but firm, “if you apologize for my actions one more time…” He shook his head. “I don’t think my heart will take it.”

“But—”

“But nothing.”

He crossed the room in two strides, fabric rustling as he lifted me onto the sink counter like it was instinct, like it was home. Whatever fog had followed him earlier had thinned—his presence steady now, unhurried. He sighed, resting his forehead against mine.

“I see you,” he said. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

A tear slipped without asking. His finger caught it before it could fall. He kissed me—slow, sweet—and my shoulders finally dropped. My body remembered itself. Every sensation I’d been holding since the gala came rushing back, warm and loud and then suddenly quiet.

Relief.

Something close to peace.

His hands found the zipper at the back of my dress, easing it down like he had all the time in the world. His voice was low, reverent.

“Let me look at all of you,” he murmured. “Slowly.”

And for the first time all night, I believed he—in this moment wasn’t going anywhere.

We had an early call to the pyramids the next morning. Our alarm went off at 5 a.m., which I felt personally attacked by. I was never a morning person. Work didn’t change that. But we were closing in on something interesting.

The statue. The headpiece. Related or not, they tugged at the same thread. Then the khopesh. It felt like a story unraveling right in front of us, ancient and deliberate. I’d always had a soft spot for old forms of divination—anything that listened more than it spoke.

And I wasn’t about to miss the chance to witness something life-changing.

“Our ride is here,” Mic said, zipping up his travel bag.

We finished a quick meal at the Kempinski restaurant. I suffered through a slightly burned bagel and a fruit cup. He had cereal. Once he paid the bill, we headed out.

He wore a plain tee layered with a desert-colored tech vest, black shorts, Nike boots. Practical. Stable. I chose a light checkered windbreaker, biker shorts, and Converse. We both wore reflective sun goggles. His camper hat rested loose against the back of his neck.

“Think there’s a reason they offered a ride?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head.

He shook his head, offering me gum with visible reluctance. “No idea. But it means we won’t get a chance to escape whatever they’ve planned.”

I laughed as two Jeeps pulled up—one red, one blue. Peggy was already tapping on a door, vibrating with excitement.

“Who’s ready…. for …under history?” she yelled in between Cairo chaos. My best guess. No one could hear. Cars zooming in and out. Early check in’s or late check outs at the Kempinski.

I blinked. “What did she say?”

Mic opened the door to the red Jeep, chuckling. “No clue. But suddenly that cereal isn’t sitting right with me.”

The Jeeps growled like they’d been awake all night, engines impatient, sand already dusting the tires as if the desert had claimed them in advance. Dawn hadn’t decided what color it wanted to be yet. Everything hovered in that blue-gray hush, the hour where history stretches and yawns.

Peggy slid the blue Jeep like this was her origin story. Rayne followed, sunglasses on, lips pursed in a way that said I know more than I’m saying and I’m enjoying it. I clocked that immediately. So did Mic. We shared the kind of look that requires zero subtitles.

The red Jeep smelled like leather and sunblock and secrets. I buckled in, the seatbelt warm already, like it had been holding someone else’s nerves moments before. Mic tapped the driver’s shoulder, exchanged a few clipped pleasantries in a voice he only used when he was alert and auspicious at the same time.

As we pulled away, Cairo thinned behind us. Buildings loosened their grip on the horizon. The road flattened. The sky began its slow reveal, pinks bleeding into gold like the universe was remembering itself out loud.

I rested my head back, chewing the gum, mint sharp enough to cut through sleep. My thoughts drifted back to the khopesh. The weight of it. Not just metal—intention. Tools always remember hands. Weapons especially. They carry echoes like fingerprints.

“You feel it too,” Mic said quietly, not looking at me.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Like we’re being… introduced.”

He nodded once. That was all.

The pyramids arrived without ceremony. Just there. Immovable. Casual in their dominance.

Everything I’d ever read, sketched, half-believed, mocked lovingly from a distance—it all snapped into alignment. Not answers. Alignment. Big difference. Divination never hands you conclusions. It hands you posture. How to stand when truth walks into the room.

Peggy leaned out of the blue Jeep, already filming. “Okay but tell me this isn’t giving group assignment gone wrong but somehow sacred.”

Rayne laughed, low and quick, like the sound bounced off brick first. “Careful. Spots like this? They got ears.”

A chill slid down my spine, sun be damned.

We stepped out. Sand kissed my shoes. The air pressed back, ancient and curious. I felt small in the best way. Reduced. Distilled. Like the noise had finally been scraped off me.

Mic adjusted his vest, eyes scanning—not for danger, but for pattern. He was good at that. Always had been. Seeing the architecture beneath chaos.

“The winds changed,” he said, low, almost reverent, “You feel that don’t you?”

“Yeah and somehow,” I added, squinting up at stone that had outlived empires, “it’s like it’s waiting. For us.”

The wind shifted again. Just enough to be counted as a response.

I caught up with Peggy as she tested her footing near the dig site. “Where’s Dr. Khatibi?”

“Already on the boat.” Her eyes widened. “Oh—damn. That was supposed to be the finale. Don’t say I told.”

“I won’t,” I snickered, taking the vintage film camera from her hands.

She hovered near one of the tents, recording the safety equipment. “Okay, we only have four today. The rest are somewhere… secret.”

“Late for introductions,” a voice said. “I’m Rayne.” She shook hands with me, then Mic. “Anthropologist. Princeton.”

“Ivy League,” I commented. “Impressive.”

She snapped her gum and dropped to a knee, fingers moving through the gear on instinct—clip, check, pull—no hesitation. “Ain’t much ghosts though. Just rich snobs sittin’ on a Mount Everest of debt.”

“She’s from the Bronx,” Mic added as we headed toward the second tunnel.

She caught Mic watching and smiled, crooked and proud. “Born and raised.” A beat. “What—I sound like it?”

“I lived there for a while,” he said. “Fell through life. Music scene there was lime wire.”

She barked a laugh. “Yeah, nah, I know. We don’t sleep. My girl runs a dance studio off Brooklyn Street and 112th. Them kids battle for real cheese.”

“Underground dance battling?” I swung the camera toward her. “That’s still a thing?”

“Yeah—and it gets mean.” She held the flashlight steady until we reached a sealed door, then tossed it to Peggy. Rayne and Mic pushed the door open like it was a loose screw.

It opened into a larger chamber, walls laced with hieroglyphics. Golden trails cut through copper stains. A sweet lotus scent brushed my nose.

“Whose tomb is this?” I asked, though I already knew.

“The one from the beginning,” Peggy said. “Pharaoh Narmer.”

I exchanged a look with Mic. He caught my side-eye as we passed, both of us reading the walls.

“What’s his story?” I asked, framing the most important shots.

“He’s the unifier king,” Peggy said. “Lower and Upper Egypt—brought together. The story’s actually poetic.”

Rayne brushed dust off a carved pillar, the grit sticking to her palms. “Wild part? Nobody ever brings that up.” She shook her head. “It’s always Nefertiti, Cleopatra— and listen, no shade to the queens, but—”

“—it’s not all about beauty,” I cut in.

She nodded when I filled in the thought, already smiling. “Exactly.”

She clipped a rope to her harness and tossed the other end to Mic—professional grade, zero fray. “I’m headin’ down. Gotta get measurements.”

“Wait,” I pulled her arm. “You shouldn’t take all the risks alone.”

At his hesitation, she leaned in, winked.

“Relax. I’m certified.”

Then she stepped backward and vanished into the dark below, rope singing softly as it followed her—like the chamber was holding its breath.

Once she disappeared, Mic reassured me.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “She’s got radio contact. And curiosity like hers doesn’t restrain easy.”

We waited—each in our own corners. Peggy translated text into her journal. I cleaned the camera lens with my sleeve. Mic stood still. Guarded. Pretending he wasn’t.

I knew him too well.

He scanned the walls once. Never went near the coffin. Kept his distance from everyone. That’s how I knew something was wrong.

“Guys.”

Rayne’s voice crackled through the radio. Peggy turned up the volume. “We copy. What did you find?”

“Guys… I—then water came—now I’m—” Static swallowed her words. “Trapped.”

“Did she say trapped?” Peggy whispered, horrified. “This is bad. Our best divers aren’t here.”

“I’ll go get her.” Mic said casually, already stripping off extra gear.

I stood in front of him, blocking the path. “Couldn’t you just use your strength to pull us both up?.”

“No. You and Peggy can manage.” His voice hardened. “I’m not sending you down there.”

“But it only makes sense if we—”

“Kiy.”

That voice.

His eyes narrowed and the air left my lungs. I knew that tone. Knew exactly who it belonged to. My grip slipped from his arm, unwillingly.

He dove into the hole after Rayne.

And all I could do was watch.

Mic

I know. It wasn’t right to command her. But she wouldn’t have listened otherwise.

This is Kiy’s first dig. I’m wired to move the second something fails, the moment an unexpected current knocks everyone sideways.

She means well. That’s why I love her. Hell, her heart is exactly why I’m marrying her. But even she would admit—there are things you just can’t do. And I won’t ever put her in danger.

Everything went pitch black. Quiet. Like a never-ending free fall. I smelled wet stone and salt in the air. One of the chambers must’ve flooded.

I trusted the rope to hold. What I didn’t know was whether to drop now or keep moving forward.

“Rayne?” I called into the dark. “You hear me?”

Nothing.

I hit bottom. Water splashed around my boots—shallow here. But only here. How much was holding her back? I had to give her credit. She fought the pressure this far. I moved forward with only my smartwatch casting light.

“Rayne?”

Something shifted.

Not sound—density. The air thickened, then heat rolled through the chamber, wet and immediate, steaming the breath from my lungs. The standing water shuddered, lifted in sheets, evaporating mid-rise as if pulled toward a mouth I couldn’t see.

Micah.

The voice didn’t echo. It occupied.

Not now, I thought, jaw already set.

I wasn’t asking.

A ring of fire cut across the chamber—silent, surgical—severing every exit at once. A spot light behaving like a boundary.

I ground my teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s someone’s life on the line.”

“She’s safe.”

The fire collapsed inward. What remained was a figure shaped like intention more than flesh—edges unfinished, light thinning where a face should’ve been.

“She’s only the reason I could draw you in.”

That was the thing I hated most about him.

I don’t like being baited.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“You have questions. I have answers.”

Ra sat on Narmer’s throne as if time itself had arranged the seat for him. Maybe it had. The stone didn’t resist.

“Go on.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. The skin there prickled, like it knew this conversation wasn’t happening in a single moment.

“Aren’t you a god? Shouldn’t you already know what I’m going to say?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t want to provoke you.”

I let out a humorless breath. “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” he echoed. “My lineage unsettles you. And yet—you know very little.”

“You mean the split you forced on Hathor?” The name burned on my tongue. “Half rage. Half joy?”

He paused. Actually paused.

“It wasn’t that before,” he said, almost curious. “But I see why it haunts you. You think me selfish.”

“And then some.”

“Sekhmet would have burned the world,” he said, flat and factual. “Cities. Families. Erased. Hathor was the only path that ended in peace.”

“You can justify anything with enough words.”

He sighed.

The sound did something ugly to me. Gods weren’t supposed to sigh like bored men. My hands curled, nails biting skin.

“Micah,” he said, warning threaded through the heat, “no action is justified unless it is a choice made between two people.”

The sentence slid around my head, refused to settle. A clause without a contract. A law without context.

My patience snapped thin. “So you’re saying she asked for this?”

“Yes,” he said. “In a way.”

My fists clenched. Sun god or not, we were never going to agree. And I felt like punching him.

“She asked for love,” he continued, quieter now. “She asked for you.”

I laughed. It came out wrong. “I don’t believe you.”

Then look.

The walls ignited in our memory.

Scenes unfolded without edges. London streets choking with motion. A bakery in Seoul, hands dusted with flour. A music lounge in Lisbon, low light and bruised sound. A market road in Hilo, sun thick on skin.

Every version of her.

Every version of me.

“This wasn’t punishment,” Ra said. “To have her, we had to change too.”

He traced a name into the wall. Fire followed his finger, carving it deep—then another name burned beneath it.

Horus.

The chamber dropped out from under me.

My blood iced over. My heart slammed hard enough to fracture thought. I watched her meet me again and again—across eras, bodies, choices—always finding me like gravity was optional but love wasn’t.

Was this….

“Destiny?” Ra said, invasive. “Yes. And no. She was—is—the goddess of love. And she chose to love us. Every time. Every form.”

He stepped closer. The heat receded, replaced by weight.

“You must understand this,” he said. “Her transformation was not forced. She willed it—so we could finally be together.”

The truth hit like a collapse.

