Page 40 of Craving a King

I take a look at my six-foot-four frame in the perfectly tailored tuxedo and appreciate what I see staring back at me from the mirror. While prior Asantehenes were generally older and portly, I take pride in my athletic physique. I work hard in the gym to keep my 33-inch waist. I add kente to my attire by draping the colorful cloth over my right shoulder, and I’m ready. Now I must wait for Ella.

I know she will be exquisite in the gown I commissioned for her. I look forward to dancing the night away with her. I wish we could enter together, but that would not be proper. No matter how much I love Ella, my duty is to the Ashanti. I can’t spring an American beauty on my arm at them tonight. Plus, it’s for her own good. The British and Ghanaian tabloids will have a field day if they catch us arriving together. They will twist something good into something dirty. I can imagine the headlines:The King’s New American Toy.Maybe they’ll add the twist about her leading a school network:Are We Adding Schools in Kumasi or is the King Adding to his Harem?Nope. It’s best if we just take separate cars. Now all I have to do is tell her.

“Your majesty, we will need to leave in 10 minutes to arrive in Accra on time. Is Ella ready?”

Senya approaches in a navy blue tuxedo with kente lapels. It’s a nice touch. “She will be down shortly,” I say. “However, we will need your second to drive her. We won’t be arriving together.”

Senya puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels before shooting me a perplexing look. “I thought you two would have made up by now. Is there still trouble in paradise?”

I chuckle as I head over to the bar to pour us a drink while we wait. “No trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. What would you like to drink?” I think about my day with Ella. I bore my soul to her at my mother’s grave and made passionate love to her in the shower. We are indeed happy in paradise.

Senya walks over to where I am. “I’ll just take club soda. I’m driving, remember?” I nod and pour his drink. He takes a strong sip. “So, are you going to tell me why we are taking two cars or not?”

“I had not particularly planned on telling you. But if you must know, I want to avoid the press spectacle that will ensue if I arrive with her on my arm. We don’t need the harassment.”

Senya gives me a skeptical look. “Or maybe you just don’t want to be asked questions about your personal life and your unfortunate betrothal to Abena Owusu?”

I shoot Senya a dirty look. “The two things aren’t mutually exclusive. With the press comes unwarranted questions and foolish conjectures such as that ridiculous betrothal agreement.”

Senya leans against the bar and crosses his arms. His mouth spreads into a mischievous grin. “Ridiculous, is it? Have you told Ella about it?”

“No, I have not, and I don’t expect you to, either,” I bark at Senya.

I want to punch Senya in the face for even bringing Abena Owusu up at all. I only have to think about her once a year, and that is during Akwasidae. She comes down from London and shows her face to please her family. But the betrothal contract my father made with the chief of Tarkwa between his daughter and I is a non-factor to me. I’m not marrying anyone I was promised to at the age of five. Plus, I know Abena has no desire to leave her high-profile job as an official royal photographer to serve as a royal wife in Kumasi. We say hi to each other once a year and we do an obligatory whirl around the dance floor. Then we bid adieu until the next year. Why should this year be any different? I definitely do not want Ella worried about it.

Senya finishes his club soda in one gulp before setting his glass down. He holds his hands up in surrender. “You know I won’t say anything, but she’s bound to find out. Look, I know you really like this woman. I’ve never seen you like this before. If you really want her in your life, I’d advise you to be honest with her upfront. You don’t want her to think you’re hiding anything. I know a bit about American women, and they don’t take deceit and hidden fiancées very well.” He lets out a laugh.

I punch his arm and reluctantly laugh with him. “So now you know American women? Nonsense!” But I know he’s right. I will have to find a moment to explain everything to Ella.

“Please share the joke, gentlemen. I want to laugh.” I hear her voice and turn around. I’m not prepared for the beauty standing at the door of my study. Ella is always beautiful, but right now she’s exquisite. The wild tumbling curls I love are straightened to a sleek black sheet hanging to the middle of her back. Her makeup is flawless in a natural way. Her lips have been painted a deep burgundy and her skin is shimmering with flecks of gold dust, matching the illumination from her dress. The dress fits her like it was made for her body. No one else will ever be able to wear the champagne-colored work of art. The African-printed lace and silk look like a second skin. Suddenly, she twirls to give us a 360-degree view of the sheath, and I see her exposed back. The fabric drapes right above her ass. She looks like a queen with her high neck in the front and the dream lover of any who dare try to win her affections in the back.

“You like?” She notices me salivating into my drink and winks, enjoying her effect on me.

I pour her a glass of champagne and walk to her. “You are breathtaking, Ella.” I push an imaginary strand of hair from her face. “I miss your curls, but you made the right decision to straighten them for this dress.”

She breaks out in a wide grin. “I know, right? At first, I was all like,No, I love my afro—I always represent.But when I looked at the back of this dress, I knew hair needed to tease my back. The team was fast and lovely to work with. Thank you, Kofi.”

I grab her free hand and lace my fingers through hers before kissing the back of her knuckles. “The pleasure is clearly all mine.” I lean in to whisper the rest of my thoughts. “I get to look at your hair tease the path to your ass all night. The ass I’m going to tap later tonight.”

Her cheeks warm at my promise. “I’m looking forward to that, your majesty.”

I recognize the tone of heryour majesty. She wants to be commanded tonight. I will not disappoint.

“Ahem!” Senya interrupts our interlude. “Ella, you look amazing. Kofi, we must go. Who will ride with me, you or Ella?”

Damn. Senya has no finesse. I wanted to gently explain our travel arrangements to Ella. I look to Ella’s face flickering with confusion and I rub the back of her hand.

I clear my throat into my fist and push gently away. “Yes, love, I thought we should take separate cars so we don’t bait the press. I hope that’s all right.”

She relaxes a little, but not enough for me. “As long as it’s not because you’re ashamed of the American tagging along,” she teases.

I grab her and pull her into a kiss. Screw her lipstick—she’ll have to reapply it. I possess her completely and press my hardened bulge into her thigh, wanting her to feel what is only hers. When I pull away, I’m pretty positive she’s wet. When I let her go to speak she is just the way I like her-breathless and longing.

“Quite the opposite. I’ll be beating the admirers off with a stick. I’d much rather claim you openly when I arrive to avoid all of that. But honestly, Ella, you don’t want your name splashed all over the British and Ghanaian press.” Senya shoots me a look, but I ignore him.

She nods. “I agree. You will have dinner with me and at least one dance, right?”

“Oh, yes! The press is not allowed inside.”

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