Her twin, Zoe, had died when they were just eleven years old. A car accident on the way home from a young entrepreneurs’ summer camp. It was beyond awful that her sister, her best friend, had died. Adah had forced Zoe to sit on the passenger side of the car’s back seat just because she’d wanted to sit behind the driver for a reason she couldn’t even remember now. The guilt about that still tore her apart. Even at eleven years old, Zoe had been the one eager to take over the family business and make it even better. All Adah had wanted was a job where she could be surrounded by children and hear their laughter all day.
In the end, as co-owner of an exclusive day care complex in North Atlanta catering to some of the city’s wealthiest residents, Adah had gotten the job she’d wanted. Zoe had gotten nothing but death.
* * *
The next morning, after a restless night spent with her mother on the other side of the wall in an adjoining room, Adah woke and pulled on the same sundress from the afternoon before and the leather sandals. The car that came to get them smelled of the spa, something vaguely citrusy and clean, making her feel as if she were already resting on a masseuse’s table and waiting to be transported to boneless relaxation. But she knew peace wouldn’t come. Her mother had something to say, and she would state it when she thought Adah was most vulnerable—while she was getting her massage.
She did try to relax during the car ride through the bright and tourist-rich streets of Oranjestad, the car’s engine purring through roundabouts and past casinos that burped out victims of the previous night’s gambling excesses. Her mother sat across from her, looking content and refreshed, like she’d had the good night’s sleep Adah had been denied, her hair perfectly put together in a gray ponytail resting over her shoulder, an ocean-green dress complementing the slender lines of her body.
“You don’t really have to do any of this,” Adah said.
“I know, darling. But I want to do this for you. It’ll mellow you. Besides, after this, your father and I will feel better about not doing enough for your birthday.”
Her mother plucked a slice of pineapple from the silver dish sitting between them. Juice exploded from the fruit and dripped down the side of her mouth. On another person, it would have looked clumsy, but her mother’s delighted laughter and the delicate way she wiped the juice from her mouth with one of the cloth napkins made her seem charming and young. Not for the first time, Adah wished she had been the child her mother deserved, a truer reflection of her instead of this awkward and too-soft girl-woman who barely knew how to style herself.
Adah drank from a bottle of water, not wanting to chance any fruit on her dress. With her luck, one of the dark red strawberries would squirt out of her mouth and down her front, making it looked like she’d just suffered a massive nosebleed. Or a mugging.
In the spa, beautiful women in white whisked Adah and her mother away to a serene room that smelled even more like tranquility, this time with low, strings-heavy music and dim lighting. The women gave them fluffy white robes to change into and plied them with cucumber-infused water. An old Deep Forest album, humming with the sounds of chirping birds overlaid by timid violins, played in the background.
Once she was lying on a massage table, with her mother in an identical position a few feet away, Adah actually tried to relax. A silent masseuse began to work on her face, smoothing eucalyptus-scented circles over her forehead and cheeks, while her mother shared stories about what Adah had missed in Atlanta the single day she’d been gone.
“And Petra doesn’t seem like the type to fall for someone that shallow, or scary,” her mother said, continuing her portion of a conversation Adah was barely paying attention to.
She was talking about a bank manager friend of theirs who’d hooked up with the cold but slightly scandalous anchor of a national news network based in Atlanta. On the outside, Petra seemed boring, and everyone she knew was stuck wondering how she’d managed to snag a man like Gabriel Saint.
“Every woman has something about them that only appeals to a select few people,” Adah said. Petra kept things pretty low-key and had a wicked sense of humor she often kept hidden. “Petra is a badass,” Adah said. “She just doesn’t show that side of herself very often.”
“Well, one person must have seen it, and I mean Gabriel Saint, because everyone is mystified about them being together.”
“Including you?”
“Including me.”
Adah smiled as much as the hands moving on her face would allow. “You only see what you want to see.”
Her mother laughed, not admitting to the truth they both knew. And it was so comfortable talking with her about the old familiar things that Adah did actually relax.
But then her mother said, “Have you been giving much thought to the wedding, darling?”
Adah released a slow breath through her nose. “No, I haven’t.” The masseuse paused with her hands on the suddenly tense muscles of Adah’s thigh. After a quick glance at Adah’s face, she continued the massage.
“You know Errol and Stephanie are excited to officially welcome you into their family.” Errol and Stephanie Randal were onetime rivals and now potential in-laws of Adah’s, owners of Leilani’s Pearls, a successful bath-and-beauty business that was on the verge of the same kind of stagnation pulling down Palmer-Mitchell Naturals. Separately the two companies would flounder, but by joining together they stood a greater chance of succeeding in the increasingly competitive marketplace.
Just about every beauty company had some kind of natural-hair product line now, even companies who’d created their success from selling perms to black women. Despite being in business for over thirty years, Palmer-Mitchell Naturals was a relatively new company and not well-known enough to succeed on its own.
Palmer-Mitchell Naturals needed Leilani’s Pearls much more than the other way around. And the agreement to merge companies, and do it in a way that kept the businesses in the family, hinged on Adah’s agreement to marry the Randal’s son, Bennett. The idea for Adah to become the sacrificial wife had come from her mother during a time of romantic disappointment and on the anniversary of her sister’s death. Marinating in pain from all sides, Adah could think only that the less useful sister had survived.
“I know the Randals are anxious, Mother. I know you and Daddy are, too.” Her stomach clenched with unease, and she wished she could just say yes and agree to the date without putting her parents through all this worry. Any relaxation she’d gained from the massage had fled. Her muscles felt tight and unwieldy.
“I want you to be certain about your decision, Adah. When I first suggested this idea, you were a young woman in college, practically still a child. I know you’re a different person now.”
But the situation Palmer-Mitchell Naturals found itself in was the same. Adah pressed her lips together while the anxiety rolled through her, steady and unrelenting. The masseuse’s fingers dug harder into her back.
“But—” her mother’s tone changed “—think about how amazing this would be for you, too. You could have the financial freedom to realize your dreams. And have a handsome husband to call your own.”
As if all Adah had ever wanted from this thing was a man.
She twitched under a particularly firm press of the masseuse’s fingers. “I know I agreed to all this before, but I just need a little time right now.”
Her mother sighed. “I know, darling. I know.”
Then she noticeably withdrew into herself, leaving the room silent except for the sounds of the women’s hands on their skin, oil rubbing into flesh and quiet breathing. Embarrassment at airing their dirty laundry in such a relatively public place heated Adah’s face. Although it hadn’t been a full-fledged fight, she felt battered and in the wrong. Her