I dropped to my knees. Water soaked through my clothes, cold and grounding, as if the chamber itself was reminding me I still had a body.

I didn’t care.

Cause I had it all wrong.

While, she didn’t.

She wasn’t asking for rage or revenge. She told me what she wanted all along. She chose me. This life—and the next.

She waited for her choice to finally bear fruit.

I was pissed at Ra the whole time, not knowing he took on Horus to meet her where she was.

I was mad at a ghost.

I’d give anything to get that time back.

A wet, tearing cough scraped through the chamber, loud enough to rattle my teeth. I spun just as Rayne staggered out from behind a pile of broken stone, water sluicing off her jacket, boots squelching like they were arguing with the floor. She looked like the ruin had tried to baptize her and missed the memo.

I crossed the distance fast, grit crunching under my knees as I grabbed her elbow.

“Aye— you good?” I said.

She snorted, wiped at her temple, then froze. Blood slicked her fingers, dark and warm.

“Yeah, so good,” she muttered. “Real five-star experience.”

She tilted her head, winced. “Nah but deadass—I don’t even know what clipped me. This chamber mad disrespectful. Tried to take me out like I owed it money.”

The air smelled like damp metal and old dust. Something dripped steadily behind us, ticking time into the stone.

I dug into my pack, snapped open a bandage, pressed it gently to her head. She hissed but didn’t pull away.

“Hold still,” I said. “You’re leaking.”

“Seen worse on the D train,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her knees softened a bit into me. I tightened the wrap, feeling her breath steady under my hands.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing up at the ceiling like it might hear me. “Let’s not give this place a second shot. We’ll get you stitched up topside.”

She smirked through the ache.

“Good. ‘Cause I am not dying underground. That’s nasty.”

Kiy

I was anxious.

Minutes stretched into something unrecognizable. I knew—logically—it hadn’t been long, but my lungs didn’t believe it. Every breath felt borrowed, held too long, returned too thin. The rope lay still in my hands, damp and unmoving, like it had forgotten us.

Then it twitched.

A sharp tug—real, unmistakable.

“They’re alive.” Peggy exhaled the words like a prayer she hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Relief loosened her shoulders all at once. Her journal slipped from her hands and hit the stone with a soft thud.

She grabbed the rope, braced herself. “On my mark. Ready? Pull.”

We pulled.

The rope burned through my palms, slick with water and grit, skin screaming in protest. I didn’t register it. Pain felt optional compared to the idea of him not coming back up. I pulled until my arms shook, until my teeth clenched, until the thought narrowed to one thing only—him, here, alive.

Rayne surfaced first.

She looked like she’d crawled out of a battlefield—soaked through, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion, a white bandage clinging to her temple like a badge of survival. I caught her under the arms, guided her to solid ground, didn’t let go until she nodded once. Good. Standing.

Then we pulled again.

Mic broke the surface and collapsed forward, dropping to his knees like gravity had finally remembered him. His back arched, breath tearing out of him in harsh, empty pulls, like he was coughing up something invisible.

“What happened?” I rushed forward. “Are you—”

He moved faster than my fear.

One second I was reaching for him, the next I was on my back, the stone cold and unforgiving beneath me. His hands framed my face and his mouth found mine—hard, sudden, gone almost as soon as it landed. Just enough to steal my breath. Just enough to remind us both we were real.

Then he broke away and folded over me, crushing me to his chest.

“Whoa,” Peggy said somewhere nearby, gentle and amused. “Let’s give the lovebirds some room. Medic’s already on the way.”

Footsteps retreated. The space emptied.

Mic didn’t let go.

He held me like he’d just escaped something that wanted to erase him, arms locked tight, breath shuddering against my shoulder. The heat of him soaked into me, frantic and grounding all at once.

“Mic,” I whispered, fingers bunching in his shirt. “Hey. Please—slow down.”

His breath hitched.

“I can’t,” he said.

He finally loosened his grip to look at me. His eyes were too bright, like he’d run a marathon inside his skull.

“I need you to be mine,” he said, breathless, almost laughing. “Like—yesterday.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. “Mic.” I searched his face. “Are you… are you seriously talking about eloping?”

“Dead serious.” A grin cracked through the strain. “Here. Courthouse. Desert. I don’t care. We grab two strangers and a pen.”

“Our friends will kill us,” I said flatly.

“So?” He shrugged, still smiling. “After all that? I’d die happy.”

I huffed a laugh despite myself, pressed my forehead to his. His skin was hot—too hot—like the adrenaline hadn’t figured out it was allowed to stand down.

“Hey,” I murmured. “Look at me.”

He did.

“Breathe,” I said. “You’re here. I’m here. There’s no ancient gods. Just you, me, and Peggy and Rayne absolutely judging us above the surface.”

That got a real laugh out of him. It shook loose some of the tension, like air escaping a cracked seal.

“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

His hands slid down to my wrists, grounding himself. “I’m not—” He swallowed. “I’m not trying to run. I just—I saw things, Kiy.”

“I know,” I said softly. “Tell me.”

He exhaled, long and shaky, and the joking finally drained out of him—not gone, just folded away for later.

Then, he started from the beginning.

As I listened, the buzzing in my ears slowly lifted. My body went loose, boneless—like gravity had finally decided to stop arguing with me. I felt suspended, not falling, not rising. Just… held.

I started all this.

Or rather—I kept finding him. Again and again.

To anyone else, it would’ve sounded like madness. A fractured mind reaching for patterns that weren’t there. But I let out a long, unguarded breath, the kind that empties a room inside you. It all made sense now. The missing pieces didn’t click—they settled. And with that, the weight of the ancient world slipped off my back like it had never belonged to me.

“I’m so glad,” I said softly. “I was afraid we were a jinx.” He smiled and took my hands, steady and warm.

“Far from it.” His thumbs brushed over my knuckles, grounding me completely.

“Looks like you’re the one who wakes me,” he said. He kissed my hands—once, then again—reverent, grateful. “Thank you for that.”

Mic leaned back on his hands, finally breathing like a normal person. “So,” he said, casual like he hadn’t just time-traveled emotionally, “for the record—I am never ignoring my gut again.”

“You say that every time your gut causes property damage,” I replied.

“That was one time.”

“Three,” I said. “Minimum.”

He grinned. “Okay, but now we know it’s destiny. That upgrades the excuse.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are not allowed to use fate to justify bad decisions.”

“Counterpoint,” he said, tapping my knee. “You literally awakened me.”

I snorted. “Congratulations. You’re awake. Drink some water. Don’t start a cult.”

He laughed—real laughter this time—and leaned into me, easy, unafraid.

“Promise me something,” he said.

“What?”

“If we’re immortal soul magnets,” he paused, smirking, “next lifetime we meet somewhere normal. Like a farmer’s market.”

I smiled. “Deal. But you’re still buying the flowers.”

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR—Chapter X

Names Older than Love

| Mic

I watched her sleep for a few minutes. Her coiled fire was scattered across the pillow, her hands held above her head, placed softly, like she’d surrendered to rest without negotiation. Her engagement ring was still on her hand—not tied around her neck. Though the necklace still rested beneath her breasts.

Nothing about her was strained.

Which meant everything she said… had truth in it. All of it, really. Whether my mind wanted to calculate reasons for it not to be.

She would fight me, I chuckled quietly. At every turn.

Kiy looked radiant doing absolutely nothing. I wanted her to keep sleeping. It couldn’t be easy carrying my worries along with her own, but she bore them like she didn’t notice the weight at all.

Her eyes fluttered open and found me.

“Hey,” she murmured. “You’re up.” She yawned and glanced toward the clock. “What time is it?”

“Half past noon.”

“Noon?” She jolted, instantly alert. “What time do we need to be there?”

She nearly leapt out of bed, but my hand landed her back.

“Relax,” I said. “You’ll meet everyone later. I asked for more time.”

“Okay.” She studied my face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better,” I answered. “That’s all I can say.”

“Then let’s do something,” she said gently.

“Like what?”

“We’re in Cairo.” She smiled. “Everything’s at our fingertips.”

“That’s what you think.”

Power I wanted nothing to do with. As if our being here might tip the earth off balance. I still didn’t understand all of it—only that once, long ago, we had power here. We were gods.

And though it was ancient history, the research told me enough about Ra.

We weren’t the same.

I would’ve never betray her. My eyes hated every role he played out that wounded her. It wouldn’t get that far. Not with me.

But he. Altered her presence completely from kind of devastation demons wished for. Her ordeal was a monstrous transformation. Forever split.

For his benefit.

Anger cut at me profusely, but I couldn’t do anything about it. He was me. No matter how much time passed on.

“Micah.” Kiy’s fingers slid beneath my chin, tilting my face back to her. “You’re spacing out.”

“Sorry,” I said, trying to feel normal.

She climbed on top of me, wrapped my torso in her arms. She had this pouty look, that always did something to my insides. “You still feel guilty.”

“I feel…” I paused. “Responsible.”

“That’s noble,” she said softly. “But can you stop being the rule-bearer for one minute? You deserve joy. And laughter, and—”

Her eyes widened, a mischievous smile blooming across her face.

I blinked. “And what?”

“And…” She guided my hand, and suddenly the noise in my head went quiet. “…me. You deserve me.”

“Kiy,” I warned, my voice strained, almost breaking. “I don’t know if I could…”

“Try,” she whispered, kissing my neck.

She moved slowly, deliberately—lifting my shirt over my arms, letting it fall to the floor. Her lips followed, soft and insistent, dismantling my resolve piece by piece. I wanted to resist.

I couldn’t.

Because I knew who else it might awaken.

“Stop,” I said. A final warning, issued just before the barrier thinned too much. “I don’t want him to—”

“Micah,” she said.

My name now. It snapped through my thoughts, steady and grounding. “You’re not him anymore,” she whispered. “And if he shows up, I know how to deal with him.”

She kissed me again, and my body answered before my mind could object.

“Please,” she breathed. “Make love to me.”

The want in her voice unraveled me. How foolish of me—to fear what I couldn’t contain. I wanted nothing more than to pull her close, to lose myself in her warmth, to release everything I’d been holding back knowing she would let me. She was what I chose.

Because I finally had that freedom.

I lifted her easily, swinging her over my shoulder.

“Meu lar,” I murmured. “Never beg me again.”

We ended up on the balcony.

Well—just inside the sliding door, adjacent to the window. The breeze found us anyway, exposing in a way that felt intentional. This time was different. I was aware. My hands held her waist while she braced herself against the wall, framed like something gilded and sacred.

Her body was molten in front of me, clinging to the universe.

“See me here.”

A familiar phrase—but this time it anchored me.

She felt it immediately. Her spine straightened on instinct, chin lifting into my eyes. Hers. They had always undone me—warm and open at first, then sharpening into something alert and unafraid. A storm held in balance. Thunder and lightning, sharing the same sky.

“You’re doing it again,” she said softly.

“I know.” I slowed. Her breath became gravity. I exhaled. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

I knew the difference now.

I remembered how to ask.

“Kiy.”

My voice found its certainty only with her.

She wrapped her legs around my torso, concealing us both. “It’s.… not too much. I can handle—”

Her breath caught, sharp and sudden, like the wind had been knocked from her. The sound lingered between us, hazy as smoke. My fingers held steady where they were—intentional, precise.

“Stay with me,” I said. No command. Just truth.

“I am.” A chill brushed my spine at the smile she gave me. “But don’t mistake that for surrender. You have a long way to go.”

Something reverent passed between us. My mouth curved. “I wouldn’t dare.”

When the veil lifted, it was overwhelming. The room fractured into dream and nightmare. I saw flashes—glimpses of an ancient life. Our infrastructure. A world we once shaped.

She still stole my breath, even knowing my part in that crusade. Her bronze skin shimmered like fractured gold. Her body carried the memory of war and the discipline of peace. She held both ends of the world without trembling.

The sun had always been our compass. And I had loved her from the moment she birthed a new reign of grace and divinity.

You were always the center, I thought, pulled into the images she allowed me to see.

A bathing ritual. Lunar. Solitary—until it wasn’t. She noticed me instantly. Drew me forward. The first time I saw her fully illuminated.

It pierced my lungs. Too pure. Her intent never set to wound me.

And yet—I wanted her to wound him.

But destiny had already chosen. Marriage. Alignment. A future written without me.

The vision shattered when the sky bloomed with his surprise—beautiful, undeniable. Rage swelled. Possessive. Ancient.

And then I was back in the suite.

Our breaths tangled. We pulled apart.

Now you know, a voice said from somewhere else. She’s your redemption.

“Micah,” Kiy rested her face against mine, instantly grounded. “I didn’t put us there.”

I set her down carefully. Handed her the clothes scattered across the floor. I watched her dress before answering.

