kid-friendly appetizers before racing back downstairs to their decked-out playroom.
A giant flatscreen television mounted on the wall was tuned to Mason Wolf’s football game, which the men were attending today at the Georgia Dome. The women passively watched the game between socializing and keeping an eye on the frolicking children. Every now and then, Prissy would let out a cheer or a cry of dismay depending on what her son was doing on the field. And then everyone would stop and watch the action until they got distracted again.
At the refreshment table, Carlene was chatting animatedly with Winnie Kirkland. The two women, who worked for the same government agency, were gossiping about the scandalous ousting of a top administrator.
On the other side of the room, Asha and Georgina stood by the fireplace talking and laughing. Tall and stunningly beautiful, Asha looked flawless as ever in a black sheath trimmed with white lace. The stylish dress was complemented by a pair of killer black stilettos, the latest from her signature shoe collection. Her black hair was arranged in a complicated but graceful topknot that accentuated the elegant column of her neck.
Just standing there sipping from a glass of wine, she had the kind of presence that commanded attention. It was easy to envision her strutting down a runway to a frenzy of flashing camera bulbs, or striding into her Manhattan boardroom and taking over.
Asha Dubois was a badass bitch, and everyone knew it. Including Celeste, whose resentful gaze had been following Asha everywhere around the room.
Lexi observed all this from where she sat on the sofa feeding Junior. Seated beside her, Samara fed her daughter a spoonful of minced chicken, chuckling when the baby made an appreciative sound and did a little wiggling dance on her lap.
Lexi grinned. “I see Milan enjoys her food as much as Junior.”
Samara laughed. “Girl, yes. You know this child can eat,” she said, wiping the corner of her daughter’s mouth. The fourteen-month-old had satiny brown skin, a pink bow of a mouth and almond-shaped dark eyes that gave her small face the same exotic look that her mother and grandmother had.
Junior had been sucking vigorously from his bottle of milk. Suddenly he paused, his mouth going slack around the nipple as he stared fixedly at Milan. When he grinned at her, the two mothers laughed.
“Look at Junior flirting with his future wife,” Samara teased.
“I know,” Lexi said. “He’s already staking his claim.”
“That’s right.” Samara grinned. “Marcus and Quentin are lawyers. Let’s have them draw up a betrothal contract so we can make it official.”
They both laughed.
When Junior finished his bottle, Lexi lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back until he let out a satisfied burp. “By the way,” she said to Samara, “I heard the twins speaking Igbo to each other earlier. They’re really picking it up, aren’t they?”
“They are,” Samara confirmed, sounding pleased. “You know Mrs. Akonye has been teaching them since they were little. Just like she taught Michael and Marcus when she used to babysit them.”
Lexi smiled. “I remember how impressed Shokare was back in college when he found out that Michael speaks Igbo.” She was referring to Shokare Bello, an old college friend from Nigeria.
Samara smiled. “Mama Wolf says it’s only natural that they learn Igbo since the family’s ancestry traces back to Nigeria,” she explained, feeding the last spoonful of chicken to Milan. “While I tend to struggle with different dialects, the twins take after Marcus, who’s always been very good at languages. When he went to South Africa during college to study under Nelson Mandela, he learned Xhosa in no time.”
“I remember that,” Lexi reminisced, smiling fondly. “That trip was all Marcus could talk about for months after he came back. Every time I went over to their house, Marcus would inevitably bring up something about
A giant flatscreen television mounted on the wall was tuned to Mason Wolf’s football game, which the men were attending today at the Georgia Dome. The women passively watched the game between socializing and keeping an eye on the frolicking children. Every now and then, Prissy would let out a cheer or a cry of dismay depending on what her son was doing on the field. And then everyone would stop and watch the action until they got distracted again.
At the refreshment table, Carlene was chatting animatedly with Winnie Kirkland. The two women, who worked for the same government agency, were gossiping about the scandalous ousting of a top administrator.
On the other side of the room, Asha and Georgina stood by the fireplace talking and laughing. Tall and stunningly beautiful, Asha looked flawless as ever in a black sheath trimmed with white lace. The stylish dress was complemented by a pair of killer black stilettos, the latest from her signature shoe collection. Her black hair was arranged in a complicated but graceful topknot that accentuated the elegant column of her neck.
Just standing there sipping from a glass of wine, she had the kind of presence that commanded attention. It was easy to envision her strutting down a runway to a frenzy of flashing camera bulbs, or striding into her Manhattan boardroom and taking over.
Asha Dubois was a badass bitch, and everyone knew it. Including Celeste, whose resentful gaze had been following Asha everywhere around the room.
Lexi observed all this from where she sat on the sofa feeding Junior. Seated beside her, Samara fed her daughter a spoonful of minced chicken, chuckling when the baby made an appreciative sound and did a little wiggling dance on her lap.
Lexi grinned. “I see Milan enjoys her food as much as Junior.”
Samara laughed. “Girl, yes. You know this child can eat,” she said, wiping the corner of her daughter’s mouth. The fourteen-month-old had satiny brown skin, a pink bow of a mouth and almond-shaped dark eyes that gave her small face the same exotic look that her mother and grandmother had.
Junior had been sucking vigorously from his bottle of milk. Suddenly he paused, his mouth going slack around the nipple as he stared fixedly at Milan. When he grinned at her, the two mothers laughed.
“Look at Junior flirting with his future wife,” Samara teased.
“I know,” Lexi said. “He’s already staking his claim.”
“That’s right.” Samara grinned. “Marcus and Quentin are lawyers. Let’s have them draw up a betrothal contract so we can make it official.”
They both laughed.
When Junior finished his bottle, Lexi lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back until he let out a satisfied burp. “By the way,” she said to Samara, “I heard the twins speaking Igbo to each other earlier. They’re really picking it up, aren’t they?”
“They are,” Samara confirmed, sounding pleased. “You know Mrs. Akonye has been teaching them since they were little. Just like she taught Michael and Marcus when she used to babysit them.”
Lexi smiled. “I remember how impressed Shokare was back in college when he found out that Michael speaks Igbo.” She was referring to Shokare Bello, an old college friend from Nigeria.
Samara smiled. “Mama Wolf says it’s only natural that they learn Igbo since the family’s ancestry traces back to Nigeria,” she explained, feeding the last spoonful of chicken to Milan. “While I tend to struggle with different dialects, the twins take after Marcus, who’s always been very good at languages. When he went to South Africa during college to study under Nelson Mandela, he learned Xhosa in no time.”
“I remember that,” Lexi reminisced, smiling fondly. “That trip was all Marcus could talk about for months after he came back. Every time I went over to their house, Marcus would inevitably bring up something about
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