Page 4 of Possessing the Prince

And that’s the way it remained for seven years. He always showed up at parties and took me home. We watched movies and shopped. We told each other the secrets no one else cared enough to hear. I knew Senya was Kofi’s brother before Kofi did, and I kept the secret for him.

Then, Kofi and Senya’s father died. Kofi became king while Senya remained Kofi’s faithful right hand. He had to leave me and London behind to go live in Accra. I cried for an entire week. But when he finally returned, things between us changed.

I was no longer off limits. It was as if he got permission to make love to me, because their father was dead and gone. And he did. Whenever he came to London or when I was in Ghana, he made me come early and often. We never talked about what changed, but I think it had something to do with Senya revealing to Kofi that they were actually brothers. Kofi wanted Senya happy, and he sure as hell didn’t want me for a wife. But no matter how happy I was to be with Senya, I resented the fact that he had to get permission to fuck me. I still felt like Kofi was lending me to Senya like a piece of property.

Nevertheless, while Senya and I added incredible sex to our long-running friendship; I ensured the press continued to think I was wild, crazy, and dating everyone. Senya and I could not risk anyone knowing we were lovers. I wanted to protect Senya, myself, and the crown. Plus, owning that reputation also had the added effect of getting under my father’s skin.

Senya stayed as close as he could and helped me through my addiction to drugs and alcohol. He would often fly to London from Accra three or four times a month. Kofi knew where he was going, but never objected.

And now Senya is going to marry me just to save my ass from a lifetime of misery and bondage. What will I do when he asks me to stay?I must leave; I must be free. I am not the possession of any man.I repeat those things to myself, but they never feel true. Fortunately, my phone buzzes to interrupt my trip down that familiar rabbit hole of despair. Knowing who it must be, I reach inside my purse to answer it.

“Hello?” I say a little too thirsty.

“Are you ready to go, Precious? I have the Range pulled up in the back.”

Senya.Mybodyclenches with need at the sound of his voice. I quickly slip my shoes back on. “That depends. Are you going to keep your promise and eat my pussy all night long?”

He chuckles. “Is my greedy little hot-pot ready to come again?”

Damn.Now I’m wet. I breathe into the phone. “She’s always ready for you.”

“Come,” he growls.

I hang up, slip out of the restroom, and head outside to his waiting SUV. When I step inside, he greets me with a waiting kiss.

“Are you ready?”

I know he’s asking about more than our night of pleasure, but I smile and shake my head yes all the same.

Kasasie (Negotiation)

Abena

Eight Months Later

“Senya, I beg you to please listen. We need boundaries! I should not share your room or your bed. That will feel too much like a real marriage.”

“You should and you will,” Senya growls. “This may be a marriage of convenience, but it will not be fake. Plus we’ve never needed boundaries before.”

He’s impossible.Senya T’ogbe and I have been going round and round for the past two days trying to iron out the terms of our marriage. Under normal circumstances, our culture requires aKasasie, a meeting between the intended groom and bride to set the terms of the marriage. If this were a normal Ashanti union, my approval would seal the pact and begin the long journey to marriage. That journey typically includes many engagement rituals and activities. But this is not a normal union. We secretly eloped one week ago and I am already his wife.

It’s all a farce.I asked Senya to marry me to keep my father from marrying me off to a sleazyand dangerousold man. Thank God I was able to hold my father off for the past eight months. It took as long to get Senya installed as prince. It also helped that the sleazy old man was in Nigeria handling some business. My father was one of Senya’s chief opposers at his installation because of Senya’s Ewe lineage. I knew Father would not be thrilled by his mother’s lineage, but neither of us expected my father’s nuclear-level resistance.

Despite the opposition, Senya was installed a week ago, and we immediately snuck off to get married, telling no one. We didn’t even tell his brother, King Kofi Ajyei. My family thinks he is seeking my hand in earnest. Senya’s brothers think we are still just planning our engagement announcement and subsequent marriage of convenience to save me from an unwanted marriage and my father’s grip. What will they think when they find out we were married all along?

Senya thought it was best to have insurance just in case my family rejects our marriage. That could make Kofi withdraw his support, to avoid a confrontation with my father and the council of chiefs. But none of that will matter now. Because, I’ve legally been Senya’s wife for one week. I’ve stayed in London to wrap up my business while he returned to Ghana to begin his reign. Today, I am grateful for the distance between us.

The night of our wedding was awkward. We’re used to having sex—lots of it. But I just couldn’t go through with it, so I had to refuse. How backwards is it that as his wife, I can’t sleep with him? Suddenly I’ve grown a conscience. I’m only his fake wife and it just doesn’t feel right. To sleep together as husband and wife. It would feel like a mockery of the entire institution of marriage. No matter what, I still believe marriage is sacred. If I could have avoided this sham, I would have.We’re wrong for this.

Senya doesn’t share my guilt. He thinks I’m falling for him and that I’m using the guilt as a reason to to fall for him. But that’s ridiculous.I never fall. In knowing frustration, he declared if I ever have the pleasure of him inside me again, it will be because I asked for it. So we seem to be at an impasse, which isn’t exactly how I wanted all of this to go.

In any case, I’m safe from a betrothal to Chief Apeagyei’s son because I'm Prince Senya T’ogbe’s wife. And His Highness is exerting more control in this particular conversation than usual.He’s letting this go to his head.

“Senya, please listen to reason and face the fact that our union is a sham. Otherwise, this contract and our plan cannot successfully move forward.” I lower my voice. “Look, you can still pull out if this is too much to handle. Maybe we made a mistake. We can still get our marriage annulled if we need to. I’ll just…”

“It will move forward,” he barks over the phone.

The sound of his voice barrels out of my HomePod and reverberates around my entire house. It’s suffocating. It’s way too early in the morning for this conversation. But I have the most important meeting of my photojournalism career later and I can’t miss it. So, I’m packing and cleaning up while I participate in what has become a long negotiation with…my husband. But I remain patient.

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