“I know.”

“What did you see?”

I sat on the bed, anchoring myself to the present. Then I looked up at her.

“Everything.”

KIY

Mic doesn't specify on the word everything. But I knew something bothered him. I didn't pry. Not when we went out for lunch, not when we walked near merchants and ceramic pottery shops. There was a blacksmith shop on the corner, and he didn’t even notice. He always noticed dazzled armor.

“Okay, stop.” I said, stopping him a few feet ahead of me. “What’s with you? Why are you missing?”

He looked a dazed but still replied, “I’m right here.”

“No, no you aren’t.” My hand touched his chest. “I can see you…. feel you. You still smell the same. Somewhat minty, somewhat earthy. Like cedarwood. But you’re not present.”

He breathes sharply. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“You don’t—“ I sighed, and moved ahead this time. “I’m not doing this out here. Let’s just go.”

We walked back to the hotel valet spot, it was a coated silence. He handed the valet person a large tip as our rented truck pulled up. I got into the passenger seat quickly. He looked up and then cursed. Like he forgotten a step.

A few minutes into the ride, I flipped through the stations, trying to calm my mind. I never handled active silence well. If he would just get out of his own head… but I couldn’t force him.

So eventually, I too was lost in the counterintuitive feeling of what we just unleashed. And why we couldn’t go back.

“It’s not sitting right with me,” he broke the silence, causing my head to slightly turn. His expression was guarded enough, jaw clenched, one hand on the stirring wheel, the other loosely on his lap.

“Being Ra, that is.”

“You rather it been Horus?”

“No, that’s not it,” he shook his head. “Maybe if gods didn’t have a role to play. Entirely.”

“But that’s not how this works.”

“And you have it all figured out?” His voice carried heat. “Why am I the only one who’s uneasy thinking about this? Don’t your power or powers … plural.. scare you?”

I sunk lower in my seat, arms wrapped around myself. “I don’t know. I guess I never let it get that far.”

His puzzling eyes looms over to me, and then more silence.

“Mic, I’m not saying I have it all figured out.” I told him. “But I hoped—with you knowing the truth, it would have helped answered…. something.”

“It didn’t,” he stated, adding more depth. “It only draws more questions that I rather not ask.”

We reached the dig site somehow.

I hopped down from the truck as soon as my door opened. Mic was already there, waiting—patient, composed. It surprised me, given how much tension still lingered between us.

“Thank you,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

We stood there a beat longer than necessary, suspended, until movement near the tents broke the moment.

“There they are,” a frail voice called before we saw its owner.

A man stepped forward in desert-weight robes, safety goggles perched on his face, ancient tools hanging from his belt like extensions of his hands. Beside him stood a woman with blond braided pigtails and glasses, her posture eager and alert. I recognized the voice immediately—Peggy. Which meant the man had to be Dr. Khatibi.

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you!” Peggy exclaimed, pulling me into a tight embrace. For someone so small, her grip was formidable. I resisted the urge to wince. “Micah talks about you all the time. I feel like I already know you.”

“Oh—that’s sweet.” I laughed nervously, then glanced at Mic. “All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” she said brightly. Then her eyes lit up. “You used to paint, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Perfect. I already have a job for you.”

“Peggy,” Dr. Khatibi interjected gently. “They’ve just arrived. Let them examine the tunnels first. I’m sure Mrs. Darring is eager to.”

Mrs. Darring.

I turned the name over in my head.

Almost. Not quite.

“Oh!” Peggy clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry—first pyramid diver. Of course you’ll want to see that first.”

She pressed a clipboard into my hands. Micah’s initials were already there, neat and familiar. Several names followed, but I lingered on his—proof that this was real, documented, underway.

“Once you’re signed in,” Peggy continued, “we’ll get you fitted with safety equipment.”

I nodded, pen hovering for a second longer than necessary, aware of the ground beneath my feet—ancient, waiting, and very much awake.

The mouth of the tunnel waited like a held breath.

It wasn’t dramatic—no fanfare, no sudden wind—but the air changed the moment I crossed the threshold. Cooler. Older. The kind of cold that doesn’t come from shade but from memory. I adjusted the helmet they’d fitted me with, the light cutting a thin, obedient line through the dark.

“Careful on the first step,” Peggy called softly behind me.

I nodded, though I didn’t look back. The ground dipped to remind me that this wasn’t built for hesitation. My boot met stone worn smooth by hands that no longer had names. I felt it through the sole, a low vibration traveling up my spine.

The tunnel narrowed, then widened, breathing with intention. Walls carved not just to hold weight, but to say something. Symbols began to surface as my light passed—etchings half-swallowed by time, curves and lines that tugged at me in a place language doesn’t reach.

My chest tightened.

Not from fear, though. More from recognition.

I took another step. Then another.

The air thickened, carrying the faint scent of mineral and dust—and something else, elusive, like heat remembered after the sun has gone down. I brushed my fingers along the wall despite myself. The stone was warmer than it should have been.

You see it, a thought whispered. Not a voice. Not sound. A knowing.

The tunnel opened into a chamber.

I stopped.

The space was smaller than I expected, intimate rather than grand. The ceiling curved low, drawing everything inward. At the center stood a relief carved directly into the far wall—not eroded, not broken. Preserved. Waiting.

A woman.

She stood with one foot forward, spine straight, chin lifted—not in defiance, but certainty. One hand open, palm up. The other clenched, holding something indistinct. Her body was balanced between invitation and warning.

Hathor’s gentleness.

Sekhmet’s resolve.

My breath caught hard enough that it echoed.

“That’s… unusual,” Dr. Khatibi murmured from somewhere behind me. “The duality in the posture—”

I barely heard him.

Because above her head, etched faintly but unmistakable, was a solar disc fractured down the center. Not broken. Split.

I stepped closer.

The moment my light passed over the carving’s eyes, the chamber shifted. Not physically. Something subtler. The quiet pressed in until it rang.

I had the strangest sensation being remembered. This wasn’t a shrine meant to worship. It was a record.

A pause caught in stone.

I swallowed.

“This isn’t about power,” I said before I realized I was speaking aloud.

Peggy leaned in beside me. “What do you mean?”

I stared at the carving, my pulse loud in my ears. “It’s about timing.”

Silence followed—not awkward, but reverent.

Somewhere behind me, I felt Mic before I heard him. The space adjusted again, like a chord resolving. I didn’t turn yet. I couldn’t. Not until I understood what was waiting on the other side of this knowing.

The past hadn’t been buried here.

It had been set aside.

And now, standing at the threshold of it, I understood with a clarity that settled deep and steady in my bones—

What was written here wasn’t a warning.

It was an opening.

| Mic

I didn’t step in. Not yet.

Kiy moved first, and I watched. The light from the tunnel bent around her, shadows parting just enough for her passage. The walls whispered in dust and etchings, but my eyes stayed on her—on the way her body took the steps, the tilt of her chin, the way she breathed in space that had been waiting for centuries.

Every curve of her movement, every pause, told me more than any symbol could. I noticed the faint twitch of her fingers along the wall, the subtle shift when the air changed, the catch of breath she didn’t hear herself make. I cataloged it quietly, like I always did—gauging, reading, seeing what the space allowed her to see.

The chamber widened, the ceiling curving low, drawing everything inward. At the center, the relief glimmered in the beam of her light. A woman—Hathor and Sekhmet intertwined—stood carved into stone, one hand open, the other holding something that refused definition.

She was invitation and warning all at once.

I stayed back, letting her claim that moment. I could have changed the rhythm of the room, pressed a presence into it, and the stone would have bent to my will. But I didn’t. I let her unfold into it first.

And even as she moved through recognition, I was there. Measuring. Waiting. Seeing what she would claim for herself. Not for me.

When she spoke, I heard it—not just her words, but the pulse beneath them, the weight of timing, of choice. I didn’t answer immediately. I only let the moment breathe, letting her fill it with herself, letting the past and present arrange themselves around her.

The chamber didn’t demand. She did.

| Kiy

Peggy appeared at the edge of the tent, carrying a small tray of snacks.

“Finally,” she said, grinning. “You two have been out there for two days, and already managed to stumble onto some rare finds. That’s impressive.”

Mic and I exchanged a glance. She made it sound effortless, but she was sharp—like she noticed more than she let on.

“The first one,” she said, nodding at Mic, “that pharaoh’s headpiece you recorded. Nice work. Didn’t think anyone would spot it this quickly.”

Mic’s jaw tightened just slightly. “It…worked out,” he said, voice steady.

“I was just lucky,” I added, keeping the casual rhythm. “We covered a lot of ground.”

Peggy tilted her head, handing us each a wrapped snack. “Well, eat something. You two look like you haven’t stopped moving since you got here. And…” She paused, a playful gleam in her eyes. “…how’s the wedding planning going? Invitations? Guest lists? Or are we not supposed to ask?”

I froze for half a beat, Mic’s shoulder brushing mine—silent reassurance. I exhaled, smiling lightly. “Mostly sorted. We’re making sure everyone’s comfortable.”

“Good,” she said, like she didn’t need details. “Wouldn’t want you two starting drama before you even reach the ceremony.”

Mic smirked faintly. “Just enough to keep it interesting.”

I laughed softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Peggy shook her head, offering the snacks again. “Alright, eat before the next heatwave hits. Or before someone decides to overthink everything again. I can feel it brewing—don’t even try to deny it.”

——- ——— ———- ————- ———— ————

The buzzing led me to a recessed alcove, barely wider than my shoulders. There, carved into the wall, rested the outline of a weapon—a khopesh. Its curve caught the faint beam of my helmet, glinting as if it had been waiting for someone to notice.

I reached out, brushing my fingers over the carved edge. The vibration under my touch jumped through me, low and insistent, like a heartbeat embedded in stone. “Mic… look at this.”

He stopped a step behind me, quiet. I could feel him tense just slightly, a shift in the air. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. I could sense the recognition in the pause between us.

I studied it, tracing the shape with my fingers. “It… feels alive.”

Mic’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked briefly to mine before returning to the carving. That instant told me everything: he knew exactly what this was.

And then, just for him, memory pulled through—the life of the khopesh. A figure cloaked in fury and gold, moving through dust-choked battlefields. A roar that shook stones. Sekhmet’s hand gripping the weapon, arcs of fire licking its edge, every swing decisive, exact, devastating.

The pulse thrummed beneath Mic’s skin now, tethered to something older than either of us. I could feel the weight without understanding it, the echo of wrath and protection intertwined in the curve of the blade.

He exhaled softly, a sound I almost didn’t notice. “It was hers,” he said, voice low, more to himself than me. “Sekhmet.”

I blinked at him, unsure what to say. “Was… she…?”

Mic shook his head faintly, eyes returning to the carving. “No. Not her. Not yet. Just… what it held. What it did.”

I let my hand linger on the stone. The buzzing had softened, almost like it acknowledged me, approved my presence. And yet I could feel Mic’s awareness in the shadows behind me—quiet, measured, a reminder that even in discovery, he was still a few steps ahead.

Mic

“How’s your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Darring?”

I turned to the waiter hovering near our booth. We’d been invited to an exclusive gala for the Egyptian Tortoise, one of their endangered species. Peggy’s idea.

We’d left the dig to change. I pulled on my mauve suit; Kiy wore a lavender ballerina ball gown, sleeveless, floating around her like mist.

Her choice… stole me. My eyes didn’t leave her.

“Marvelous,” I said, reaching across the table to lace my fingers with hers. She gave a small, knowing smile. “Can we see the wine menu?”

She was already sipping champagne from the open bar, but I wanted something smoother, something that lingered. She looked… dangerously sweet.

“You’re tense.”

“Big charity events aren’t my thing,” she murmured, fidgeting at the glittering butterflies on her dress. “More of Autumn’s field, not mine.”

I teased her. “But you agreed.”

“You met Peggy, right?” She laughed. “My ‘no’ wouldn’t have registered.”

“Suppose you’re right, meu lar.” I smiled. “That’s what I love about you.”

Her eyes paused at my lips. “I was thinking one thing.”

“What?” My gaze soften.

Almost shyly, she muttered, “You look very handsome tonight.”

I let myself drift over her bare shoulders, the faint corset shaping her like sculpture. “Thank you.”

Minutes passed. She tilted her head to the jazz band playing their soft, swirling take on Borderline. Her fingers tapped an absent rhythm, lost in the music.

“I should’ve said this earlier,” I began, scooting closer, my fingers brushing the curve of her shoulder. Skin glistening under the warm light. “But that dress… won’t last long. Not around me.”

She giggled, pressing a hand to my chest. “Wasn’t planning on it. Had to keep you guessing.”

She was right. It worked.

My lips met my tongue. “Is it new?”

