Pretend I'm Your's

Chapter 3 Meet The Parents

His parents’ house smelled like jollof, wealth, and judgment.

The gate swung open and a compound bigger than my whole street came into view. Warm lights. Trimmed lawns. Two SUVs parked beside a Range Rover that probably cost more than my business.

Tunde killed the engine but didn’t get out.

“Last chance to back out,” he said.

I looked at my hand. The 3-carat diamond caught the light and threw it back at me.

“If I back out now, I will lose 50 million,” I said. “So no.”

He nodded once. Then he was around the car, opening my door like we did this every day.

His hand found mine. Warm. Firm. Not for show. Not yet.

The front door opened before we reached it.

“Tunde!”

A woman in her 50s, gele tied perfectly, wrapper swishing. Tunde’s mom. She had his eyes. His mouth.

And then she saw me.

Her smile widened. “Omo. So this is the one.”

“Ma,” Tunde said, and just like that his voice softened. “This is Zara Adeyemi. Zara, this is my mother, Mrs. Cole.”

I dipped my head. “Good evening, ma. It’s nice to meet you.”

She pulled me into a hug before I could breathe. She smelled like shea butter and authority.

“Ehen. Beautiful girl. Come inside. Food is ready.”

Inside was worse. And better.

Polished floors. Family photos on the wall. Tunde at graduation. Tunde with a trophy. Tunde looks 10 and already serious.

And at the dining table, his father.

Chief Cole. Big man energy. White senator cap. Eyes that scanned me from head to toe in 2 seconds.

“Sit,” he said. Not unkind. Just... assessing.

We sat. Tunde on one side of me, his mother on the other.

Dinner started with prayer. Then with questions.

“So, Zara,” Mrs. Cole said, serving me jollof herself. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Tunde answered before I could. “6 months, Ma.”

Six months. I kept my face straight and took a bite. It tasted like home.

“6 months and we’re just hearing now?” Chief Cole said. “Tunde.”

“It was private, Dad,” Tunde said easily. Too easily. “You know how people are.”

“People,” Chief Cole repeated. “Like David Okoro? I saw the blogs.”

My spoon paused halfway to my mouth.

Tunde’s hand found my knee under the table. A quick squeeze. _I’ve got you._

“David has nothing to do with this,” he said. “Zara and I are serious.”

Mrs. Cole was watching me. Not Tunde. Me.

“Zara, dear. What do you do?”

“I own an event planning company,” I said. “Zara Events. We do weddings, mostly.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “So you’ll plan your own wedding too.”

The jollof turned to dust in my mouth.

“Ma, we haven’t—”

“When is it?” she cut in, eyes bright. “We need to start preparations. Cole family weddings are big. Very big.”

Tunde kicked me under the table. Subtle.

“We’re thinking... next year,” he said. “After the venue launch.”

“Venue launch?” Chief Cole leaned forward. “This is about Abuja land.”

There it was.

I looked at Tunde. He looked calm. Like this wasn’t his future on the table.

“Yes, sir,” Tunde said. “Investors want to see that I’m stable. Settled. That’s why... this.” He gestured between us.

Chief Cole studied us. Then he looked at my hand. At the ring.

“Let me see it.”

I held out my hand. My heart was in my throat.

Mrs. Cole took my hand in both of hers. I turned, nodded.

“Beautiful. Classic.” Then she looked up at me. Right into me.

“Are you happy, my daughter?”

The question was different.

Was I happy? I was terrified. Broke. Signing fake contracts.

But sitting here, with Tunde’s hand still on my knee, with his mom calling me _daughter_...

“Yes, ma,” I heard myself say. “I am.”

Something passed over her face. Relief? Approval?

“Good,” she said. “Then we will support you.”

Dinner went on after that. Lighter. Stories. Tunde as a stubborn boy. Me pretending I wasn’t memorizing everything.

When we stood to leave, Mrs. Cole pulled me aside in the kitchen.

“Zara,” she whispered. “My son... he doesn’t bring girls home. Not like this.”

I opened my mouth. I closed it.

“He likes you,” she said simply. “Don’t break him.”

Before I could answer, Tunde was there. “Ma, we should go.”

In the car, silence. Heavy.

Then Tunde exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

“You did good.”

“Did I?” My voice shook a little. “Your mom asked if I was happy.”

Tunde gripped the steering wheel. “And?”

“And I said yes.” I looked out the window. Abuja lights blurred past.

“That was a lie, right?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then: “I don’t know, Zara.”

We stopped at a red light. He turned to me.

“Rule 3,” he said quietly.

“I know,” I whispered. “No falling.”

The light turned green.

But neither of us moved for 3 more seconds.