Love Takes Time (3 page)

Alyssa faced him again to judge whether he was being sincere or just being charitable.

“Where did you guys leave off?”

She hesitated, but when she realized that he was
being sincere, she approached. “Jonas kicked Ms. Wright out of his condo after she tried to break things off.”

“Well that is the PC version of things,” he chuckled.

Alyssa frowned and Sterling cleared his throat.

“Well, let's just say that Jonas refused to speak to Toni after that.” Sterling continued the story and concluded when Jonas finally proposed to his pregnant girlfriend. It was truly a romantic story that had Alyssa casting herself in Toni's role and Quentin in Jonas's role. Alyssa sighed. The story had a happy ending—just the way she liked it. Now, here she was at the center of what would undoubtedly be dubbed a fairy-tale wedding…and she had to stay in her room.

“Fifteen minutes to showtime,” the wedding planner said as she rushed by, alerting the wedding party. “Everyone take their places.”

Sterling smiled and stood up straight. “I guess that means me, too.” His gaze raked over her attire: blue jeans, Mary J. Blige T-shirt and a pair of Reeboks that had seen better days. “I know I'm long past being hip. Well, I was never what you would call hip…but is that what you're wearing to the wedding?”

Alyssa dropped her head and couldn't help but poke out her bottom lip. “I can't go. Dad said that I would just be in the way.”

Sterling chuckled and then placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Nonsense.” He looked her over again. “It just so happens that I require a date for this evening. How fast can you change clothes?”

Hope bloomed in Alyssa's heart. “But Daddy said—”

“I'll have a talk with Alfred. I'm sure I can get him to change his mind.”

“Do you really think so?”

Sterling's chest swelled with confidence. “I'm a pretty persuasive guy. It's served me well in business.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Trust me.”

He winked and again Alyssa was charmed by his uncharacteristic playful side. “Okay,” she said backing away. “I'll go change.” She turned and raced off to her room. The only dress she had in her closet suitable for a wedding was the frilly number her father bought her for Easter. She frowned at the excessive lace, but quickly showered and shimmied into the dress in what had to be an Olympic record.

A couple of brush strokes through her hair, a ribbon and she was out the door. As she rushed to grab one of the white, wooden lawn chairs she took in the final staging for the ceremony and felt as if she had been cast into a glorious dream. White and pink flowers were strewn as far as the eye could see while a live orchestra played as if they were introducing her to the crowd.

No sooner had she found a seat on the groom's side, than someone handed her a folded letter. She suspected it was from her father before she even opened it.

And she was right.

 

Be on your
best
behavior.

—Dad

 

Alyssa smiled and folded the letter. Sterling had pulled off a miracle and she would be eternally grateful.

A handsome Jonas took his place before the preacher, looking happy
and
nervous. The processional music started up and everyone turned in their seats in time to see the first bridesmaid and groomsman march down the aisle.

Of course, Alyssa's heart didn't start pounding until Quentin appeared, escorting a blushing Maria. Alyssa pretended not to notice the subtle signs of the beautiful Latina flirting with her future husband. Q spotted Alyssa in the crowd and winked.

In that moment, if she had died, she would have left this world the happiest girl alive.

I will marry you one day, Quentin Dwayne Hinton. I will.

Sterling was the next Hinton to walk down the aisle. When he, too, spotted her in her silly Easter dress, he smiled and gave her the thumbs-up. She smiled and mouthed the words
thank you.

The wedding march began and everyone rose to their feet when the bride marched down the aisle on the arm of her friend Isaiah Washington. She was six months pregnant and glowed like the sun. When everyone returned to their seats, they all waited in anticipation for the “I do's.”

This time, neither the bride nor groom stopped the wedding. Precisely twenty minutes later, the minister introduced Mr. and Mrs. Hinton to the wedding guests.

The fairy-tale wedding wasn't over for Alyssa. To her surprise, Q offered his arm for her first dance. Being in his arms was like a dream come true and it took everything she had not to make a fool of herself.

