In the balcony of the medieval architectural beauty, Ugonna played her harp. She let her soft and thin fingers scrape the sturdy strings, birthing ecstatic noise.
The scenery was windy, it was autumn. And the leaves fell, in slow motion into the ground. The birds travelled the skies, migration in progress, and the heat made the skins of the workers over at the stable crispy.
A maid interrupted Ugonna's wonderful session, which made her growled.
“You idiot! Can't you see I'm practicing?” She blurted out.
“I'm sorry madam,” The maid apologized, in a bow. “But master asks that you visit his den immediately. He says it's important.”
Ugonna scoffed. What could be more important that the Master's marital favours?
I'm not in the mood for him today, Ugonna mused, but I cannot decline him. He's my husband. How can I? When I had lied that in Africa, and as a royalty, we do not decline favours from our husbands, even when we don't want to. I am the cause of my current predicament.
Ugonna grudgingly and sluggishly stood up from her Swedish stool. She wedged the instrument on the wall beside the vase of aloe Vera places strategically close to the railings on the balcony. She adjusted her maroon fine flowy silk dress and brushed the maid out of the way. The maid, who swiftly took a sideline stance to let her madam have her way gasped. Ugonna kissed the back of her teeth.
The maid's width didn't just annoy her, it irritated her. White women accumulate so much fat. Little wonder their lack of booty.
Ugonna was kissed her teeth again.
This time it was not for the maid but for her husband. Sir. Garrick Winnigton of Wales. Tall, handsome, double-chinned, midly-built, with a freckled face, Sir. Garrick had fallen deeply in love with Ugonna's radiant black skin and her eloquent persona the very moment his blue eyes fell on her at a small get-together hosted by one of his friends from Cambridge. Ugonna was at the party, alone, sober, and not socializing. Garrick wondered what such a beautiful lady was doing all by herself. He had glided towards her and had started a conversation. A conversation that he had a pain in the back sustaining. He tried everything in the book to get Ugonna to smile, sadly all he got was mad glares and scoffs. No single courtsey.
He had introduced himself as the heir to the Wales’ inheritance, still, that didn't make Ugonna bat an eye-lid. She sipped her punch and sauntered to another location.
The prince had watched this woman curve him. For the first time in his entire life, a woman wasn't interested in him or his theatrics. He found it arousing and daring. He smiled, ironed his shirt with his palms, licked his lips, and ruffled his golden hair a bit, and walked up to her.
This time, he was more determined.
Yet, Ugonna swerved him.
Garrick was frustrated. He watched the black beauty, the little beads of sweat hanging on her skin. The room was heavy with heat. His insides heated up when Ugonna had started to rummage her bag, revealing a little cleavage. She brought out a book. And started reading.
Under the heat, the chitterlings, and the laughter. The clinking of wine glasses, and the distant music that played in the background. Ugonna was already engrossed in her book.
“So you read?” He managed to say.
“Yes of course I do. I and the rest of the blacks out here. We read, maybe even far better than most of you.” She spat.
It didn't take long for Sir. Garrick to realise that he had said something sensitive.
And also, it didn't take him long to realise that Ugonna is a feminist.
“I'm sor—”
“Save it, Bob.” Ugonna cut him shut. She closed the book and, for the first time that night, she had looked into his eyes. Hers were dark. “Don't try to be patronising. I know exactly what you meant. Your excessive display of chauvanism was uncalled for.”
“Uhm, my name is not bob.”
“I don't care what your name is. It doesn't make you any more special that the next white guy over there. So if you'd excuse me...” Ugonna was engrossed in her book.
Garrick left, ashamed, and in some weird way, intrigued. He had never wooed an African before. And this was not an anticipated result. He had heard tales of how easily African women were caught. Just at the glance of glittering white skin, the grovel.
African women were easy lays.
But this one isn't.
Or were those tales cooked-up lies?
Garrick was both angry and intrigued. Angry that he had believed this tales. Intrigued by Ugonna's hairy attitude.
Maybe I really am racist.
The party ended and Garrick had brought his car from around the corner. He caught Ugonna walking on the sidewalk. The cold weather visible from her exhales. Garrick wind-down before her and asked if she needed a lift, which she blatantly declined.
She walked away, and the Princes spotless navy blue Cadillac was persistent. After much persuasion, Ugonna scoffed in annoyance, and entered the vehicle.
It was comfy.
During the drive to her dormitory, The prince stole glances at this beautiful woman. He smiled. He liked her. After some futile attempts at starting a conversation, Ugonna spoke. Her English was impeccable, her tongue was indistinguishable, her sentence construction, impeccable. He marvelled. From his side stare.
He dropped her by the dorm and promised to place a call to her.
Two days later, Garrick had asked Ugonna out on a date. She had accepted after a brief hesitation.
Garrick couldn't stop thinking about her. When he saw her two days later at the French Restaurant, La Cherie, clad in a black satin dress that glitters at the hem, he lost his breath. She looked godly.
She did everything with calculated graceand elegant. She did it even better than the white dishes that sat all around them. Eyes turned, necks too. The contrast between both of them was too obvious.
Ugonna was the only black person in the room. Besides the doorman.
She didn't flinch. She kept her composure and she never paid attention to the stares.
The dinner was great. Garrick had dropped her by her dormitory. He had attempted to kiss her which she stopped with her palm on his lips.
“In my land,” She began. “It is wrong for a suitor to have body contact with the bride before the usual officials.” She pushed his lips away.
“I'm sorry. Did you say suitor? Bride?”
Ugonna smiled. “Yes. I'm royalty. And I cannot tarnish my virginity with immorality. If you think you love me so much you have to make it official.”
Garrick was stunned. He almost hit the accelerator.
That moment, everything clicked.
The saw more of each other after that. Both couldn't do without themselves. And they eventually got married.
Ugonna told her about how submissive royal wives are to their husbands.
Which is what she's suffering from right now.
She gave up feminism.
Because the world doesn't work like that.
Unless you want to die single.
She walked into the den, closing the door behind her. The place smelt of books. Paperbacks. Spread all over the lace were magazines. From a distant, a small recorder produced soothing sounds which calmed Ugonna's nerves a bit.
This man and his small dick sef.
He still has the mind to ask for sex?
She called out for Garrick. She walked to his inner study with a desk with piles and piles of books and journals. Garrick sat talking with some visitor in hushed tones.
She sighed the hair of the visit from the slight opening from the window.
The hair was black.
As she got closer, her heart raced.
Oh no, this wasn't right. Not now, not after everything I've built. Oh no! He's caught me!
Ugonna lost appetite immediately. The sex urge left her almost immediately. She hid at a corner and peeked through the window.
She saw the head. She took a deep breath and stumped into the inner study.
“Oh, hello darling.” Garrick purred.
“Meet our new Butler. Nnamdi, my wife?”
The black haired man stood up, and turned to see the woman behind him.
He recoiled.
Ugonna did a double take.
The stared at each other for long moments.
“Err, is there any problem? Do you two know each other?” Garrick asked. Sensing the tension.
Nnamdi smiled. “Yes. Sir. Your wife here,” He gestured at Ugonna, “Is my girlfriend.”
Ugonna woke up with a jolt. Sweaty and naked.
Garrick snores filled her eardrums. She turned over and found him sleeping, naked also.
It was all a dream. She heaved a sigh of relief. She used the covers to cover her firm breasts and used her legs to search for her fluffy slippers on the rug.
She found them and headed for the toilet. As she did, her phone buzzed to life.
She picked it up and checked the caller ID.
She threw the phone on the floor when she saw the caller ID.
It was Nnamdi.
