CHAPTER 11

After a three hour drive to the outskirts of Brussels, Saint sighed in relief as he wound his car into the driveway of the two storey glasshouse.

Cutting off the engine, he grabbed his keys and climbed out of the car, for a moment taking in the quiet leafy surroundings. The ground beneath his hard-soled leather boots was made up of crushed rocks, so it made crunchy noises as he walked up to the front door. Seconds after he rang the bell the door swung open.

Seeing the bruised cheeks and dark circles underneath her lack-lustre brown eyes welcomed Saint to his other reality.

“Il est allé au travail.’’

(TRANSLATION: He’s gone to work.)

“Prenons les enfats ,” he said as he made his way into the house.

(TRANSLATION: Let’s get the kids.)

The winter sunlight filtered through the huge stainless glass windows, trapping all the natural light to illuminate the simplistic beauty of the house, though looking at her face, Saint knew the house had seen darker days.

Her physical pain was nowhere close to the perpetual brokenness of her heart. She swallowed half a bottle of mouthwash but then threw it back up. She snorted two lines of table salt for a moment revelling in the sodium burn in her nose, but that euphoria faded as quickly as it came and so she poked herself with needles like she was a voodoo doll. With no resolve to her depressed state, Naomi sat cross-legged on the shower floor, her shoulders shaking and chest heaving, as the tears pouring out of her soul were relentless.

She watched through clouded vision as her crimson blood and water mixed together, going down the drain, from her earlier attempt to use a razor to shave her skin off. After what seemed like hours on end, the tears stopped and she managed to get herself out of the shower.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, she dried herself, careful not to rub the towel too hard against her skin because of the self-affliction she’d subjected her body to.

She just wanted to feel something, something other than lost, something other than love. Naomi heard when her husband left early in the morning. He hadn’t even slept in their room. Ever since their argument the day before, he’d become distant and Naomi was not used to that.

Though their relationship could be classed as long-distance up until recently, she could always feel his fire, his fire when he looked at her, when he talked to her, when he was angry, when they made love- she could always feel him, but now it was a cold breeze. She’d cried to herself thinking that he was turned off by her body. Maybe she was fat. Maybe he was getting tired.

That thought disturbed Naomi a lot because she couldn’t stop wondering and thinking about the woman who was on the phone to him. Maybe she was a second wife. Maybe he had a family somewhere else and kept her as his second wife. It was totally possible, given how frequent they were away from each other.

The anxieties, that she’d married a man she barely knew hit her full degree and frightening thoughts, rapid thoughts of Saint’s second life came flooding into her head, and she once again stood in the middle of his carpeted walk in closet crying into her palms, ignoring her body pains.

How could she think that a man like Saint could stay faithful to her? She only had her body to offer him and even then he’d proved that that wasn’t enough for him. So the question was, why were they still together?

He’d slept in his office and had left early in the morning without a word. Maybe he was bringing her replacement home and then kicking her out.

She could not let her thoughts go that far – she loved him. Despite everything, it might have been foolish of her to do so but she couldn’t deny it – she loved him deeply she just didn’t know how to show it.

Saint only wore one cologne. The citrus smell with forest leaves undertones that permeated a musky, masculine aroma wafted through his closet. It made Naomi feel closer to him and with the towel cinched around her body, she welcomed the smell of her husband as she surveyed through his lengthy collections of suits.

Her thumb grazed on the shoulder pads of a purple suede jacket, wanting to feel his masculine energy emanate from it. The prototype of a perfectionist, her husband had his closet arranged by colour, by material, by designer, making it look more like a department store.

Naomi knew that Saint got most of his suits custom made, and on one occasion she had seen the seamstress that he would call to his house to take his measurements when he had an important function to go to. And even though the woman was mature in years and professional she found it rather uncomfortable when her fingers neared his groin area to take measurements.

She finally got to the black section of his suits. There was nothing like a man in a black tuxedo and her husband knew that oh so well. Naomi’s hands mindlessly browsed through the outfits, until she felt an interesting stitching on the lapel of one of the suits.

Crowns and bees.

The gold details of royalty and courage, immediately sprang up her grandmother to mind.

Usually with a little effort she could supress thoughts of her grandmother, but as her teardrops embedded themselves in the careful stitching of the crowns on the breast pocket of the midnight velvet suit, memories upon memories followed.

Sade. Her grandmother was a queen. The best she ever knew, who taught her everything she needed to know, that no curriculum could ever teach with such heart.

She missed the long summer trips to Naples, where she would stay at her grandmother’s villa that she had on the Amalfi coast. Every summer her parents would send her over there, because that’s when her grandmother would come from Lagos to do her yearly shop of shoes and bags.

Those days she would become her grandmother’s apprentice. Grandma Sade would take the time to teach her about the different materials most especially lace because her clients were Nigerian and would also accompany her to the textile factory where she would by her material from.

Her grandmother always knew how to make her feel of importance and a small sad smile stuck to Naomi’s lips as she remembered one of the things she always told her.

Wear yourself first and always.

Drying off her tears, Naomi took the jacket off of the hanger and wore it. Wanting to see how it looked on her, she entered their ensuite bathroom to stare at herself in the full length mirror. It was a little too big for her, but regardless she loved the feeling of wearing something of Saint it was like wearing a warm hug from him.

Looking at her reflection she couldn’t deny how drained she was but as if she hadn’t just initiated herself in a series of self-destructive behaviours an hour ago, she felt a stroke of inspiration.

