Grip Trilogy Box Set

“Is that so?” I lift a skeptical brow.

“Yeah, it is.” A slow smile pulls at his mouth, making him look younger, less the sober academic. “I haven’t changed my mind about why most Black men who choose white women do it, but I’ve changed my mind about you and Bristol. I don’t believe a white woman can ever really understand the struggle of a Black man in America, but I was married to a Black woman who understood the struggle but never understood me.”

I’ll have to ask him for the full story one day. From what I’ve ascertained, there were transgressions on both sides, and definitely regret on his.

“Bristol may not understand the struggle,” he continues, “but she understands you. She loves you unconditionally—I’ve seen it— and in a world as hard as ours, unconditional love goes a long way.”

His smile melts like the snow topping the mountains that left me awestruck just minutes ago.

“I would say having Bristol makes you a very lucky man, Grip.” The elevator dings, signaling that I’ve reached the top floor where

I know Bristol’s room is.

“This is me.” I step out, but at the last minute, insert my arm to stop the doors from closing. “Hey. Thanks for coming, Iz. It, uh . . . well, thanks.”

He nods, and with one last look, I allow the doors to close. If I wanted to see her before, now the urgency to see her, to remind myself that in just a few hours, we’ll be husband and wife, burns through me. If I needed affirmation that I was doing the right thing—which I really didn’t—I’ve had it in this morning’s encounters with my mom and with Iz.

I rap my knuckles against the door a few times. When there’s no answer, I knock a little harder. Still no response. After three minutes, I’m pounding the door and saying Bristol’s name maybe a little louder than the situation warrants. The door is yanked open from inside, and my beautiful bride stands on the threshold glaring at me, her hair all around her head and her face free of makeup. A silk robe is tied at her narrow waist.

“You better have a really good reason for being here.” Though stern, her eyes and voice soften the longer we stare at each other. I slip into the room before she can stop me.

“Grip, no.” She swats at my shoulders when I pull her into my arms. “You cannot be here. We cannot see each other.”

“Bullshit.” I bend to kiss her, my lips searching, seeking out her sweetness.

“You have to go,” she mutters against my lips, but her fingers cling to my arms.

“I miss you.” My whispered words catch fire in the air between us, and I feel her nipples bead against my chest. My fingers fumble at the tie at her waist, and I push at the shoulders of her robe.

“No!” She catches the silk lapels and pulls them tightly over her breasts, her eyes wide. “You have to go.”

“Babe, come on.” My hands slide down to her waist, the flare of her hips, the curve of her ass. “We got time. Don’t make me beg.”

“Beg?” She steps out of my arms, clenching the neck of the robe at her throat, showing me even less skin. “Yeah, right. When have you ever had to beg?”

“I used to have to beg,” I remind her. “When you wouldn’t give your boy a shot.”

Her face softens, the tousled hair around her face and shoulders tempting me to shove my fingers into the shiny strands. A smile so sweet I want to taste it teases the corners of her lips.

“That was a long time ago, and don’t remind me what a fool I was all those years.”

We share a smile, and before she kicks me out, I take her hand and press it between my palms.

“I saw the gift you gave my mom,” I say, my voice low with gratitude. “And I ran into Iz on the elevator.”

“Two of your greatest influences.” She shrugs her slim shoulders under the brightly patterned silk. “It wouldn’t be the same without them. You wouldn’t be the same without them, and for that I’m grateful.”

She opens the door and shoves me into the hall. The door is closing in my face when I stick my foot in to stop it. I peer around the heavy wood, needing the last word.

“The next time I see you,” I say with a smile, “you’ll be Mrs. Marlon James.”

She pauses in closing the door long enough to lean forward and drop a quick kiss on my lips.

“I can’t wait,” she whispers. “I love you.”

The door slams in my face, but if those are her last words, I’ll let her have them just this once.

Chapter 27