The Wrong Way to Wright
Chapter 4
Aya was relieved to return to shore, even though she knew she was going to have to face the screeching music. Auntie Bea had too many friends, and she was certain that she’d recognized one of them observing her marrying at the courthouse.
The Franklyn estate was a mere fourteen-minute drive away from the seaside parish that Aya had been living in. “Frankly Fine” was a three-acre ranch nestled upcountry in the lush rolling hills of the small village of St. Clements, which, at nearly 900 feet above sea level, would receive the cooling Atlantic breezes that brought frequent rainfall. The climate was perfect for the abundance of fruit trees, plants, shrubs, and tropical flowers on the southern expanse of the property that ran up to the back patio.
A large dilapidated barn toward the eastern side bordered something of a rainforest. Additionally, there were three chattel house–style sheds spread about the back bluff of land that faced the sea. A hundred meters below, the jungle continued for a mile until the main road.
Aya arrived at her new home to find the black-skinned Marva sweeping the front hall. Aya thought she looked to be middle-aged, and she was five feet of fit and slender. Along with her gorgeous colouring, she had tiny eyes obscured by thick glasses, a broad flat nose, large protruding lips, and a three-inch-long afro. She carried herself in a mannish way. Perhaps there was a reason she had never married or had kids.
“Morning, Mrs. Franklyn,” Marva mumbled. “Welcome home.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal. Call me Aya.”
“Mm-hmm.” Marva kept on sweeping. Somehow or other, she would never get around to calling Aya anything other than the Missus.
***
“So, you got yourself a new wife at last,” Marva remarked to Desi while he was out in the car park.
Desi put his arm around her and pulled her in close. “Now, don’t you start taking on. She’s not after your job. She’ll be mostly out back.”
“Why?” Marva grumbled. “She not working?”
“She’s very hard-working, a real business woman. She’s starting up her own thing and managing the books for me.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Marva did not like the sound of that at all. Somehow Desi was always getting wrapped up with conniving women who would take him for his money. She had thought that he’d finally seen sense until he brought this one home, marrying quick-quick before she could find out anything about the girl. Worse still, he loved the Missus as that was written all over his face. She had never known him to take on so for anyone other than his kids. Marva was certain that another son must be on the way.
“Don’t you start nothing,” Desi said. “It’s no extra work, Marv. Aya’s real clean and tidy. She’ll probably be of use to you. She’ll help around the house.”
Help me outta a job, more like, was all Marva could think.
***
Aya was cheered by the pleasant welcomes of her stepsons. She presented them with the gifts that in reality had been picked out and purchased by Desi, and they were well pleased.
Junior was nineteen years old. He was brown-skinned and built much like his father, only he had the feline eyes and tightly coiled hair of his mother. Carlton, on the other hand, was of a high yellow complexion and had the sturdy build of his mother. He had soft curly hair, light brown eyes, and he dressed his muscular body immaculately. Though not as tall as Junior, the sixteen-year-old was not much less than six feet. He spoke softly and with purpose, and he had impeccable manners.
As Aya made her way through the modern two-story home, she realized it had been built piecemeal, which accounted for its unusual floor plan. The nearly black hardwood floors on both levels did not complement the stark white interior, whose ground floor consisted of a master ensuite, laundry, office, library, storage, kitchen, sitting room, dining room, and bathroom.
The kitchen had a large screened sliding door, which was kept open out to the yard. Although large windows were plentiful, there was a presence of gloom about the place. The staircase faced the large wooden double-door entry and went up to three more bedrooms, two washrooms, and a large family room that faced the sea behind the house.
Aya unpacked her clothes, which included many new items that Desi had bought for her—a pink negligee, in particular. She despised the colour; nevertheless, Desi had delighted in seeing her in—and then out of—it on the last night of their honeymoon. The sex had gotten a little better and, although she was yet to orgasm, Aya was now able to actually relax some.
Once she had everything put away, she focused her attention on handling Auntie Bea, who could be tearing up the highway to strike her backside this very moment, for all she knew. What was done was done. She was married to a successful small businessman, lived in a lovely home, had no bills to pay, and would be compensated well to do Desi’s books. She would be able to settle her debts by the end of the year and start saving again. She would stay out of the way and make appearances as needed. Even better, she would have enough free time to finally work on her novel.