“Yeah.” We were inches away from each others face. Her breath slowly eased. “One of the choices I didn’t wear that night you came home.”

“Right.” I remembered. The night she stayed in with me while she was needed for a press conference. Because that’s who she is. Suddenly, a wall dropped. I wanted to kiss her in front of all these rich people.

“Well, we’ve found a new use for it.”

“The menu, sir.” The waiter extended it, but Kiy waved it aside with a soft smile.

“What can we have for newlyweds?”

I smiled at her. She glanced up, eyes luminous. The waiter, a quiet connoisseur, nodded and returned with a deep blue bottle capped in silver. The label read Nile’s Embrace. He placed it in an ice bucket with a flourish. Soon after, two small helpings of Lokmet El Kadi appeared.

“That smells amazing.” She adds, sipping the Nile off her rim. She touches her lips, chasing its memory.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning a little closer. “You do too.”

The waiters exchanged a knowing look, disappearing back into the gala, carrying their small secret with them.

“Micah…”

I stopped her, my index grazing her bottom lip. “Why does it feel like I’m constantly apologizing to you lately?”

She offered some comfort. “You don’t have to. Just… be here.”

“I am,” I say, hoping my words will reassure her. “Tonight, I’m yours. Scouts honor. Pinky promise. All those plea belly deals you say.”

“Good.” That made her laugh, the sound lifted me. She picked at a donut hole; I stole it from her fork.

“Ugh, just like you.”

“Can’t be helped,” I said with a grin. “If I see something sweet, I have to have it.”

The wine glimmered between us, ruby and warm, as if the Nile itself had lent its pulse to our table. Everything else—gala, guests, jazz—faded into a soft haze.

Just us.

Heat risen from the air, and the quiet knowledge that sometimes, the most extravagant settings were only a backdrop to the simplest gestures: a touch, a stolen bite, a shared sip.

By the time the gala began to quiet, the jazz retreating into the walls, Kiy and I slipped out through a side exit, the soft echo of glass and laughter fading behind us. The city’s lights didn’t reach here; the Nile’s calm shimmer and the night air brushing against our skin.

She laughed softly at something small I’d joked—Peggy dancing like a flounder fish and Dr. Khatibi hiding the embarrassment—I leaned into her, letting the warmth of her shoulder rest against mine.

The Nile’s Embrace lingered in our veins: honeyed, spiced, a little fire in the throat, like the river itself had pressed its pulse into us. Every sip had unraveled a little of the tension, loosened the careful control we carried like armor all day.

We walked side by side, hands brushing until finally, fingers intertwined. No words came for a while. The night filled the space between us. Stars mirrored the wine’s glimmer on the river, a scatter of infinite possibility. Kiy tilted her head toward the sky.

“It feels… endless, doesn’t it?” she said.

“Like it’s ours, if we let it be.”

Her eyes met mine.

That’s when I realized it: the gala, the wine, the champagne smiles—none of it mattered. We were walking along a ribbon of time, under stars and river light, and for once, nothing demanded us except this.

The Kempinski had hushed into noir by the time we returned. Whether it was quiet by design or by chance, the lobby felt like a humming fan, watching us as we passed. Kiy had her strapped heels in her hands, barefoot once the elevator doors closed. I took them from her, slipping my hand into hers. Her eyes flickered up, puzzled, then softened into a small, rewarding smile.

“Where should we—”

My phone rang, cutting through the moment. I huffed. Ignoring it was my first instinct, but Kiy’s expression betrayed worry. She might already have a sense of who it was.

I switched hands and draped my arm around her waist, guiding her gently. When the elevator pinged our floor, I handed her the suite key. She gave a hopeful glance over her shoulder as she walked ahead.

“Hello?” I answered, not bothering to see the caller ID.

“Finally, man! You know how long we’ve been trying to reach you.”

I exhaled. Only Zune. That meant Autumn talked before I could.

“Yeah, my bad,” I said. “We…got caught up.”

“You alright though?” Zune asked, almost cautiously. “Autumn said when she called Kiy, she was crying.”

My shoulders felt like boulders pressing down. That had to be the night I bolted on her. I needed to clear the air. Like I need him coming in between.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re good,” I told him. “We left dinner about an hour ago. Went for a walk.”

“A walk, huh?” His tone weighed what I wasn’t saying. “You need to be upfront. With her. With yourself.”

Teeth gritted, I rubbed my temple. “I know.”

“I hope so,” he said again. “Before it’s too late. Don’t let the weight of your world crush her.”

“Aye,” I muttered. He’d better be glad I’m in a better mood tonight. “Like I said, we’re good.”

“Alright, man. One.”

He hung up. I leaned against the embroidered gold wallpaper, letting the cool pattern press into my back. His words stung—not because I thought he was right, but because I hadn’t been paying full attention to that weight. Not yet.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

Hiatus.

Working on somethin slight.

Be back after these messages.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR: Chapter IX

Our True Names, Untouchable

| MiC

I couldn’t rush her…

….To the suite fast enough.

The group had alerted me that the dig was starting tonight. Time ran before I was ready to start. But I’m glad Kiy decided to come. Maybe Cairo would see us both. I could be overthinking.

Since we arrived, everything seemed more … alive. Or heightened. Whatever the case, I knew being with Kiyanna would be like my anchor. This isn’t like the ancient days. We’re staying near the Nile, but in a modern oasis. And The Kempinski had a warm welcome.

Me especially. My blood seemed heavy with no intense endurance. I was holding bolts to strings.

And when I got her alone in the suite, I caved in. My restraint was broken. I need to feel her warmth, taste her sweetness. My body ached in a way that didn’t seem familiar.

I laid her on our bed, our bodies wrapped around desire. Her hands touched my chest, pulling my shirt above me. She also undressed herself, teasing me. Enabling me to be tipped off the ledge. I might’ve growled. I couldn’t tell.

Everything in me seems to be pulsing in a new light. And I was losing my mind. Did she try a new scent? My nose swelled with myrrh and lotus as we rolled around.

“What’s wrong?” she muttered. I stopped caressing her. My eyes darted from her legs to her face.

“Nothing,” I lied. “It could just be fatigue.”

“Mic,” she was concerned. “We don’t have to keep going.”

“Please don’t deny me,” I pleaded, filled with fear. I didn’t want to lose this precious moment of reconciliation. My lips traced her legs, stomach, and breasts. Her moan lifted the air, and I hoped that would be enough to convince her.

“I love kissing every inch of you.”

But I was done playing it safe. She would be screaming my name by the time we’re finished. I hopped off the bed, just to pull her to the edge.

“I’ve waited long enough,” I said, as if it were a forgotten memory. But I didn’t mean to sound eerie.

I desperately craved her release more than anything else. And it didn’t want to stop, until her mouth parted with an O.

I ate her pussy.

She tasted so sweet. Like a honey bee comb I wouldn’t want to climb out of. Her walls kept swelling and pulsing around my tongue. I sucked against them, creating a powerful sensation we both weren’t ready for. I knew I reached the end, when her grip in my hair pulled tighter. Then the drip of wetness coursed my mouth.

Paradise may have entered our bedroom.

My mouth inside her will forever be my favorite part. When I’m focused on her, everything else blurred away. And her coming undone in my hands was the best sight.

“I’m going to shower first,” she says. “Wait for me?”

“Sure, princess.” I licked the aftermath of her heat. “Whatever you need.”

I heard the shower running for a few minutes before I moved. My breathing slowed. I walked out to the balcony for air, didn’t bother getting dressed—my shorts were still intact. I stretched, leaning over the guardrail.

Was it me, or did she seem… spooked?

Not surprised-spooked.

Something else.

Haunted.

I shook my head and let the night air press against my face.

Food would help. It always did. She never turned down a great meal.

I picked up the menu and dialed.

“Kempinski Nile room service?”

“Yeah, can we order a quick dinner?”

“Of course, Mr. Darring,” the concierge said. “What would you like this evening?”

I tapped the menu. “I’ll have the hawawshi. My fiancée will take the ta‘ameya. A small cup of ful, and mint tea.”

“Any dessert?”

Kiy stepped out of the bathroom in a silk ivory robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She looked calmer. Relief loosened my chest.

“Surprise me.”

I ended the call and pulled her into my lap. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. Her lashes were still curled from the steam. “I think the trip winded me more than I expected.”

“The trip?” I smiled. “Or me?”

She bit her lip. I finished drying her hair, letting her fury curls fall loose around her face.

“Mic… you didn’t see anything strange?”

“Strange how? I thought you enjoyed—”

“Oh! I did. Don’t get me wrong.” She hesitated, searching. “It was amazing.”

“Kiy.” I waited until she looked at me. “What is it?”

“This city might be affecting me.”

“Affecting you…in what way? Like visions?”

“Sort of.”

“Kiy.”

She exhaled. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

I kissed her cheek. “Try me.”

“Did you channel something you weren’t aware of? During… that?”

“No.” I thought carefully. “At least, not intentionally.”

Her expression shifted. Understanding clicked into place. She’d felt something I hadn’t. Or seen it. If I’d spooked her, it was a blind spot for me.

She curled into me, arms wrapped tight. Whatever it was, it had passed. Right on time, a knock came at the door.

“It’s room service,” I said.

I set her gently on the bed and took the cart from the butler. “Thanks.”

Kiy hovered behind me, lifting her tray. “Smells amazing. What is it?”

“Authentic Cairo,” I said. “Figured you needed it.”

“You figured right.” She was already into the ful. “I’m starving.”

“Good. There’s plenty.” I laughed, brushing her damp curls. Then, quieter, “Why don’t I go to the dig first?”

She looked up. “You sure?”

“You’re spent,” I said, sipping the mint tea. “There’ll be other days.”

She sighed, then nodded. “If you think it’s best, I won’t fight you.”

“That’s my girl,” I whispered, and kissed her.

The site was quieter than I expected.

Floodlights stood like patient sentinels, throwing pale halos across sand that had learned the shape of footsteps centuries ago. The Nile breathed somewhere beyond the dark, unseen but undeniable.

As I approached the perimeter, I adjusted my jacket and placed my boots on the edge. There was no shovel work yet; only people and paperwork. My nerves were trying to mask their professionalism.

“Mr. Darring.”

Dr. Khatibi emerged from the light, compact and precise, glasses catching a brief glare. His handshake was firm, practiced.

“Doctor,” I greeted. “Thank you for letting me stop by tonight.”

“You’re early,” Khatibi noted—not disapproving. Curious. “That’s usually a good sign.”

I smiled. “I wanted to get a feel for things before we begin in earnest.”

Peggy waved from a folding table buried in maps, ceramic fragments, and three different kinds of coffee cups. “Translation: he couldn’t sleep.”

I laughed. “Translation: correct.”

Peggy stood and shook hands, quick and grounding. “Your timing’s good. Nothing’s happening yet, which is exactly when everything’s happening.”

Khatibi nodded. “We’re only observing tonight. Soil readings. Surface mapping. No disturbances.”

“Good,” I spoke reluctantly.

Khatibi glanced, somehow sizing me up. “You agree?”

“Yeah,” I replied, more distinctive. “The site feels… dense.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Dense how?”

I was searching for a language that wouldn’t sound like superstition disguised as academia, so I settled with, “Like it’s holding its breath.”

Khatibi studied me for a beat longer than necessary, then gestured toward the cordoned square of earth. “This area hasn’t been opened since the initial survey. Records are incomplete. Colonial notes. Gaps.”

“Lost information,” Peggy said softly.

I felt it then—not fear, exactly. Pressure. As if knowledge itself had weight.

“And tonight?” I asked.

“Tonight,” Khatibi said, “we make sure the ground is stable. Then, we make sure we are.”

Peggy handed me a clipboard. “Sign in. After that, you can walk the perimeter. Just don’t cross the markers.”

I picked up the pen. As I signed my name, my mind wandered back to the hotel room, where Kiy was wrapped in steam and silk, sensing things before they were spoken. My eyes lingered more on the scene.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’ll go first.”

I walked the perimeter slowly, boots stopping just short of the red markers. The sand looked evenly scattered across. Too ordinary. Like an autumn leaf flattened by time, disciplined by centuries of being told to remain still.

Peggy’s voice carried faintly behind him, murmuring logistics into the night. Dr. Khatibi spoke less. He watched more.

I crouched near the eastern edge, some of the floor-light fell unevenly. Something caught differently here—not a shine. More like an interruption.

My glove brushed against the surface, creating a buzzing sensation that resonated through my hands. Unreal, I thought. Could this hieroglyph wall still be alive?

“Doctor,” my voice remains leveled. “There’s gotta be something shallow here.”

Khatibi stood beside me instantly. Peggy followed, already pulling on gloves.

