Page 13 of The Black Wife Blessing

The sincerity in his voice chips away at my defenses. Here's this gorgeous, successful man offering me everything I've worked for on a silver platter. The rational part of my brain screams that it's too good to be true. The ambitious part sees endless possibilities.

"And you'd really help with the business?" I hate how small my voice sounds.

"Whatever you need. Capital, connections, equipment." He leans back. "Think of it as an investment in both our futures."

I wrap my arms around myself, weighing options. A year of pretending versus potentially a lifetime of struggling to make it on my own. The choice should be obvious. But after Benjamin...

"This could change everything," I whisper, half to myself. My catering business could become the restaurant I've always dreamed of. No more maxed-out credit cards or sleepless nights wondering how to make rent.

But what if I'm making another massive mistake? Trading one form of dependency for another?

Henry's voice breaks through my spiral. "Hey." His tone is gentle. "You don't have to decide right now. Sleep on it."

I nod, grateful for the out. "Yeah. I should probably do that."

10

HENRY

The sharp clink of sterling silver against bone china echoes through Mother's dining room as she sets down her fork. Here we go. I've managed to dodge her interrogation through the first course, but the determined gleam in her eye tells me my reprieve is over.

"Henry, darling." She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "You still haven't told me how you met this... Monica."

I take a slow sip of wine, buying time to recall the story Monica and I crafted. "We met at her restaurant. She's an incredible chef."

"A chef?" Mother's perfectly shaped eyebrows arch. "I wasn't aware you frequented establishments below Michelin star status."

"Her food is exceptional. One bite of her signature dish and I knew I had to meet the genius behind it." The lie flows easily. "When I saw her, it was..." I trail off, letting Mother fill in the blanks with whatever romantic notion she prefers. There's no way she can know that I actually met Monica the very same night I announced she was my fiancée. No fucking way.

"And you never thought to mention her before now?"

"We wanted privacy. To make sure what we had was real before going public."

Mother's lips purse. "How convenient. And her family? What do they do?"

"She's self-made, Mother. Worked her way up through some of the best kitchens in the city." I lean back, crossing my arms. "That's what attracted me to her - her drive, her passion."

"I see." Her tone suggests she doesn't see at all. "And this whirlwind engagement? Surely you understand my concern, Henry. The Blackwood name carries certain expectations."

"I know what I want." I fix her with a steady gaze. "Monica is brilliant, talented, and makes me happier than I've been in years. Isn't that what you've always wanted for me?"

"Of course, darling." She reaches for her wine glass. "But you must admit, this is all rather sudden. I had to hear about my only son's engagement at Leo's birthday party, of all places."

"Well, that wasn't intentional. You came looking for me. Things just happened quickly and we went with the flow. Nothing wrong with that."

"And when do I get to formally meet this woman who's stolen my son's heart?"

"Soon." I force a smile. "We're both just incredibly busy right now with the restaurant and my work."

"Nonsense. I'm hosting a dinner party next weekend. You'll both attend." It's not a request. I can hear it in her tone.

"I'll talk to Monica." I flash a practiced smile, one I've perfected over years of these dinners. "I'm sure we can make it work."

Mother brightens, her shoulders relaxing as she leans forward. "Wonderful. It'll be the perfect opportunity to introduce her to everyone. The Vandermilts will be there, and the Astors. Oh, and Margaret Rothschild - you remember her, don't you? She's been dying to meet your fiancée."

"Christ, Mother." I grip my wine glass tighter. "Seems like all of Manhattan knows about the engagement already."

"Well..." She waves her hand dismissively, a gesture that's driven me crazy since childhood. "You know how these things go. One mentions it at lunch, another at bridge club..."

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