Page 51 of The Marriage Agreement (Agreement)

“Hey, did you need something?” she asks, her tone casual, like the fact she’s going out with my brother this late at night shouldn’t be a big deal.

“Osei said he’s on his way.” Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open in surprise.

“Oh no, I’m not done yet.” With her earrings secured, she starts adjusting her hair. “Did he say how long?” she asks, moving back into the room to continue getting ready.

“Fifteen minutes,” I reply, struggling to hide my disapproval of her outfit. It’s too short, too revealing—too everything I don’t approve of, leaving nothing to any red-blooded male’s imagination.

“Where are you and Osei going to?” I ask as she continues fixing her hair without even glancing at me.

“Tonight’s our rap battle night. We’ve been practicing, and we’re hoping to beat the team that took us down last time.”She raps?

“You rap with Osei?” I know my brother likes to think he’s the best freestyle rapper, but I had no idea my wife rapped too.

“He’s my partner. If we don’t win tonight, he says we should quit unless we make the top five. Fingers crossed we do.” Her hair is now pinned up, with a few curls left loose. I watch as she starts applying makeup.

What I want to do is tell her not to go out at all. Instead, I walk out, fuming more than when I knocked on her door.

I dial Osei, who answers immediately. “Where the fuck are you taking my wife?” I demand, keeping my tone controlled.

“She’s your wife on paper only, and tonight is our rap battle night,” he retorts.

“I’m coming with you guys,” I blurt out.

“No, you can’t.” His refusal only adds to my frustration.

“Open the door,” he snaps. He’s already here—barely ten minutes have passed. He was probably parked outside when he called. I swing open the door, my anger fighting for containment.

“You can’t come because you’ll throw her off,” he says the moment he sees me.

“That’s ridiculous,” I snap.

“She’s not comfortable when you’re around, so having you in the audience would throw her off. And we need to win tonight to make the top five—or we might as well quit trying to compete.”Maybe you should quit, I reply inwardly.

“Again, that’s ridiculous. If she can perform in front of strangers wearing next to nothing, then she can perform in front of me.”

“Maybe next time, but tonight is huge for us, and I don’t need you scowling at her. Save your intense looks for your staff, not Dele.”

“I don’t like this. Find another partner,” I demand. His eyes widen in shock, like I’ve lost my mind.

“You can’t be serious. Dele and I flow is why we’re partners. Do you think I can just pluck a freestyle rapper off a tree and say, ‘Come on, you’re my new partner, let’s go’?” he mocks.

“I don’t care. I don’t like you taking her out this late to a fucking club.” He looks at me like I’ve said something absurd.

“Fine. You tell her she can’t go and why,” he challenges. Before I can come up with a response, Dele walks out, striding toward us in red strappy heels to match her dress. Her flawless makeup enhances her delicate features and, her full lips adorned with red lipstick that screams for attention.

The dress barely covers her ass, her toned legs shimmering with some dusted-on product. How the hell am I supposed tolet her leave with my brother dressed like this? My body reacts despite my anger, knowing full well how many guys will be looking at her tonight.

Before I can say anything, Osei blurts out, “Damn, girl, that outfit alone is gonna make us the winners.”

“Shush.” She waves him off with a smile. “We’re winning on our style, but thanks for the compliment.” She spins around, showing off for my brother, who openly admires her while laughing. I had to look away from her well-formed ass in that dress.

Fuck it. I’m going with them. First, I need to control my reaction to how sexy and beautiful she looks. I move to the kitchen, hiding behind the cabinets.

Then I notice it, her hand raised to adjust her hair. My body freezes, icy fury flooding my veins and shutting down all other sensations.

“Where’s your ring, Dele?” I ask, my tone harsh.

“On the bedside drawer,” she replies casually, as though the fact that I’ve laid my claim to her is some kind of secret. I’m fucking shouting it at the top of my lungs.

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