“Ah, I still stand by my earlier assessment,” he said. “One day, you
will
break men's hearts. I just pray I won't be one of them.”

She was sure her entire body turned beet-red and it was a wonder that she didn't trip all over his feet.

However, when the song ended, Quentin disappeared to sweep another woman off her feet.

“May I?” Sterling asked.

“Yes, you may.” Alyssa glided into his arms and soon discovered he was as good a dancer as his younger brother. “Thank you for talking my dad into letting me attend.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. What else are friends for?”

She smiled, feeling for the first time that she was his friend and not just some servant's daughter. Alas the dance ended too quickly and Sterling disappeared into the crowd, as well.

“My. My. My. Aren't you popular with the Hinton men,” an attractive woman in a stunning aqua-blue gown whispered. “If you were a little older, I'm willing to bet half the eligible women here would be plotting to scratch your eyes out.”

Alyssa giggled, liking the idea of women being jealous of her. Especially those who thought they actually had a chance with her man. “They're welcome to try,” she whispered back.

It was the woman's turn to giggle. “I like you, little girl. You have spunk.”

It wasn't spunk, Alyssa knew. She had a plan.

T
his was the last place Quentin wanted to be.

The alcohol wasn't so bad. It was the loud crowd and his obnoxious friends that were grating on his nerves, a first since he'd dedicated most of his life to partying and seducing beautiful women. Now he was off his game.

Way off.

“You sorry son of a bitch!” Some guy who didn't like Quentin putting the moves on his girl grabbed Quentin's shoulder and spun him around and then crashed his fist solidly against his jaw.

Pain exploded in Quentin's head as he crumpled
to the floor. The sad part was that he welcomed it. Anything was better than the frosty numbness of the past three days.

“C'mon. Get up so I can kick your ass!” the man shouted, his breath strong enough to singe his nose hairs.

Q's friends parted like the Red Sea while lap dancers screeched and ran out of the way to avoid the fight.

“Get up!”

“C'mon, man. Is all this worth it?” Q struggled to his feet. He casually dusted himself off, and then was careful not to meet anyone's eyes as he licked the trickle of blood from the corner of his lips. Around him, friends and strangers gawked and waited to see what would happen next. He rather hoped the next blow would render him unconscious for a few days. “The chick wasn't even all that good-looking.”

“Oh, you got jokes.” The man launched toward Q, but thankfully his best friend, and co-Dollhouse owner, Xavier King, jumped into the mix.

“Whoa. Whoa. I just finished remodeling the place. Y'all want to fight, take it to Caesar's Palace or something.”

Xavier, a former heavyweight champion with arms that felt like steel bands, successfully dragged the drunkard back a few inches from Quentin's cowed position on the floor. “Let it go. Let it go.”

Q's laugh rumbled, but the notes were depressingly sad. “Nah. Nah. Bring it on. I can take him.”

It was Q's cockiness that goaded the man's temper and gave him the strength of ten men to break Xavier's hold. Once he got loose all hell broke loose. There were plenty of screams. Friends and strangers jumped in for no reason at all. Bouncers and security guards tangled and before anyone knew it, there were gunshots popping off in the club.

Q experienced firsthand what it was like to be a defenseless punching bag while receiving blow after blow. The man was really trying his best to permanently rearrange Quentin's face, and was doing a damn good job of it, too. To his utter dismay, it took a few dozen solid punches before a black curtain closed over this hellish reality. When he finally woke, a stern-looking Hispanic man crouched over him flashing a penlight into his eyes, which caused a near explosion in the back of his head.

He croaked out a miserable groan and raised an arm up to shield his eyes. “What the hell, man? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Looks like he's gonna live,” the man's heavily accented voice announced.

It should have been good news, but Quentin didn't receive it as such. In fact, it was the worst news he could have received.