“Careful,” Khatibi said. Not a warning, but genuine concern.

They cleared sand with brushes, breath held between movements. What emerged was fragile.

A fragment of a headpiece—gold-leafed once, now muted. The curve suggested a brow. A suggestion of the uraeus, the sacred cobra, broken just below the hood. Not damaged by time, I realized. Removed.

“Interesting,” Peggy whispered. “This wasn’t buried ceremonially.”

Khatibi nodded. “It was hidden.”

I felt the weight, before lifting. Not heavy in mass. Heavy in meaning. This wasn’t regalia. This was identity.

“A ruler?” I asked.

“Or the idea of one,” Khatibi said. “Crowns were not just worn. They were inhabited.”

I turned the fragment slightly. The inner edge bore faint markings—cartouche-adjacent, but interrupted. As if someone had started to write a name and stopped halfway.

Lost information.

Or withheld.

Peggy exhaled slowly. “Don’t think we were supposed to find this.”

“No,” Khatibi agreed. “But it seems we were expected.”

I swallowed. Somewhere, instinct tugged at him—not toward fear, but toward distance. My thoughts orbiting Kiy again. Of steam. Of unease arriving before explanation.

I set the piece back into its cradle of sand.

“Catalog it,” I said. “But let’s not move it yet.”

Khatibi looked at me, measuring. Then nodded. “We proceed slowly.”

I stood, brushing sand from my gloves. The night felt different now. Not louder. More attentive.

Whatever this crown once rested on had been interrupted mid-reign. Not erased—paused.

And pauses, I knew, were dangerous things.

| KiY

I tried to sleep. Tried to pretend my mind wasn’t a million miles away. Mic could handle the first night—I knew that. Still, my shoulders held their tension. My body hummed, a vibrating cloud that wouldn’t settle.

I got dressed. Slipped one of our room keys into my pocket and left the suite. Waiting inside felt worse than whatever was calling me forward.

The lobby doors opened onto hush.

A wind moved through the ground floor, unnatural in its precision. Fog thickened my vision. The silence pressed close—too complete. No guests. No footsteps. Not even the concierge desk, usually awake at all hours.

My feet carried me onward despite the scream in my head telling me to turn back.

Then I saw her.

A figure wrapped in crimson-colored cloth, her body completely veiled. Bare feet touched the marble as if it were water, her movement fluid, unbothered by gravity. We drifted toward one another until the space between us vanished.

I froze.

No. Not now. Not before I could tell him.

Her voice arrived before her meaning, layered with echoes, as if many mouths spoke at once. She circled me slowly, studying my hands, my eyes. She nodded, amused.

“This will establish a new precedent.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I go by many names,” she said lightly. “More than you could count.”

“Then you know who I am.”

She laughed. The sound rippled through the building, bending space around us.

“Do you?” Her fingers lifted my chin, examining me closely. “There is so much fear here.”

“Please,” I said, swatting her hand. “Enough. What do you want?”

“I know you are seeking him,” she purred. “And I intend to end your madness.”

“Him?”

“Vessels are always reluctant to forget.”

“Don’t play with me.”

My voice shook. “Are you talking about Micah?”

She laughed again.

“No. I mean the one who belongs to the sun. The one who ruled kingdoms and burned empires. The true essence of a ruler.”

Her finger traced under my right eye. “By the power of Ra.”

The name tore through me. My knees buckled. Breath collapsed into fragments as I fell to the floor.

“No,” I whispered. “That’s impossible.”

She danced in places that didn’t exist, her form folding and unfolding.

“You will see.”

Her fingertip tapped my forehead.

The fog vanished. So did she.

Sound rushed back into the lobby—voices, footsteps, the hum of life resuming as if nothing had happened.

“Ma’am?” The concierge was suddenly there, steadying me. “Are you all right?”

“Water,” I said, trembling. “Please. A lot of it.”

I was lying on one of the waiting couches when Mic came through the lobby like a storm breaking containment. He cut between a small family mid check-in, apologies dissolving behind him. I felt his intensity from across the room—sharp, immediate—yet I couldn’t summon the strength to lift a hand.

The concierge, pale and shaking, pointed across the foyer.

Mic’s eyes locked onto me. They cut through the noise like blades. He crossed the space in long, urgent strides.

“Baby,” he said, already kneeling, already trying to sound calm. “What happened? They said you passed out. I—” His voice faltered. “I thought—”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just dizzy.”

He shook his head, muttering to himself—English folding into patois, guilt tangling with fear. Like this was his fault for leaving. Like he should’ve known.

“Mic,” I whispered. “Let’s just go back to the suite.”

“Can you stand?” His eyes searched my face.

I took his hand, rubbing my shoulder with my thumb. “Yes.”

It was a lie.

My body felt… wrong. Like something had slipped loose and forgotten how to return. Everything was too far away.

“No,” he said firmly, already reaching for the Fiji bottles. “You’re getting upstairs. Even if I have to carry you.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He lifted me like we were home, like there were no eyes on us, like this was already decided. Guests stared. Staff froze.

He carried me like I was already his wife.

In a way, I was.

Back in the suite, the door clicked shut and the world narrowed. Mic set me gently on the bed. Some of the edge drained from him—but not all of it. His movements were careful now. Too careful. Anger lingered in him, but it wasn’t aimed at me. It had nowhere to land.

“What happened?” he asked again.

He sat in the desk chair instead of beside me, fingers tapping against his leg. He wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t come closer.

I pushed myself upright. Telling him felt like stepping off a ledge without knowing if the ground would still be there.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Begin with the truth, Kiy,” he said quietly. “You know that about me.”

“The truth?” I scoffed, the sound breaking. “Why are you saying it like I did something?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I just—”

“Just what?” My teeth clenched to hold back tears.

“I just want you to trust me.” His voice softened. “And I know there’s something you don’t want to tell me. Isn’t there?”

I turned my head toward the window. Rain struck the glass in steady blows, like a steel drum keeping time for everything about to collapse.

“Kiy,” he sighed, crossing the bed at last. “I can’t lose you now.”

That did it.

The tears came fast, heavy. Whatever was coming next stopped us both from moving any closer. He held me without questions, without demands, until the storm passed through me.

When I could breathe again, when my voice finally returned, I said it.

“I know your origin.”

The room stilled, like an audience leaning toward discovery. He remained unmoving. Grounded. Waiting.

I couldn’t keep this from him. Not without breaking something that would never mend. Whatever this meant for us—whatever it rearranged—he deserved the truth.

The gods were never clean. They were not symbols polished smooth by time. They were messy in ways that mattered. I understood that now. I had recognized pieces of myself in them once, and that recognition was why Micah had made sense to me. Why his gravity had always felt inevitable.

But the truth wouldn’t stay contained.

This wasn’t protection. It was creation. Heat. Authority that didn’t ask to be earned.

I felt it then—the imbalance. Not fear exactly, but a debt I hadn’t agreed to. A weight pressing down simply because it existed.

That was the part I wasn’t ready to name.

I swallowed and steadied my breath. “I had a theory once,” I said quietly. “Back in Lisbon.”

Mic didn’t interrupt. He stayed still, listening the way he always did when something mattered.

“I thought you were connected to the sky,” I went on. “Birds. Height. That way you always look like you’re watching everything without trying. I thought maybe… Horus.”

His brow furrowed. “Horus?”

“The sky god,” I said gently. “Protector. Son. The one who inherits.”

He let out a small breath. “That sounds… generous.”

“It was comforting,” I admitted. “It made sense. It kept things contained.”

I looked down at my hands. They were still trembling. “But tonight,” I continued, “someone came to me. Not a dream. Not a vision. A presence.”

Mic’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop me.

“She dismantled it,” I stated. “Knew exactly who I was before she spoke. She’s apart of the Three Sisters. They protect threads—belonging to each god or goddess. And tonight, she made sure your identity didn’t blur.”

I finally met his eyes. “I was wrong.”

Silence settled between us, thick but not hostile.

“Wrong how?” he asked.

“I wasn’t supposed to be looking at the sky,” I said. “I was supposed to be looking at the sun.”

His breath caught, almost imperceptibly.

“She didn’t give me proof,” I added quickly. “Just a name. The kind that leaves no room to argue.”

Mic leaned back slightly, like he needed space to absorb the weight without letting it crush him.

He said carefully, “You’re telling me you think I’m—”

“I’m telling you I thought you were Horus,” I said. “And now I know that isn’t true.”

He searched my face. “And the other possibility?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t believe it—but because saying it felt like lighting a fuse.

“She invoked him,” I whispered. “By power. By authority.”

The room felt warmer. Not physically—conceptually. Like something ancient had leaned closer.

“Ra,” Mic said, barely audible.

I nodded once.

“I don’t know what that means yet,” I said quickly. “I don’t know what it asks of you. Or if it even wants anything at all. I just know… Horus watches.”

I reached for his hand. “Ra commands.”

“I need air.”

He got up abruptly, the suite door slamming shut behind him. I winced.

It would be stupid to take this personally, but that didn’t stop the tears from rolling fresh and fast. The stiffness in the room got to me too, so I stepped out onto the balcony.

I kept telling myself it was right for him to know. At least now he did know. One night in Cairo and we were already hanging from a thin rope. I listened to the trees hauling in the wind, a soft melody playing somewhere below. The city was still alive with laughter and courtship.

So much for an early honeymoon, I thought.

I watched a couple on the street—he pulled her away from a passing car that nearly soaked them both. They laughed it off. It had seemed that easy only a week ago.

I didn’t know how long the past could keep us from moving forward, but we had to try.

There’s so much fear there, the Sister had said.

Yeah. She wasn’t wrong. Years of strife. Loss. Yearning for someone who never returned.

But we did return. This time, we made sure of it. He might feel guilty for that now, but I would do it all over again. I would grow through every burned bridge, every misdeed, every misfortune just to see him this light.

I couldn’t let the past weigh on him—not when we were so close to everything we wanted.

I grabbed his keys, his hoodie, and went out into the city. I would get him back. No matter how long it took.

My phone rang twice through the Bluetooth speaker.

“Yeah?” I answered flatly.

“Aye, Kiy!” Stembie’s cheering voice vibrated through the line. “We wanted to check in on things.”

“We?” I asked shortly, my mind already elsewhere.

“Yeah, I’m with the crew and we had—”

“Wait. What’s going on?” Autumn’s voice cut in. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Kiy, you don’t sound the same. Where’s Mic?”

“Out. We—uh—got into some trouble.”

“We’re coming out there,” she said without hesitation.

“No, you’re not,” I ordered. “If you want me to be a fit bride, please let me handle this. We’ll call when everything is settled.”

“Are you sure?” Stembie asked. “Don’t do this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I said—convincing myself more than her. I sighed. “I love y’all. I do. But let me handle this my way. You don’t need to aid everything we do.”

“Snappy, ain’t she?”

“Whatever, girl.” I could hear Autumn rolling her eyes. “Just remember—family doesn’t need a reason to pull your ass out of hot water. Clueless or not, we’re here to support you.”

She had a point, and it stoked the fire I was trying to keep low.

“I know, Auttie.” My eyes burned with tears. I wiped them on his sleeve. “Shit. I gotta go.”

I found him sitting on the edge of the bridge, his long legs dangling over the side. No one else seemed to care. They walked past him like this was normal.

I knew better.

I shut the car door quietly and inched closer. His back stayed to me, his heaviness cast like a mounted shadow.

“Mic?” I said softly. “Can you look at me?”

“Is that even me?” he chuckled, off-putting, hollow. He didn’t turn. The moon hung low, like a devil’s horn dripping into the water. “You should be angry.”

“But I’m not.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because the past was never why I chose you.”

“That isn’t what you said before.”

“Well, then I lied.”

This time he turned, sideways, resting one arm on his knee. I huffed and climbed over the ledge to sit beside him.

“I lied about wanting the past to play a part in who we are,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t care anymore.”

A beat passed. I touched the top of his hair reluctantly, letting my fingers get caught in his curls.

“I just want you, Mic. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I almost…” He paused. “Believe that.”

“You should.” I lifted my hand. “I’m going to be your wife. Don’t forget the promise you made—in the present.”

“That can’t erase everything.”

“No,” I said, taking his hand. He flinched. “But it can start something else entirely.”

A minute passed. I could see the gears turning.

“So you’re the sun god reincarnated,” I said softly. “You have a complicated past. So what? How am I any different? How am I not wrestling with the same mistakes, the same misguided ways?”

“Then,” he said slowly, “who were you back then?”

“You want my name?”

He nodded.

“Hathor,” I said.

“I was her. But now I’m me. I’m the same girl you fell in love with. The same one wearing your ring.” I let it catch the moonlight.

