Page 65 of Rome: The Ballerina

Remembering me.

Savoring me.

“We wanted to introduce ourselves and welcome you to the neighborhood. We’ve watched them build this home since day one and never imagined how beautiful it would be in the end. It’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Rome responded, still lost at sea.

Together, we were estranged on a deserted island. No life jackets. No lifeguards. No one. No words. Just us. Our eyes and our curiosity.

“Well, we won’t keep you long. We brought you some things to help you get settled in. I wasn’t sure if you had children or a husband, but I packed extras, just in case.”

“My husband–” Rome paused, reaching inside of my chest and squeezing my heart.

I grunted, shaking off the pain I felt. Physically, I was affected by her brief, unfinished response.

“He hasn’t found his way home yet.”

So where the nigga at?

He lives here?

He’s going to live here?

Who the fuck is this nigga, anyway?

My mind began racing. Questions that were none of my fucking business somehow needed answers suddenly. My body warmed instantly. I felt feverish. Nauseous. Weakened. Overwhelmed. Repulsed. Unwell.

“What time will he get here?” My father asked. “I’d like to meet him.”

Finally, her gaze faltered. It found my father. And, for the first time in my life, I was jealous of the old man. He had something I didn’t have at the moment; her attention.

“When he realizes this is home.” She sighed. “Until then, it’s just me and those two.”

She lifted her chin, signaling toward her security detail.

“No dogs. No cats. No children. Not yet,” she explained.

Visibly relieved, my shoulders sagged. I used my free hand to wipe my mouth. The saliva had finally begun flowing again. At the thought of this celestial creature belonging to a man didn’t sit well with me. It made me ill. Physically. Mentally.

Get your shit together, nigga. I chastised.

“Saint–” My mother urged me to hand over the basket in my hand.

Nadia had passed along the wine. My mother had handed over the champagne. I stepped forward, pushing past my parents. My feet didn’t stop at her. They didn’t stop at her door. They didn’t stop until I was in the foyer of her home next to the long console table.

Ruffling from outside beckoned for my attention. However, it was occupied. My eyes roamed her long, seemingly never ending body. In the long dress it flowed like lava. Her security guards bombarded the entrance of her home.

The movement of their feet was terminated at the twisting of her middle finger and thumb. Her hand waved toward the door, demanding the men who’d just entered to remove themselves. Silently, they complied, leaving us alone.

The quietness echoed loudly in my ears. I utilized the time to take her in. All of her. She was long. She was lean. She was impressive. Dark skin covered her entire frame. A birth mark rested right underneath her shoulder.

Though fearless, she was as fragile as a feather on a baby bird’s back. A soft, pleasantly gentle life had been handed to her on a gold platter. She obliged, falling effortlessly for its treasures and intricacies.

She wakes up. She lives. She breathes. That’s her only responsibility on earth.

That’s all she needed to do. That’s all she deserved to do. A woman of her caliber shouldn’t be required to do anything more.

But, I knew better. I’d witnessed her in full bloom. On stage. In her element. And, I knew that she did a lot more than wake up, live, and breathe. She floated like a butterfly. She moved fluidly. And, she raced through my mind. Three days straight she’d been running, nonstop.

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