“Sir, how are you feeling? We have an ambulance outside. Would you like to go to the hospital?”

Quentin shrugged from the man's touch and then waved him off.

“Suit yourself,” the paramedic said, turned and left Q where he sat on the floor.

A second later another set of footsteps strolled over to him. A large hand jutted out in front of his face. “Finished bleeding on my floor?”

Q tried to broker a smile, but it hurt too damn much. Putting his pride aside, he slid his hand into his cousin's and was grateful that with one firm jerk he was back onto his feet. Now all he had to do was stay on them. He didn't look directly at Xavier, but squinting his eyes around the periphery, he saw his best friend looking around and shaking his head. Following Xavier's lead, he took in the scene himself, or at least he tried to with eyes that were ready to swell shut. The crowds were gone and the club was apparently closed. It looked like a wrecking ball had leveled the place.

“Aww, man. Sorry about this.”

“Sorry?” Xavier snapped, his tone nearly the same decibel as a roaring lion. “Sorry doesn't fix our crib.” He drew in a few deep breaths and seemingly regained control of himself.

“Here you go, boss.” One of the female employees approached and handed him something before flashing Quentin a sympathetic smile and then sauntering off. The old Quentin would have followed up an open invitation like that. The new Quentin wanted to stay the hell away from women.

Far away.

“Man, I've never seen anyone get their ass handed to them like that since the Tyson-Holyfield fight,”
Xavier said, wincing and handing over a handmade ice pack. Since he was Quentin's favorite cousin, he felt free to make such a flippant remark. “I might be mistaken, but I think that brother was trying to reconstruct your face.” He chuckled, a clear sign he was getting over his anger.

“Very funny,” Q mumbled, limping his way. He tilted his bruised and bloody head back and put the ice pack back on his throbbing temple. This must be what it felt like to be run over by a Mack truck.

“I wasn't trying to be funny.” Xavier stepped back. “And don't drip blood on my shoes.” He snickered and followed his cousin over to the nearest bar. He walked around the counter and grabbed two glasses.

Q moaned and groaned about his injuries.

“You know you could have blocked a few of those punches,” Xavier said. “Haven't you ever heard of stick and move?”

“You're not helping.”

Xavier shook his head. “Seriously. What's up with you? You haven't been yourself for a while. We either need to talk this out or I'm going to have to ban you from coming in here.”

“I'm part owner.”

“I know. Awkward, huh?”

Q snorted.

“I'm waiting.”

“It's about this…woman.”

“Now why aren't I surprised?” Xavier's laughter exploded, shaking his entire frame.

“Trust me. She's not just any woman.” Quentin sighed, lowered the ice pack.

Xavier winced and twisted his face as if he was viewing a crime scene. “Put that back on. And you might want to reconsider calling a doctor. That nose is going to need some serious reconstructive work.”

Q moaned but did as his best friend suggested. The ice pack felt good against his tight, throbbing skin anyway.

“What can I get you?” asked Xavier.

“I'll have what you're having,” Q croaked. “But make it a double.”

Xavier filled the second glass to the rim with good old reliable Jack Daniel's. “I think I'll leave the bottle out,” he said. “It looks likes you're gonna need it.”

Quentin agreed.

Xavier turned away briefly to put away some glasses, but by the time he turned back, Q had already emptied his first shot glass.

“Whoever this chick is, she's done one hell of a number on you.” Xavier said, shaking his head as if he couldn't fathom such a thing. “I've never seen you like this and I've seen you with plenty of women.”

Quentin didn't respond. Instead he reached for the Jack Daniel's bottle himself and refilled his glass.

“Since we had to close early tonight
and
you don't seem to be in any hurry to go home, why don't you tell me about this mysterious woman that's worth you getting your ass whooped over?”

Silence.

“Well, what's her name?”

There was another long pause, and then, “Alyssa,” Q said more to his empty glass than his cousin. “But I call her Alice…”