He sighed, took my hand, and kissed the inside of my palm. “I’m scared. Can a god admit that?”

“Yes.” I kissed his cheek. “Because you’re human now. And admitting things like that will set you free.”

The river breathed beneath us, old as confession. Boats slid past like unbothered thoughts, lanterns trembling in their wake. Mic’s shoulders loosened a fraction, the way stone does when water remembers its name.

“I don’t know how to be small,” he said. “Everything I was taught said I had to be vast. Burning. Certain.”

“Vast things crack,” I said gently. “Small things learn how to bend.” I pressed my forehead to his temple. He smelled like dust and night and the faint soap from the hotel—ordinary, anchoring.

“You don’t have to be a god to be worthy of love. Or to be brave every minute. Courage gets tired. So do suns.”

He laughed, a thin sound that warmed as it traveled. “You’re dangerous when you talk like that.”

“I’m dangerous regardless,” I said. “But the point is this: we don’t owe the past our future. We already paid.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t sharp. It was the kind that lets you hear your own pulse without flinching. He squeezed my hand, this time without pulling away.

“Stay,” he said, not as a command but as a request. A human one.

“Always,” I told him.

We sat until the moon softened its grip on the water. When we finally stood, Cairo didn’t feel like a witness anymore—just a place that keeps going, forgiving by motion alone. He fluffed his hoodie over my shoulders, I let it settle me. The keys chimed like a promise when he took them back.

Walking away from the bridge, I felt it then: not certainty, not victory. Something quieter and better. The beginning of a new language. One where fear can speak and still be held. One where love doesn’t demand immortality—only presence.

And for the first time that night, the rope didn’t feel thin at all. It felt braided.

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR: Chapter VIII

The Sight Beneath the Sun

| MiC

The fog thinned into rebellion.

Smog breathed through underground tunnels, the kind that remember footsteps. I only knew I was heading north—toward a speakeasy no one could ever find, but everyone swore existed.

Laughter hit first. Then the smell of French cuisine—rich, buttered, alive. A full kitchen. A table that never emptied. Below it all, a wine cellar. And beyond that, a bunker door at the base of the stairs. Steel. Impatient. It opened only with a four-digit code.

Red light if you were wrong.

I never saw it flash.

Every week, a new code arrived. I never questioned why.

I wore a three-piece Armani—cream vest, pressed slacks. A hat dipped low, feather frosted, accents catching powder blue. I didn’t choose the color. It chose me. Like it already knew where I was going.

What’s another way to get back home?

The voice drifted in, faint but persistent.

I was near the wine cellar when a bottle tipped. Glass bloomed into a cloud. I reached for it—always too late. It shattered anyway. Every time. The sound sank into me, sharp and low, right in my chest.

Mic… what’s another way—

—to get back home?

I turned toward the cellar. Movement behind me. Too much noise. Or none at all.

Am I hearing things?

Must be.

I pulled out the letter. New PIN attached. Different crest this time. I didn’t care. There wasn't going to be interference. Not tonight.

I needed the boss satisfied.

Green light shimmered.

I turned the handle counterclockwise. The door exhaled. Cigar smoke, heavy chords, music thick enough to lean on.

One spotlight.

One stage.

No singer yet.

Just the band, looping blue-eyed jazz like it held breath.

I took my place near the back wall. Hat low. Vision clear.

Then the room hushed.

Sweetness coated the air. And that’s when she found me.

Among strong men and pretentious women, this lady saw me through glass. Glossed lips. Full lashes. A blue stringy dress riding the light like water. When she finally sang—

everything tuned.

I finally found you, my home.

I shifted in my seat, eyes snapping open to low darkness. Kiy rested against my shoulder, the National Geographic folded and snug against her chest. She stirred when I did, turned her face slightly toward me without waking. My hand found her cheek. That touch grounded me.

Right.

We’re on a flight.

Halfway to Cairo.

My gaze settled on the business-class seats ahead of us. My throat felt rough, like smoke still lingered there. But the cabin came back into focus—the hum, the stillness, the shared suspension. I turned toward the window.

Night was breaking.

A thin blade of sunlight cut through the black, almost biblical in its precision. I watched it anyway. Soon the sky softened into orange, pink, blue—an intimate negotiation between endings and beginnings.

A flight attendant leaned in, whispering, “Would you like your breakfast now?”

I smiled and shook my head. I wanted her to sleep a little longer. If she was having the same visions I was… maybe she’d understand without explanation.

I pressed the nerves down in my core.

This is what I asked for.

What I wanted her to see.

And still, the thought of reclaiming burned bridges—of histories that don’t stay buried—tightened around my heart.

I tell her it’ll be fine. That it’ll take time.

But the truth sat heavier.

I don’t know how I’d function

if this unraveled.

If we did.

“Come on, it’s not going to bite you,” I snickered.

Kiy stood in front of the camel like it was a final exam. Dark shades hid her eyes, a kufiya wrapped close around her face. I had one too. Still, I knew that frown anywhere.

“You try getting my ass up there then,” she winced.

I sighed and scooped her up like the decision had already been made. She yelped once, then laughed as I helped her swing her legs over the camel’s hump. She adjusted carefully, waiting until I mounted the other one beside her.

“Didn’t expect this to be our first transportation,” I said, watching her settle, “but it suits us, don’t you think?”

She rocked her hips, testing the seat like she didn’t trust it yet. When she was satisfied, she nodded.

“You better be ready to catch me if I fall.”

“You won’t, meu lar.” My camel moved alongside hers, steady and sure. “I’ve done this before. They’re not like horses. A little sway, no surprises.”

Her shoulders finally dropped.

“Okay, amour. Vamos.”

We strapped our luggage onto the camels ourselves. It wasn’t the plan, but plans bend in Cairo. No rides, too much heat, and my patience wearing thin—I made it work. Convincing her took longer. She’d never looked so nervous.

Cairo smelled like heat and cardamom and something frying you couldn’t name but trusted anyway.

Stalls spilled into the street—pyramids of oranges, hanging copper, fabrics breathing color.

Men called out like they were singing, not selling.

Smoke curled from grills. Incense clung to your clothes. Dust kissed your ankles.

The city didn’t rush you. It pressed close—warm, loud—like it wanted to be remembered.

“This is sort of magical,” Kiy said as we passed locals locked in haggling that felt more like ritual than commerce. Merchants everywhere. Some for survival, some for tourists, all with stories in their hands.

“Hey—what’s that?”

She caught my wrist. The camels slowed as she pointed—not at a shop, but at a brass lantern hanging crooked over an alley. The glass was fogged with age, thumb-smudged by a thousand suns.

They say that lantern doesn’t belong to any stall.

It’s been rehung, stolen, sold—always finding its way back to the same nail.

When it’s lit, the market listens.

When it’s dark, the city forgets nothing.

I leaned in, close enough to warm her ear.

“If you make a wish while it’s glowing, Cairo decides whether you’re brave enough to keep it.”

She didn’t question me. Just clasped her hands, face bright like belief was instinct. That was what I loved most—how she trusted legends enough to invite them closer.

When she finished, she seemed lighter. She squeezed my hand like she knew something I didn’t. Chills ran through me, sharp and sweet.

For a second, I saw it—golden palace rooms, water stretching wide as the Nile, a shared past flashing like a half-remembered dream.

I didn’t know what it meant yet.

I just knew Cairo had noticed us.

| KiY

We arrived at the Kempinski Nile late afternoon, the sun teasing behind the massive secrecy of the building in a way that almost made me cry. Micah said this was best for us instead of roughing it with the rest of the group—setting up tents near the dig sites.

Honestly?

He wanted me all to himself.

I’m not complaining.

If I had to choose luxury over dirt, there was no competition. Besides, the Kempinski Nile was breathtaking.

Cool air wraps us first, marble floors caught the light—soft, reflective. Like they knew restraint. Everything gleamed, but nothing shouted. Luxury here spoke in a low register. There was a scent—subtle, deliberate. Clean linen, white florals, a whisper of citrus and something deeper underneath, almost resinous.

Voices stayed low, even when the lobby was busy. Shoes made muted sounds, absorbed by rugs thick enough to forgive footsteps. Gold accents traced the space sparingly—edges of tables, frames, lamps—never enough to feel indulgent.

Through tall windows, the Nile moved past like it had nothing to prove. Steady. Watching. Eternal. The light coming off it softened the room, turning late afternoon into something honeyed.

The staff helped unload our luggage and returned the camels to their collective spots. I unwrapped my face, letting the kufiya fall against my shoulders, pushing my shades up onto my head.

Mic was only a few steps ahead at the concierge desk, his face already bare, scarf hanging loose from his back pocket. The woman at the front desk froze. Her eyes widened.

“Checking in for—” he started, but her excitement cut him right off.

“You’re him, right? You have to be!” she squealed, fingers flying over the keyboard. “It’s an honor to welcome you to the Kempinski Nile Hotel.”

“Right,” he said calmly, pulling me in front of him, hands warm against my exposed shoulders. I smiled politely at her. “My fiancée and I are checking in. Madina Deluxe Suite.”

She flushed, suddenly sheepish. “Of course. I have everything right here. I just need proper identification—”

Mic held up both passports and placed them on the counter. She examined them carefully before handing them back along with our room keys.

“Your luggage has been brought to your suite, and a butler is waiting too,” she said, then waved as we turned away. “As they say in ancient Egypt—ankh, wedja, seneb.”

“Thank you.”

I linked my arm through Micah’s as we headed for the elevators. “She wished us life, prosperity, and health,” I whispered. He glanced at me, amused. I shrugged. “In case you were wondering.”

“I knew that,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb near my cheek. “I’m more surprised you did. Guess all that research paid off.”

“I didn’t want to be a complete tourist,” I admitted. “Past life or not.”

“Yeah… about that.” He stepped closer, his body subtly blocking the space as a few others joined the elevator. His breath was minty, familiar. His voice dropped. “We should keep that to ourselves. It’ll draw unnecessary attention.”

“I get you,” I said. Not that I planned on babbling—but he was right. Ancient treasures and secrets lived under those pyramids. Since arriving, I’d felt them calling. A pull in my chest, heavy and holy. “Mum’s the word.”

He laughed, the sound vibrated through me. “Already making mummy jokes.”

I smiled up at him. “Who else would?”

The elevator chimed. We stepped out hand in hand. Just like she said, the butler waited outside our suite.

Mic slipped him a folded bill. I frowned, and he winked as the man disappeared down the hall.

“Mic?” I asked as we stepped inside.

He flipped the privacy sign before locking the door, then sat on the edge of the bed, nodding toward it.

“Now for the reason I booked this place,” he said softly.

“Let’s break it in.”

“Relentless.” I mounted him, his hands rushed to my ass, and it felt…hesitant. Something that alerted me. “We just got here.”

“So?” His voice flickered something denser. “It's not in you to wait.”

He teased my collarbone, and the heat from his mouth trickled down to my pussy. As he met me there, fingers worked their way down through his favorite pair of panties.

“Says the person mid-stroke—” my breath caught. A shimmering dust flickered, A sweet aroma swept the air and it was a scent unfamiliar. Was it honey nectar? Lotus?

No.

Something in him had shifted, making the air pulsed differently around us.

I blinked once more. Then, red mesh fabric floated between us.

Mic’s eyes occupying mine. He moved me carefully like a guided heat in the desert. His biceps flexible, scooping me and rolling us on the bed. His hovering hung like a question mark. Our breathing weren’t in sync. My heart was racing faster than his. And he didn’t bother to notice.

His attention was set. Like I was brand new. My head rested on the pillow, anticipating him. His fingers caressed all over my exposed skin. His lips pecks me before slowing unzipping my hoodie vest.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

My hands tugging his flawless jawline, I teased him. My tongue went over his lips slowly. He stilled. Only for a moment, calculating our sudden moves. His bottom lip tucked underneath mine, his breath dripping into me. He pulled my thigh closer, ensuring a tight anchor over his torso.

I couldn’t tell if it was desire or something else guiding his hands.

He sat up like a decision being made. He pauses to pull off his tank, but I reached to grab the end fabric. “Let me do it.”

He nodded. And my hands worked his chest, as he never left my gaze. When his clothing hit the floor, my body was heated.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Kiy—you’re glowing.”

I hope I wasn’t. If my skin had reflected the sun, I wouldn’t continue. The unclamped bra fell and my breasts spilled out, my fingers caressing them in between. He growled low at the sight,

but patiently waited. My legs lifted to spread my panties down, but his teeth met the seam and moved it the rest of the way.

The way he paused after was unsettling. I felt the slightest tremor in him, like recognition of something he shouldn’t yet acknowledged. My hand went to reach for his face, slightly over my mid-thigh.