Still wearing her husband’s jacket, she went to get her bag, tipping out the contents on the bed and smiled big as she finally found what she was in such a hurry to find.

A tape measure. Shrugging of the muse jacket, she laid it out on the bed and took the measurements. When she was done with that, she got out her laptop and ordered herself a sewing machine.

It was about time.

Saint was going to be her first client. Maybe she was being foolish. She let that thought go, as she folded the complete suit into her carry-on bag, where he wouldn’t notice it missing.

There was an unwelcome throb all over her body as scabs began to form due to her earlier episode and so reaching back in to her purse she grabbed two painkiller tablets and swallowed it dry.

The twins excited to be in Paris, talked animatedly as they went inside the house, putting a relaxed smile on Saint’s face, the only smile he’d worn the entire day. No matter how many times they came to Paris they always requested to go up the Eiffel Tower, but with the long queues and freezing temperatures Saint was very reluctant to take them.

Their mother shushed them as she was carrying the sleeping six month old in her hands.

“J'ai juste besoin de réchauffer son lait,” she said passing the baby to Saint without warning, before taking the baby bag and heading into the kitchen.

(TRANSLATION: I need to warm his milk.)

Undisturbed, the baby snuggled closer on Saint’s chest, his tiny hands hovering over where his heart would be. He placed his hand on the back of the baby, watching him sleep so peacefully, blindly following the rest into the kitchen.

A scream rang through the kitchen, making Saint curse out silently as now the baby woke up in terror crying loudly. Everybody including him looked up finding Naomi, with her hands on the middle of her chest, wearing her long rose coloured silk robe. Saint handed the baby over back to Amirah. The shocked and apologetic expression on Naomi’s face was quickly overtaken by nothingness as she silently watched the interaction. The twins too, confused, had quietened down and turned round to him for an explanation.

Coddling the baby as his cries turned to soft whimpers, Naomi watched in surreal as the woman stepped forward and shook her hand, but Naomi could only return a lopsided smile as she could not understand what she was saying because she was speaking in French and her heart felt like it had been guillotined – again.

Shortly after, grabbing the bowl of green grapes that she’d been busy plucking from its branch, Naomi excused herself out of the kitchen.

Sighing heavily as he watched his wife leaving the kitchen, Saint turned to Amirah. “Je reviens.”

(TRANSLATION: I’ll be back.)

Walking up the gold marble steps, trailing behind his wife, Saint could feel the boiling tension. With one hand, she flung the door open into their bedroom, not bothering to close it, as Saint followed behind, shutting it himself as he prepared to privately argue with his wife.

“That’s my sister-in-law.”

Naomi scoffed popped a grape into her mouth. “Right, you’re sister-in-law.”

“Yes, my sister-in-law. Why are you saying it like that?”

Saint could already feel a pulse in his temple gaining speed as the tension in the room fired up.

“Given your past records, you can’t exactly blame me for not being so easily convinced. So where’s her husband?”

Naomi cringed as she heard her voice break. Tears veiled her eyes, and she scrubbed at her eyes hard as she was determined not to give him the pleasure of seeing her weak and on her knees.

After everything, she was right.

She didn’t deserve this.

He hadn’t bothered to answer her question, and so Naomi rose up from the bed, scatter-brained and all, trying to find a few of her things so she could get the fuck out of this place. Sister-in-law, my ass, she thought.

“And on that note, I’ll find myself somewhere else to stay to allow you and your ‘sister-in-law’ to get better acquainted.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your concern, but I’ll be staying at a hotel.”

Saint burnt in frustration at Naomi, the frail, weak girl, he was supposed to identify as his wife who was running away from him - as always.

Still he stood there watching her remove her clothes, unconsciously, because that was so unlike her, even after they made love she always put her clothes back on, hiding her nakedness from him. But as she flung her silk robe on their matrimonial bed exposing her voluptuous supple body that many a night he’d enjoyed eating his dinner from – he could only see a woman. A woman with a broken spirit and piercing anger marking her face.

Before he knew it, he found himself drawing closer, he needed the affection only she could provide.

She had her back to him and as he ventured closer to her he noticed a few fresh cuts on her arms and knees, but a decision that Saint would later on regret, he ignored it and brought his hands forward to touch her.

Before he could stop himself he cupped her waist with his two hands, but in that same second, she ceased up before turning round and slapping his hands away hard.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Caught off guard by the outburst, Saint stepped back. For a moment he looked into her glazed eyes seeing all his hurt reflected in hers. Never in his life had he ever felt as rejected as she made him feel in that moment.

He let her be. Going inside his closet, he opened one of the drawers to grab the bottle of dark rum and sat on the floor, hearing as his wife quickly got dressed before opening and slamming the door of their bedroom shut.

Finding an inexpensive hotel in the centre of Paris was a pointless exercise and so without questioning the price as she would have normally done, had she not found herself a wealthy husband and a generous monthly allowance, she accepted the first hotel that she went in.

As soon as she got to her room, all she did was dump her bag on the bed and she followed suit. She needed someone to talk to.

She missed her friends.

And she almost did end up calling Celine and Miriam, but for some reason she stalled.

She was just scared that they would not understand and because she would be misunderstood, they would judge her.

Feeling both helpless and hopeless she grabbed her husband’s crown and bees suit out of her bag and sobbed her way into the jacket.