Chapter 12 - The Public Eye
934 Words
The first public appearance came on a Saturday.
Emeka knocked on her bedroom door at 9am which was unusual. He was always gone by 7am. She opened it still holding her tea and found him standing in the corridor in a dark suit looking like he had already been awake for hours.
"There is a charity gala tonight," he said. "The Okafor Foundation annual dinner. I should have told you earlier."
She looked at him.
"How much earlier," she said.
"Yesterday."
"Emeka."
"I know."
She sipped her tea. "What time."
"Car leaves at 7pm. It is at Eko Hotel. Three hours approximately."
"Dress code."
"Black tie."
She nodded slowly. "I need to go shopping."
He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a card. Set it on the doorframe beside her.
"Whatever you need," he said simply.
She looked at the card.
"I am not taking your money for clothes," she said.
"You are attending a function as my wife. The clothes are a business expense."
"That is a very romantic way to put it."
Something moved in his eyes. "I am not trying to be romantic."
"I know," she said. She picked up the card. "I will pay you back."
"You will not."
"I will."
He looked at her for a moment. "Adaeze."
"Emeka."
A pause.
"Fine," he said.
He left.
She looked at the card in her hand and finished her tea.
Chioma came shopping with her.
This was non negotiable. Adaeze had called her before Emeka's car had even reached the end of the street and Chioma had appeared at the house forty minutes later in a state of extreme excitement wearing her best going out clothes for a shopping trip.
"Black tie," Chioma breathed as they moved through the mall. "Eko Hotel. The Okafor Foundation. Ada this is not a joke. This is Lagos society."
"I am aware."
"People will take photos. This will be in blogs. Tomorrow morning every Lagos gossip page will have pictures of Emeka Okafor and his mysterious new wife."
"Please lower your voice."
"I am whispering."
"You are not whispering Chioma."
They found the dress in the third shop.
Midnight blue. Floor length. Simple and devastating in the way that only truly well cut things were. When Adaeze came out of the fitting room Chioma sat down on the bench outside and put her hand over her mouth.
"Buy it," she said.
"It is expensive."
"He gave you a card."
"I am paying him back."
"Adaeze buy the dress."
She bought the dress.
At 6:55pm she came downstairs.
Emeka was in the living room. He looked up from his phone when he heard her on the stairs.
He went very still.
She had worn her hair up. Simple gold earrings. The midnight blue dress that fell to the floor and moved when she walked. She had done her own makeup carefully. Not too much. Just enough.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
"Will this do," she said.
He looked at her for a moment that lasted slightly longer than necessary.
"Yes," he said. His voice was even. Controlled. But she had been living in this house long enough to notice the slight adjustment in his stillness. The way his jaw had set fractionally differently.
She filed it away and said nothing.
On the car he told her who would be there. Business associates. Family friends. Old money and new money and the complicated social geography of Lagos at the highest level. He told her names and connections with the efficiency of a man briefing a colleague.
She listened carefully and remembered everything.
"If anyone asks how we met," he said.
"Through business," she said. "We have established that."
"And if they push for details."
"People who push for details at charity galas are being rude," she said. "I will smile and redirect the conversation. I am Nigerian. I know how to handle nosy people."
He looked at her.
"You are going to be fine," he said. Like he had just confirmed something to himself.
"I know," she said simply.
The car pulled up to Eko Hotel.
Lights. People. The particular electricity of a room full of powerful Lagos. Cameras at the entrance because of course there were cameras.
Emeka got out first and turned to offer his hand to help her out.
She took it.
His hand was warm. She already knew this from the registry. She was prepared for it this time.
She was not prepared for the way he kept holding it as they walked toward the entrance.
Not loosely. Properly. Fingers interlaced. Like a man who held his wife's hand because he wanted to.
She kept her face perfectly composed.
Cameras flashed.
Inside the ballroom the room noticed them immediately. She could feel it. The subtle turning of heads. The conversations that paused and resumed at a slightly different frequency.
Emeka Okafor had arrived with a wife nobody knew existed.
Lagos was very interested.
An older woman in red approached immediately. Sharp eyes. Expensive jewelry. A smile that was warm on the surface and calculating underneath.
"Emeka." She kissed both his cheeks. Turned to Adaeze with barely concealed hunger for information. "And who is this."
Emeka's hand tightened slightly on hers.
"This is Adaeze," he said. "My wife."
The words landed in the woman's expression like a stone in still water.
Adaeze smiled her best smile. Warm. Steady. Completely unreadable.
"It is so lovely to meet you," she said pleasantly.
The woman opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Lagos society had met Adaeze Okafor.
It was not ready.
- Writer