“What’s wrong?”

His throat clears, taking my hand, interlocking us into the pillow. “Nothing.” his head shook. “It could just be fatigue.”

“Mic,” I sighed. If he was at his limits, I should offer him patience. “We… don’t have to keep going.”

But he looked at me in the wildest way. There was a weight in his eyes, like he carried something too old to name.

“Please don’t deny me,” Mic kissed up my leg, my stomach, my breasts. I moaned. Tracing his mouth upwards, his tongue explored intimately.

“I love kissing every inch of you.”

By now, I had anticipated more, but he abruptly halted. He jumped off the bed, reaching out to grasp my body and hang over the edge.

“I’ve waited long enough,” his voice clapped like thunder.

Brushing his mouth against my skin, lighting struck me. I reached out purposively, grasping anything within reach. No use. The sensation was almost unbearable, as if it was jawing my body.

My gaze drifted up, and there was no ceiling. A mesh ivory sheet hovered above us, supported by pillars that rose higher than the sky. The air infused with intoxicating scent of myrrh and jasmine, enveloping my senses in a fragrant embrace.

This felt different.

Like he awoke something that came alive.

His sounds boomed with a heavy weight, as if he were breaking through a barrier. I attempted to scream, but no sound escaped my lips. I was torn between wanting him to stop and urging him to continue. My chest was caving in, and a new rhythmic pattern had formed between us, a code that we both understood. As his tongue implored deeper, my body instinctively knew how to respond to him.

My back arched, my legs clenched against his hands that held them apart. My head sank deeper into the pillows, and I felt as if I were levitating. But this had to be a figment of my imagination. The intensity of him making a meal out of me had never been so overwhelming.

“You’ve always had a honeyed taste,” Mic says, wiping his mouth on my leg.

I was taken back.

Despite his unchanged appearance, his eyes conveyed a different message. They seemed to me like a lost treasure, an infinite relic.

Fear gripped me swiftly. Before I could leave the bed, my legs scooted back upright. “I’m going to shower first. Wait for me?”

“Of course, princess,” he licks his fingers, still recovering from me. “Whatever you need.”

[acheckeredpatioseries]

TROSR: Chapter VII

Everyone Came, Then the Sea

| MiC

July 6

The Pollux Notes

Mood: After years of escaping his life, getting engaged felt like stepping out of a storm—time eased up, he caught his breath, and he learned that slowing down sustains love. -Unknown

Have I been to Egypt before?

Yes.

And no.

I remember fragments—stages where the past trickles through sandstorms of time. Palaces. Longing kingdoms. Golden walls etched with hieroglyphs that feel less like history and more like memory. Not as dwellers—but as creators. Shape-shifters. Weather bearers. Guardians of balance, essential to the natural order.

Am I being coded? Hell yes.

But try standing in my shoes. It’s a thriller, to say the least.

I’m connected to someone powerful. An heiress who cracked the sky the moment she recognized misfortune. Who leaked lightning, roared back at thunder, and demanded justice when it first sank its teeth into the earth.

That was Kiy. I know it was.

But the visions only ever take me halfway. I don’t know her original form. She doesn’t know mine. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that it all began there—Egypt.

So as we prepare to leave next week, I feel us shifting with the changes. Maybe walking the ground we once reigned over will answer something about our beginning.

I’m hoping.

She’s resilient enough not to break in the process. And I—I’m only meant to guide her. To show her exactly how powerful she’s already become.

“I don’t know what to wear.” My fiancée’s voice sounded distressed. “Amour, ayúdame, por favor.”

I was journaling in my office. Though, that was an understatement—my eyes drifted over her canvas, cloaked with sheets, an easel holding the unfinished self-portrait of her sitting across the waterfall. The famous one. The one everyone knows from our story.

“Sí, princesa. Um minuto,” I called back, pushing away from my chair. I was already dressed, a cobalt suit, open at the throat, tailored like a decision already made. I was scribbling, eliminating my thoughts into my journal.

Kiy was getting ready for her retirement party. She’d gone in early to Poetic Ink Co. to break the news, filled out the paperwork, and officially transferred her position to Autumn Strudehill—her ace.

From what Kiy told me, Autumn took it well. No shock. No panic. I reminded her later that we’d all seen this coming. Moving to paradise was meant to steady her, not push her harder. But no one was mad at the empire she’d built.

Glorious things deserve soft landings.

I knocked on the door of her inner sanctum—otherwise known as her closet.

“What you got?”

She stepped out.

An orange ruffled peel.

“This dress.” My eyes moved to her worried expression from the bundle of fabric, faling differently than it used to. “I don’t know if I’m missing something, but it’s… looser?”

I studied her, then pulled her gently into me. “You’ve been losing weight, meu lar.”

“No—for real?” She sounded genuinely surprised. But I wasn’t. Between the hikes, the food, the air—it adds up. She turned toward the mirror. “Damn. My ass better not be gone.”

I chuckled. “Nah.” My hand answered before my mouth could, settling on her ass, squeezing. “I can personally attest to that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she laughed, swatting my arm.

That grin came easy as I rubbed my hand over my gold tee. “My bad. I thought you knew.”

She disappeared back into the closet, muttering something about “this being a disaster,” orange fabric slipping from her shoulders like it had already given up on the assignment. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, patient. Mostly.

Then she stepped out again.

And the room… shifted.

The green dress poured over her like it had been waiting its entire life for her spine. Satin, low-backed, daring without asking permission. Thin straps crossed between her shoulders like a quiet secret, the fabric skimming her waist and falling in an uneven hem that moved when she did—slow, intentional. The color wasn’t loud. It was alive. Green like growth. Like survival. Like something that had learned how to bloom after fire.

My breath caught, loud and sharp.

She turned once, checking the mirror, completely unaware that I was standing there in blue—sharp, composed, already ruined. Not matching, but complimenting. Like the sky learns how to behave when the earth shows up dressed like that.

“Well?” she asked, fingers pinching the fabric at her hip. “This one feels… different.”

I crossed the room without answering, hands settling at her waist, thumbs warm against bare skin. “Yeah,” I said quietly, my reflection catching hers. “This one stays.”

She smiled then—soft, knowing—and for a second it felt like the night ahead was already written. The party. The stares. The way people would look at us and understand something without being told.

Green and blue. Earth tones.

Not matched.

But always aligned.

Poetic Ink Co. went quiet in a way that felt almost ceremonial. After I pulled the door for my lady, she kissed the side of my cheek and winked. I could've tripped her up, but I decided to behave.

For now.

The place went hush. Not the awkward kind—more like the hush that falls when a gallery door opens and everyone forgets they were mid-sentence. Conversations stalled. Laughter clipped itself short. Someone near the reception desk actually froze with a champagne flute halfway to their mouth.

Kiy stepped in first.

The green caught the light immediately, rich and alive, slipping over her like it had been waiting its turn. The open back drew a clean line down her spine, elegant and unapologetic. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The room felt her before it fully saw her.

Then I followed.

A few heads snapped my way and stayed there—blue against cream walls, sharp tailoring softened by an open collar, silver catching just enough light to whisper instead of shout. Someone muttered “damn” without even trying to hide it. Another person elbowed their coworker hard enough to spill a drink.

Autumn was the first to recover.She stared at Kiy for a long beat, eyes wide, then pressed a hand to her chest like she needed oxygen.

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “You did not come in here looking like that on your last day.”

Kiy smiled—calm, radiant, grounded—and lifted her hand just enough for the ring to flash when she was hugging her.

That did it.

The room erupted. Gasps. Screams. Applause that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Someone yelled her name like she’d just won something big. Someone else shouted mine, like I’d pulled off a heist.

I slid my hand to Kiy’s lower back, feeling her steady there, feeling how sure she was.

This wasn’t an entrance.

It was a closing chapter.

And Poetic Ink knew it the moment we crossed the threshold.

| KiY

Micah and I got separated after the initial shockwaves—congratulations, gasps, warm embraces layered over the quiet weight of my retirement. I still couldn’t believe I’d said goodbye to this place. Poetic Ink had become my second home, and leaving it left behind a low ache I didn’t quite know what to do with.

I kept my brave face on as Micah laughed somewhere behind me, champagne in hand, surrounded by a cluster of eager interns firing off a million questions about our engagement. He looked easy. Happy. Like a man exactly where he was meant to be.

Autumn pulled me aside into the Poet Lounge—plush couches, dim light, a slow turntable spinning a vinyl original of Mic’s Favorite Tings. Christmas edition.

“How’d you even get that record?” I asked, nodding toward the spinning vinyl. “He’s exclusive about his art.”

“He gave it to me,” she said, unfazed. “Said where y’all are headed, he shouldn’t be too attached to the past.”

I glanced down at my glass, unsure whether the warmth blooming in my chest came from the bubbles or from him. Autumn crossed her sparkly heels, her manicured hand resting against the couch.

Her outfit didn’t disappoint—she looked like a pumpernickel princess, wrapped in shimmering pink fabric that hugged her off-shoulder and fell to her ankles. A flash of a new Toscano Byzantine anklet caught the light, Zune’s gift for her promotion.

“So,” I smiled softly, “this is really happening, huh?”

“And about damn time,” Autumn clapped, nudging my shoulder. “I thought you were gonna hold onto this place forever.”

“We haven’t even been here that long,” I smacked my lips. “Eight months.”

“Eight months too long,” she shot back. “And look at what you built. We’re new, but we’re strong. And we’re just getting started.”

“Okay, CEO,” I laughed, grabbing her hand.

She gasped. “I just finished my mascara. Don’t make me cry again.”

“Sorry,” I fanned us both. “But with all your schemes and headstrong decisions—you’re going to be incredible. I know it.”

Her eyes glossed over, just for a second. Then she shook it off like she always did. “I ain’t mad about it. You’re retiring. And honestly? I always knew your heart leaned toward more.”

Her gaze tilted toward Micah. He was sweeping the room like he owned it, laughter spilling easy, people drawn to him like gravity. His eyes flicked toward me—pleading—right before Zune slung an arm around him and hijacked the moment entirely.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Look at us. Black. Bosses. And winning.”

“Some more than others,” Autumn smirked. “You almost caused a riot with that ring.”

I played coy. “What? This old thing?” I flexed my left hand.

She narrowed her eyes. “Bitch. You better have me as maid of honor.”

“Who else is gonna keep the wedding party in line?”

Her scream turned heads. “WAIT—REALLY?!”

“Yes,” I laughed, setting my glass down and grabbing her hands. “Autumn Strudehill, be my maid of honor. My lady-in-arms.”

“In arms. In the trenches. Wherever,” she said, pulling me into a fierce hug. “I always got you.”

“Hey!” Zune bellowed. “Are we going to make this a celebration or what?”

The vinyl scratched to a stop. He smacked the stereo and blasted the Electric Slide, yanking Autumn with him before she could save her drink.

Micah appeared in front of me like water, smooth and inevitable. He dipped his head, arm extending. “My lady. Wanna teach them a few moves?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” I took the crook of his arm and we were off—showing the younger generation the correct version of a Black long-life tradition.

By the time the farewell gifts were piled high, Micah and Zune were outside trying to pack our Lamborghini Urus like it was a Tetris board. Autumn and I slipped out together, arms linked, heels dangling from our fingers.

“When y'all flying ?” Zune asked him as we all reached our cars.

“Monday morning.” Micah said, shutting the trunk on a final click.

“You'll keep us posted right?” Zune added, pulling Autumn to him. And I slid my arm around Mic’s torso. “It’s a half day ahead.”

“Yeah,” Micah said, dapping him up. “Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.”

Zune shook his head. Autumn and I exchanged a knowing look.

“We’ll host dinner before we leave,” I offered.

“Kiy—” Micah started to protest, until I leaned in, explicitly persuading him enough his mouth shut. He grinned, then narrowed his eyes at Zune. “You’re lucky.”

“Aye, thanks Kiy!” Zune clapped. “I knew you were good for him.”

“Whatever,” Micah said. “It’s still a quick visit. We haven’t finished packing.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Autumn laughed, finally dragging Zune away. “See y’all then!”

Our porch light cut on automatically; Micah scooped me in his arms, bridal style. His new favorite move. He jokes about practicing for when our wedding night comes. But I feel it's just an excuse to hold me close to his heartbeat.

“Mic, wait—what about the—”

My words sealed off when he raised us against the front door. His grip squeezed my thighs, my back on our cooled stained glass.

“Mmm-mm. Miss Fiancèe.” His lips coated my neck with infinite chills. I suddenly lost all meaning. He swung my legs to anchor his torso. The breeze went like an arrow through the most sensitive areas. But his warming hands caressed a gentle balance. “You promised me something. I’m not wasting another second.”

