CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
20 carat diamond
“Switch!” he yelled.
“Alright.” I turned to do as instructed but collided with Dembele, and we both went down. “Sorry, my guy,” I apologized to him as I helped him up.
“It’s cool,” Dembele said.
“Come here, Kylian,” Luis Enrique called out to me. I sighed as I walked up to him. “Is everything okay, Kylian?”
“Yes, coach.”
“It does not look like it. You have been distracted from the moment you stepped on this pitch for training.”
“I am…” I had no comeback because he was right. Since this morning, my mind hasn’t left Bewaji’s room. “I will pay more attention.”
“Take ten. Clear your mind,” he ordered me.
I nodded as I started around the pitch.
I didn’t expect it to stay with me, but God, my mind is reeling from it. She was a fucking virgin, but she handled me like a pro, and the strange thing is that I went into it to fulfill my part of the deal.
A duty. A box to tick. Nothing more.
But now, I can’t shake her.
Her moan, first of all. Soft at the beginning, but then the way it changed, how it broke and got so loud without permission. It threw me off because it wasn’t practiced or performative, but honest, raw and it went straight through me.
The way her body had responded to me, even though she was in pain, not out of confidence or the need to fulfill her part of the deal like I wanted, but because she wanted me. There was something intoxicating about being the first person to make her feel like that. It was like I discovered fire where I expected ash.
I remembered the heat. The closeness. The way time had blurred until there was nothing but breath and movement and the strange, overwhelming sense that I didn’t want it to end.
What was more shocking to me wasn’t the pleasure.
The connection.
It was out of this world.
I have had sex before, plenty of times with Frances. I know the routine. The rhythm. The predictable rise and fall. But this… this was different. It felt different. Like something had slipped past my defenses without paying attention.
Even the release had felt different. Deeper. More consuming. My body had responded before my mind could object. And afterward, watching her turn her back to me, listening to her breathe slowly until it evened out and she fell asleep, I felt something dangerous.
Contentment.
Now, hours later, here I am, distracted, irritated with myself.
I am not supposed to be thinking about her this way. I have Frances. I am in love with her. I am not supposed to want Bewaji again.
But I do, and my mind replayed everything.
It was her first time. She must have been in so much pain. Is she okay? Should I call her and ask?
Get a grip, Kylian. It was just sex!
Hours later, I walked down to the cafeteria with Achraf by my side for lunch. We sat down at the same table with our trays of food placed in front of us. I quickly sent a text message to Bewa asking if she was okay and got a reply almost immediately saying she was good. Then my phone started to ping as she bombarded it with text messages. I heard Achraf talking, but I was focused on Bewa’s messages, which were not stopping.
“Kylian!” he called me, and I looked at him. “Are you okay? You look distracted.”
“Yes,” I said. “What did you say?”
“A jeweller is coming here soon, and I want your help picking something for Hiba.”
I dropped my phone on the table, suddenly more interested in my friend’s marital issue.
“She is back?”
“Yes. I want to talk things through with her. I am hoping some diamonds will soften her heart toward me.”
“Alright,” I accepted.
“So, how did it go?” he inquired as he rolled the pasta with his fork.
“How did what go?” I feigned ignorance, even though I knew what he was asking.
“You are not slick. You know what I am talking about. Brice told me he followed you to your wife’s place yesterday.”
And just like that, the things I tried burying, not that I was having much luck with it, came flooding back. I looked at Achraf, whose mouth fell open and whose eyebrow lifted quickly, curving upward.
“What?” I questioned him.
“You are smiling,” he stated with confusion.
“No, I am not,” I tried to school my face.
He dropped his fork and stared at me with a strange look as he slightly tilted his head.
“You are lying.”
“Achraf!”
“Frances is not here. You can talk to me,” he said seriously. “How did it go?”
“It was just sex.”
“How was it?” he inquired with no judgment. Achraf has always been my safe space. We don’t hide anything from each other.
“The best I ever had,” I let out in a low voice.
“So, you love her?”
“It was just sex, Achraf. Just sex.”
Achraf paused, brows knitted together, then he nodded. “Okay.” He continued with his food.
Soon after, the jeweller came and presented his wares. He would pick each piece of jewelry, rotate it slowly, then tilt it to show us its reflection, sparkle, and design. I gave Achraf my honest comments about each piece he picked for his wife. The man started packing up after my friend had selected the one he wanted when my eyes landed on a diamond necklace that seemed almost alive.
“Can I see that?” I pointed to the necklace in his hand.
The man quickly brought it out of the tray liner and handed it to me. The light fractured across its surface, scattering tiny rainbows in every direction, each diamond sparkling like captured stars.
“That is a 20-carat diamond crafted in flawless platinum. It was designed to float effortlessly against the skin.”
“What do you think?” I showed it to Achraf.
“I know it won’t look good on Frances,” he blurted out. “But of course, I don’t think it’s for Frances.”
And judgment was starting to creep into his voice.
“How much is this?” I asked the jeweller, completely ignoring Achraf.
“£18,700.”
“Your bank details,” the man called it out, and I transferred the money to him. I left the moment he packed the necklace with its matching earrings, but to my discomfort, Achraf followed me to my room at the football club.
“What are you doing, Kylian?” he questioned, and I turned to him to find his forehead creased with lines and his jaw tensed.
I sighed. “You just bought about five pieces of jewelry for your wife, and I can’t do the same?”
“But she is not your wife. Maybe she is on paper, but your real wife is Frances.”
“I know that,” I replied in a hard voice.
“Good, because the moment it becomes more than just sex, things fall apart. I need you to remember that. Your life, your career, everything you have built hangs on this,” he warned me and left.
His words resonated within me. What was I thinking, buying her a necklace? It was just a necklace. The person I love is Frances.
I opened the drawer next to my bed and threw the necklace into it.
TO BE CONTINUED ON NEXT SATURDAY, 9.00PM WAT.
0 Comments