Leaked

Chapter 2

Sat on the bed, my mind wanders. A decision comes to mind but I don’t rush it. Instead, I go to the kitchen and make coffee. After taking the first sip, I settle on the decision.

I screenshot the news article and send a message to my private investigator. Being an experienced man, he knows what to do next.

My hand shakes when he immediately calls me.

My eyes search the kitchen before answering the call. I reply to all his statements and questions with a yes or a no. Just as he’s asking me the last set of questions, Noah comes behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

I almost panic but quickly lower the volume on my phone before quickly ending it.

“Who was that?” he asks, nestling his head on my neck.

“It’s Yohan,” I reply, “I needed him to gather some information.”

All truth.

He opens his eyes, takes my coffee, and chugs it. I quickly think of the next course of action as he’s distracted.

“You seem distracted this morning,” he says, giving me the almost empty coffee mug.

“Yes, just thinking about a few things,” I reply, placing it down and turning to face him.

He comes close and hugs me. I quickly unlock the phone and send another text message, this time to my publicist. It was a quick message, just a screenshot of the news with a short instruction: bury this.

“Mm… we should stay away from home for a bit,” Noah says, and I quickly lock the phone when he starts breaking the hug.

“I agree,” I reply.

“You are so distracted,” he says again.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking,” I reply.

“Went on social media again?” he asks, and just then, my phone chimes. As he turns his head to see, I turn his head back to me and smile.

“How about we spend today together?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.

“Here?” He asks, smiling, and completely forgetting about my phone.

“Anywhere you want,” he replies. “Ou! I know a place on the other side of the city we can go to.”

“Where you usually take your other woman?” The words escape my mouth before I can catch them, and he twists his face in confusion.

“The only other woman in my life is my daughter, Isla,” he says, still taken aback.

“I’m just joking,” I say quickly.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“What do you like then?” I ask, pulling him to myself by his shirt.

“You,” he replies, smiling down at me.

“Convince me,” I say smiling.

What needed to happen, happened.

I wake up later and find myself alone in the penthouse. I can’t find my phone next to me and that gives me a mini heart attack.

I walk around, but there’s no sign of Noah. I find my phone on the kitchen counter, but it’s dead.

As I’m charging it, I see the clothes scattered on the floor and remember what happened a few hours ago. The memories are so vivid, my legs almost give in on me.

The realization hits me. That was the first time me and Noah got intimate.

I don’t know how long I sat on the couch in a daze recounting last night when the doorbell rings. I put on some more clothes before rushing to answer it.

At the door is room service with all types of food.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw the food. I take it inside and have as much as my body can take. As I’m placing the rest away for Noah, I see a note.

Before I even read it, a thought pops up in my mind. Is this how a man should treat his wife after their first time being intimate?

I drop the note on the island without reading it and head to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

Afterward, I tidy the apartment and settle on the couch to watch something.

At some point, I fall asleep, and when I wake up, Noah is in the kitchen, eating the food I stored away for him.

He sees that I’ve woken up and drops more food on his plate before rushing to me.

He gives me a spoonful of his food, but I shake my head. He tries kissing my cheek, but I dodge it. Not catching a hint, he grabs my face and starts kissing it everywhere. It’s tickling, and without wanting to, I start laughing.

“You don’t get to treat me that way after last night,” he says, picking up his food again.

“You liked it?” I ask, not turning to him.

“I loved everything, everything. Waiting sure is good,” he says, and then grabs my face and makes me turn to him, “You are my answered prayer, Isla, never forget that.”

“Why did you run off like that then, leaving me all alone,” I ask and his smile drops. He finally catches on and places his food down again.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t think about it until now. Isla…” He says hugging me again.

“You made me feel like a one-night stand,” I complain.

“I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think about it. I got a call about a surprise I’m organizing for you and rushed there. I’m so sorry,” he says, remorse written all over his face.

“It’s okay. At least you sent me food,” I reply.

“I love you, Isla,” he says, “Do you know that?”

“Yes, I’ve heard you say it a couple of times,” I reply.

“Do you believe it?” He asks.

“I suspect it’s true once in a while,” his face twists into a smile.

“Would I go against my kids if I don’t love you?” he asks, and I smile, looking away.

“And my political party, and principles of never dating my juniors at work,” he says, reminding me of the investigation. My eyes instinctively land on my phone on the other side of the room. “And I married you,” he adds, turning my head to refocus on him.

“You love me?” I ask, feigning shock.

“Yes,” he says, pulling me to sit on his lap.

“I thought ours was a publicity stunt for my career,” I say again, and he breaks out in laughter, and I join him, until his phone starts ringing in his pocket.

He moves me to take it out, but I don’t bulge.

“You said it will be just us,” I say, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Who is calling you anyway,” I take it out of his pocket and see the caller ID is unknown. Thoughts of the investigation rush to my mind again, and I instinctively answer it.

He leans back on the couch, bringing me with him as I answer the call. He recognizes the voice on the other end and snatches the phone from me.

“You could have ruined your surprise,” he says when he ends the call. I take the phone from his hand and toss it to the side, and he smiles.

“Mrs Cross,” he says, and I can tell exactly what is in his mind. I slowly get off his lap and place the food he was eating earlier before him, before walking away.

“Babe?” He says confused, as I stray away laughing.

A few hours later, Noah and I are settled in a church, listening to a sermon. The preacher, a short African man, goes on and on, very passionately, about obeying the will of God. The sermon gets me thinking about my marriage to Noah and the investigation.

What will I do if I find out that there’s a secret family?

A few minutes later, the preacher asks us to say something to God about the sermon of the day.

In my heart, I say, “God, please help me handle whatever comes up, especially with this marriage.”

At the car, on the ride back to the penthouse, I turn to Noah as he’s busy typing on his phone.

“Thank you,” I say softly, but he still hears it.

“For what?” he asks.

“For everything, and especially for bringing me to church today,” I reply.

“I want our marriage to be permanent. I know the only way for that to happen is through God,” he says. “But the surprise is still not completed.”

“Aw! You are the best husband ever,” I say, hugging his arm. My phone pings, and I choose to ignore it, partly because I don’t want any bad investigation report to ruin the moment.

When we arrive at the penthouse, I take off my heels and head to the couch. The hours of dancing at church had done a number on my feet.

Just when I plop myself on the couch, lights go on in the house, and I quickly sit up in confusion.

“Surprise!” many voices say at once. I’m certain that if I was not sitting, I would have fallen.

I recognize every face, and I rush to hug them.

My mom, my dad, my sister, my little brother, Nia, everyone is here.

One half of the house is decorated for celebration, and I hadn’t seen it.

The night is full of conversations, laughter, kids playing around, everything I missed.

When everyone gets tired, Noah tries ushering them each into their rooms, which he had booked for them in the hotel, but they refuse.

We all decide to sleep on mattresses on the floor like in old times.

Needless to say, we fall asleep in the morning because we keep talking about anything and everything.

Noah and the boys leave around the time we fall asleep.

When sleep begins to carry me away, I remember the text.

Right there, under the covers, I unlock my phone.

The text from the investigator reads: Lydia is the woman’s name. She has twin boys, 3 years old, Andrew and Benjamin.

My head falls back on the mattress. It feels like a heavy weight has been placed on my chest.

Writer’s note: What would you like to see in the next chapter?