The Language of Flowers, page 22
She’d never said she loved him.
Not once. No matter how many times he said it to her.
Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he was too difficult a man to love.
Why had he let her into his sacred place? Now his studio was a reminder of loss instead of an escape.
While in New York, he’d visited Amata’s dance studio and she’d immediately sensed something was wrong. But she wouldn’t let him tell her. She had him do some routine warm ups then said, “Show me.”
He shook his head. “I’m out of practice.”
“With a body like that? No you’re not. Go.” She put the music on.
He didn’t move.
“What’s her name?” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Show me.” He swayed side to side, that’s how he pictured Maya’s name. “What does she mean to you?”
That proved harder to express. He stretched his arms high then curved the air as if grabbing the world, the sky, infinity then pulled it to his chest.
“What happened?”
That’s when he felt the burning rage. He thought of the party, her treatment by her mother, his father’s words, how he’d once treated her with contempt. Regrets assailed him. Too many of them. Too many to overcome.
He leapt, he spun, he jumped, he rolled, he threw out his arms then pulled them close. Then he fell to the ground because that was what Amata had taught him—how to fall, how to land without breaking. After the death of his mother, art had provided a sanctuary. But now...
The pain cut too deep. Why didn’t she trust him to protect her? Why didn’t she believe that together they could battle anything? How could it be so easy for her to leave him?
She’d turned to Bryant for his business acumen.
Bryant for a place to hide. For comfort.
Not him.
Perhaps it would always be this way because of their past animosity. Because of his mistakes. He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been one of her tormentors. He’d been willfully blind to what she’d had to endure.
She’d once told him Bryant didn’t have her heart, but Keeden wasn’t sure he had it either.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, clung to his back, his breathing grew shallow and he fought to control it otherwise he’d collapse.
He closed his eyes, feeling the full force of her rejection, the full pain of his growing fear. What if he wasn’t enough? What if his love didn’t matter?
He heard the sound of Amata’s wheelchair come up to him, felt Amata’s hand on his back. “Don’t shut down. Tell her how you feel.”
“She knows,” he said bitterly. “I’ve told her everything, there’s nothing left to say. She wants me to pretend. She wants me to be someone I’m not.”
“Then let her go.”
Keeden thought of Amata’s words as he stood in the closet. He wasn’t an easy man and Maya had broken down his walls. But he wouldn’t build walls around her.
Instead of shutting down, locking her out, which he usually did, he wouldn’t hold on. He wouldn’t hurt her with his love.
He’d wear the damn shirt and then let her go.
Keeden stood in the gazebo and watched the party guests fill the garden. He’d barely spoken to his father, but Lena hadn’t left his side, eager to tell him all the things Maya had taught her and how much she was helping with Maya’s latest project.
Keeden didn’t want to hear it, Maya was the last person he wanted to talk about, but he kept quiet because he didn’t want to squash her enthusiasm.
A growing number of whispers swept through the crowd, alerting him to new arrivals. When Keeden looked up to see his stepmother’s new guest he wasn’t surprised to see Bryant. His friend’s presence usually got people talking, but it soon became clear that the woman draped in a white shawl, standing by his side was the true reason for the whispers.
That was also nothing new. People always had an opinion about Maya Kayode.
Keeden saw the pair and his heart constricted. Maya had no trouble arriving with Bryant while shunning him.
He watched Maya turn to Bryant and say something. Bryant nodded then took her shawl and the whispers exploded into cries of shock. Amazement.
Keeden stared.
Maya beamed.
Their eyes met.
Maya looked pointedly at Keeden’s shirt.
Keeden looked pointedly at Maya’s dress.
It was made from the exact same fabric as his.
They looked like a couple. It was her declaration: I love you too. They no longer had to keep their relationship a secret.
A terrifying joy seized him. He hadn’t lost her.
He didn’t smile. Maya hadn’t expected him to. He wasn’t one to exuberantly express his feelings in public, but his gaze never left hers.
Lena released a girlish squeal of delight. “I knew you two would be perfect together.”
Maya walked up to him, ignoring the comments and glances that followed her every step. She stopped in front of him and struck a pose, modeling her outfit. “What do you think?”
Keeden shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
She let her arms fall to her side. “In case you haven’t figured it out. I love you. I decided you were right. I don’t want to hide how I feel about you.”
Keeden pulled her close and whispered, “I’d kiss you but I’m afraid if I did I wouldn’t stop.”
Maya laughed and drew away. “Good because there are people watching.”
He pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “Can we at least have some flowers at our wedding?”
Maya pulled a face then released an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not holding a bouquet.”
Keeden grinned. “That’s a compromise I can live with.”
EPILOGUE
A YEAR LATER
Maya sat alone in the studio and grinned at the image in The Walters Arts Museum magazine. The commissioned piece she’d helped Keeden finish stood prominently in a gallery feature.
What had amused her even more had been that the magazine had been sent by her mother. Their relationship hadn’t completely improved but at least Maya was no longer banned from the family home.
An unexpected side benefit of following Bryant’s advice about posting her ideas about using art to teach math had led to a steady stream of income tutoring students online using her unique approach.
Bryant had helped her design two products that were already selling well while she continued to work on her larger book project. He continued to be a man full of surprises. He was not only a great friend, a savvy business partner but an even better brother-in-law.
Maya closed the magazine ready to leave the studio when she decided to look at Keeden’s special project: the illustrated story.
She sat at the workstation surprised to see panels for his story she hadn’t seen before. He’d continued his story. She sat down with eagerness.
She ended up in tears.
Because in the last panel the dog had made it inside the house and was asleep on a little girl’s lap. A chubby, little girl with two tightly curled puffs. A little girl that looked like the picture she’d shown him of herself with her grandmother.
And the dog with the long black fur, she knew represented him.
He’d given the dog a happy ending.
“Well?” Keeden said, coming up behind her. He rested his hand on her shoulders. “What do you think?”
“I’d make one little change.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She picked up a pencil. “May I?”
He nodded.
She erased the arms which were at the child’s side. She sketched them wrapped around the dog. “I think that’s better. Now there’s no doubt he’s where he belongs.”
He stared, speechless. Moved by her action.
She took his hand, the one that wore the wedding band she’d placed there, the one that matched her own. “And she’s so happy,” Maya said, her smile mirroring the love in her heart.
“She’s not the only one,” Keeden said before he kissed her and held her tight, leaving no doubt she’d found where she’d belonged as well.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dara Girard, an award-winning, national bestselling author of more than fifty novels, from romance to suspense, loves telling stories.
Born in the US to immigrant parents, Dara enjoys pulling from her Jamaican, British, Nigerian heritage and exposure to various cultures to bring what reviewers and fans call “vivid emotional stories” to life. She is best known for her popular Henson Series, the mysterious Clifton Sisters, and the fun Black Stockings Society.
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The Language of Flowers
Copyright © 2022 Sade Odubiyi
Published by ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC
Cover and Layout Copyright © 2022 ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC
Cover Photo © ivonnewierink/ depositphotos
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Dara Girard, The Language of Flowers
