You Are Rich People
Lidia
“Chardell! How am I ready before you?” I yelled upstairs.
I walked back to the full-length mirror in the foyer, finger-curling a couple of tendrils framing my face.
I’d been ready for half an hour.
He’d never taken this long to get dressed in his life.
“Litty, I don’t know how to put this shit on.”
I looked up.
He walked up behind me with a scowl on his face. I watched him through the mirror.
“Put what shit on, baby?”
“These.”
He dangled a cufflink in front of my face.
I pursed my lips.
“Relax. I got you, baby.”
With a sigh, he dropped the rose-gold cufflinks into my palm.
“Give me your arm.”
He held it out.
“I’m really not feeling this shit, Lidia. I told you I didn’t wanna go.”
“Well, that explains why you’ve been dragging your ass all evening.”
I rolled my eyes.
He dropped onto the chaise while I fastened the first cuff.
Looking every inch of a male model.
Bastard.
Black tailored trousers. Crisp white shirt. Collar still open because apparently completing an outfit was beyond him tonight.
I smirked and bit my bottom lip.
His eyes narrowed.
“Nope.”
I smiled wider.
He shook his head repeatedly.
“No. That shit ain’t gon’ work on me this time.”
I tried.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You doing it right now.”
“Doing what?”
“That.”
“I blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lidia.”
I laughed and reached for his other wrist.
“Give me your arm.”
He reluctantly gave it to me.
“I understand you getting into your little socialite stuff, but trust me, baby, I’m not offended if you prefer to go to gatherings and shit without me.”
I stopped fastening his cuff.
“My little socialite stuff?”
“Here we go.”
“No. What exactly does that mean?”
“It means...” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Wine. Tiny food. Rich people standing around talking about rich-people shit.”
I stared at him.
“You are rich people.”
“I’m not them rich people.”
I laughed.
“Your jewelry is on half of them.”
“Exactly. I already got they money. Why I gotta go drink wine with ’em too?”
I couldn’t help myself.
I laughed.
“Networking.”
“I got a waiting list.”
“Relationships.”
“I got friends.”
“Culture.”
“I listen to music.”
“Chardell.”
“What?”
I finished the cufflink and smoothed his sleeve.
“You promised me.”
He looked up at me.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“No. You said, Aight, baby.”
“That’s not legally binding.”
“In this marriage it is.”
His mouth twitched.
There.
I stepped between his knees.
“Besides, I want my husband with me.”
That wiped some of the foolishness off his face.
His hands settled naturally at my hips.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I frowned.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged.
“You don’t need me there.”
“I didn’t say I needed you.”
I fixed his collar.
“I said I want you.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Different thing.”
“Very.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then his hands slid a little farther around my waist.
“You look good.”
“I know.”
He smirked.
“See? This the shit I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“Socialite Lidia.”
“She’s fabulous.”
“She getting on my fucking nerves.”
I leaned down and kissed him.
Soft.
Quick.
“Get dressed, Baptiste.”
He caught my hand before I could step away.
“I’m dressed.”
I looked at his open collar.
“You’re halfway dressed.”
“This how I’m wearing it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“See?” He released me. “This why I didn’t wanna go.”