“Can we… “A moan stumbled before I could stop it. My thoughts scattered. My eyes closed, while he worked rapid, teasing me just enough to cave into his touch. “Okayokay…mmmm.”

“And you had no panties on this entire time?” He enticed, shaking his head. “Relentless.”

“I aim… to please.”

He caught a hold on me, once the door opened. My legs were motionless around him as he ambled us forward. “And pleasing is all I’m doing—the rest of the night.”

His hand persists to reveal my flowing currency when the door sealed shut against the wind.

| MiC

Kiy’s beauty floors me.

In a way that feels less like effort and more like arrival. And I showed her, often. Softly. Like a fact you repeat not to convince, but to honor. Maybe it was the island—salt air, long walks, meals eaten without rushing. Maybe it was simply rest. Whatever it was, her body carried it gently, like it had finally exhaled.

She’d always been beautiful. That was never in question. Her curves held warmth, reassurance. The kind of body that invited the world to slow down, to be kinder. Being with her felt like being forgiven for things I hadn’t named yet.

But now she moved like something newly forged. Muscles where ease had settled, a back cut clean, thighs strong enough to trap memory itself. Strength without sharpness. A quiet confidence that didn’t announce itself—it just lived there, under her skin. I could get lost there, replay whole moments without ever closing my eyes.

Like this morning.

Our kitchen smelled like butter and citrus. Morning light. No pants. Bare feet. My old striped sweater hanging off her like it had finally found a purpose. Red curls edged her collarbone as she stirred pancake batter. She made comfort look archival, like the clothes should be paying her rent. The light caught her just right. Ordinary. Sacred.

“You’re staring,” she said, not looking at me.

“I know,” I answered. I didn’t bother pretending otherwise.

She smiled to herself, lifted a strawberry, bit into it. “You should take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

I stepped up behind her, hands finding her waist like muscle memory. I rested my cheek against her shoulder and breathed her in. She smelled like morning. Like home. “I’m doing just fine remembering.”

Her laugh was quiet, felt more than heard, as she flipped the pancake. She leaned back into me without thinking. That small trust did more to me than any teasing ever could.

“How am I supposed to get used to this?” she murmured. “You always touching me like you’re afraid I’ll disappear.”

I kissed her firey fro. “Not afraid. I’m grateful.” Then, stealing a strawberry from her mouth, I added, “Is there a thought you don’t hear?”

That smile—sharp, knowing—lit a match in me. “Probably not.”

She turned then, to look at me. That look—soft, knowing, unguarded—settled something deep in my chest.

I turned off the burner while she set the pancakes aside, then lifted her gently onto the counter. No rush. No urgency. Just the quiet understanding that there was nowhere else we needed to be.

My mouth traced her neck, her collarbone. I pulled the sweater up and over her head, finally unobstructed. Sun-gold skin. Her breath hitched, head falling back, body open and unguarded.

When I kissed her lips, time folded. Breakfast could wait. Fruit could bruise. I already knew what my first meal of the day would be.

My tongue greeting the most famous sounds that left her throat. Then I worked my way down, leaving a wet trail from her stomach all the way to her pussy. I teased her, my tongue giving circles around her clitoris and enabling long strikes toward her hole.

“My god…” she panted. But I wasn't going to stop there. This feast was set for a king. And I planned on cleaning every inch of her. My mouth pressed her entry to suck and she almost jumped out of my hands. The sounds of skin slurping filled the kitchen.

I took my time sucking and releasing every fold and cranny I'll ever own. All residing in her. And when it becomes too unbearable, I watch her shake. Letting go of all the pent-up rage that held both of us speechless.

My mornings couldn't get better than this.

We showered and got dressed, moving around each other in that quiet, practiced way. I chose a black mesh top, a silver diamond-plated chain resting against my chest, loose combat pants slung low. Kiy stepped out in an orange bikini, visible beneath a white sundress I didn’t even know she owned.

The fabric ruffled softly at the hem, clinging in all the right places—and her ass? Yeah. That nearly ended our plans right there.

Damn.

I didn’t need a mirror or a ceremony to know it—she was already a glorious bride in the way she existed.

She was sitting on the bench in our bedroom, fixing her hair, finishing her makeup, when she said, almost offhand, “Wanna watch the waves?”

I was skimming the latest issue of National Geographic on the bed and glanced up at her. “Yeah. But your dress? You mind the sand?”

She smiled at herself in the vanity mirror, tapping her brush into powder.

“Please. This fabric is nonconglutinative. Meaning the sand won’t cling to the fibers. Plus—” she added, eyes flicking to me, “I may have set up a little picnic date.”

“You mean a sun date ,” I said. “Picnic comes from—”

“Shit, right.” She shook her head, curls slipping free from their pins, settling into that effortless, half-messy bun. Always sharp. Always game. We’ve earned that ease after everything.

“We need a new word, then.”

“Hm. What about garden feast?”

“Very conventional.” She nodded, approving our new name for outings. “I’d love it.”

I kissed her cheek, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Then I’ll be on the porch, beautiful. Awaiting our garden feast.”

I stepped out first in black sandals and set up the porch chair. Birds stitched the air with sound. A faint mist hung in the breeze. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

She wouldn’t be long. Still, I let the air steady me.

If it were my choice, she wouldn’t be going anywhere just yet.

When the door closed behind her, my body reacted before my thoughts did. I stretched my arms, then noticed her left hand. Bare.

My brow folded.

“Where’s your ring, meu lar?”

“Oh—sorry. Here.” She lifted a necklace, the ring threaded through the chain. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

“Is it too big? I can get it resized—”

“Mic, it’s fine. I was cutting fruit earlier and it was…” She paused, already starting to lift the necklace over her head.

I stopped her.

“No. It’s okay.”

My fingers traced the chain—my chain—guiding the ring back to where it rested, centered over her heart.

“It’s probably best, anyway. We’ll be outdoors more often.”

Her eyes lit, soft and certain.

“Really? You sure?”

“Of course.”

I took the basket and the blanket from her hands, replacing them with mine, fingers threading together like that was always the plan.

“Let’s go enjoy the afternoon.”

| KiY

When I saw the look on Mic’s face, my heart forgot how to beat. He was bracing for rejection, shoulders set for impact. I never want him to feel like that again.

That’s why I thought his chain was the safest place for the ring to rest. I couldn’t risk our adventures costing us something more valuable. I tugged at it once, a quiet reassurance, then tucked it back between my breasts.

The blanket was already laid out. I lay there eating pineapple from the basket while Micah stood a few steps ahead, barefoot, staring out at the water. I slid my shades down and watched him instead. He paced slowly, letting the waves reshape themselves around his feet. Then he stopped and looked back at me, lifting a hand, calling me in.

I fluffed my dress, brushed my hands clean, and joined him. The water was icy, but I ignored it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, pulling me into him. His arms rested heavy and familiar over my shoulders.

“Nothing,” I said. “Well… nothing important.”

His eyes stayed on me. Patient. Like he already knew I’d tell him. I always did.

“Earlier,” I began, searching for the right shape of words. “Did I… make you think something was wrong? Something serious?”

He studied my face, then lifted my chin gently, thumb warm against my skin. “Yeah….” A pause. “But it’s not on you, princesa. We’re adjusting. That’s all life ever really is—adjustments.”

“I never want to scare you like that,” I said. “It almost broke me.”

“Kiy,” he said softly, “you’re not responsible for always saving me. Not this time.”

“I’m not—” I stopped when his earlier words surfaced again.

You don’t have to keep repainting me over and over again.

“Oh,” I exhaled. “Maybe there are things I’m still clinging on to.”

“Like what?”

“Hurting you,” I forced out. “Like hurting you again.”

“You will.”

“Mic.” I tapped his chest, half protest, half plea.

“Kiyanna,” he said, steady but kind, “I’m not saying that to scare you. We’re human—or at least having a human experience. Hurt comes. Sorrow comes. What matters is what we choose after. That’s what keeps us whole. That’s what keeps us… us.”

I didn’t answer right away. Our emotions had always been layered, overlapping, hard to untangle. But this version of us felt honest. Unpolished. Real.

What I knew—without question—was that I loved him. In whatever form that love took. I didn’t have to keep reshaping myself to fit a moving target. We knew the life we wanted.

I smiled. “When did you start schooling me?”

“When you decided to never let go,” he said, his gaze falling to my lips. “So I won’t either.”

“You better not,” I enticed him more, feeling his warmth through the sea mist.

Our kiss held the weight of that promise—the sun lowering, waves breaking, the world briefly quiet enough to listen.

We can’t erase our mistakes. But we can let them walk away.

We aren’t who we were before.

And the world won’t be either.

“Pass the imported cans over there,” Julia arrived before everyone else, already in motion. She and Chris stacked food supplies from her catering line like we were preparing for a winter siege. “And the seasonings too.”

“Juls,” Micah laughed, eyeing the non-perishables I’d asked her to bring, “if we didn’t know better, we’d think you were sending us off to war.”

“We’ll have decent meals in Cairo,” I added. “It’s not off-grid. This is for Ivy League documentation.”

She stirred a stew that hissed like it had opinions, then moved on to slicing chicken thighs, seasoning them without ever looking up. Her hands flowed with the confidence of someone who trusted preparation more than fate.

“You can never be too prepared,” she said. “You going to judge my survival pack or help me?”

Chris and Mic exchanged a look. They knew better. Once the supplies were unloaded, they retreated. ESPN flickered on in the other room while Julia barked orders to mince vegetables.

Then laughter poured in, and I sent a quiet thank-you to the heavens.

“The party has arrived!” Autumn burst in with Stembie, both of them carrying more liquor than anyone reasonably should. Zune and Gabe didn’t even attempt the kitchen. I heard their voices shouting out a football play. Smart men. They’d clearly been warned Julia was cooking.

“You guys,” I hugged them both hard, rocking them back. “Thank you. But this is a lot.”

“No such thing,” they said together, setting down wine, rum, and something labeled like an island cure-all. They took one look at the kitchen and froze. You’d think we were filming a cooking competition.

“Okay. Meats there. Stews here.” Julia pointed, then nudged me. “You’re on dessert.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I grabbed my apron off the door. Autumn and Stembie were already inching away.

“Oh no,” I said, waving my spoon. “Y’all helping. Bring your asses back.”

They laughed like kids caught mid-escape.

“Like we’d miss this,” Autumn said, trying to sound innocent.

“Fine,” Stembie cracked the rum. “But shots first.”

Julia shook her head. “Not until after.”

I raised a brow. “She can have mine.”

“You heard the host,” Autumn insisted, guiding Julia over. “Drink.”

Outvoted, Julia sighed. One. Two. The shots disappeared.

We clapped.

Then, she cried.

Like, immediately.

“Whoa,” I grabbed her hand as she sobbed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not Chris, right?” Stembie asked, already defensive.

Julia waved her off. “No. He’s been amazing. We’ve just been… trying.”

“Trying for what?” Autumn slurred, already tipsy.

I gasped. “A baby? You and Chris?”

Guilt hit me fast. I’d given her my rum.

“Aye—lower your voices,” she muttered. “But yes. And I don’t know if we ever will. The last hospital visit wasn’t promising.”

“But you’re younger than us,” I said, reaching for logic like a life raft.

“Yeah, but he isn’t,” she sniffed. “And you know he was a professional athlete. They think his body hasn’t… bounced back. And I—” more hiccups, more tears.

“Okay,” I pulled a tissue box from the drawer. “There are options. Adoption. Donors. Family doesn’t have to be blood.” I gestured around us. “Look at us.”

She nodded. “We already signed up. I didn’t expect it to take so long.”

“No one’s journey is short,” I said. “But you two will be incredible parents.”

“Even if it’s not traditional,” Autumn added.

Julia looked at all of us. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Shit!” She turned just in time to save the pot.

Chris bolted in. “Honey?” He checked her hands, then her face. “What happened?”

“Congratulations,” Autumn said, pouring him a shot. “To the future parents and the luckiest kid.”

“So you told them,” he smiled, wiping Julia’s tears before taking the shot. “We wanted to wait until the interview, but…” He kissed her cheek. “That wasn’t fair to her.”

“What’s not fair?” Zune wandered in, which meant Micah wasn’t far behind. He stopped near the entryway, arms folded. Curious eyes watched me intently until he finally grasped the concept.

That’s when Zune also sensed the energy and directed it towards Julia’s eyes. “Damn. They’re only leaving for a week.”

I shook my head, and we burst into laughter. Everyone else understood the joke except for Zune. Autumn patted and kissed his head sympathetically, saying, “It’s okay, baby.”

We turned back to the food, the noise, the feast—choosing joy where we could hold it, knowing some things are still unfolding.