Page 6 of Double

“Stop playing, grandson.”

“Ain’t nobody playing but you. You really want me to marry this girl?”

“It’s the only way she can get her inheritance. If she’s leaving her homeland and starting over somewhere new, she’s gonna need that money,” Lynne explained.

“Is there a specific amount of time that I would need to stay married to her?”

Lynne looked stricken.

“What’s with the look on your face, Tiny?” All of the grandchildren referred to her as Tiny. She came up with that as a little tongue-in-cheek joke. Since our grandfather was “Big” Hill, she thought she should be Tiny.

“She needs U.S. citizenship. Otherwise, that crazy-ass politician could get her deported. It could be a minute.”

“I’m already working out the details, putting things in place,” Big Hill assured me.

“How long do I have to decide?”

“The wedding to the pervert motherfucka is scheduled for a week from Saturday.”

“I’ll let you know.” My phone dinged with an incoming text.

“That’s a picture of her,” Lynne told me.

I glanced at the picture. I would analyze Tinsley Campbell once I got to my truck.

3

Help at the 11th Hour. I’m Saved, but Am I?

Tinsley

It was the eve of my wedding to Sterling Gillespie. Once my aunt made us aware of her plans, and Mr. Gillespie threatened the lives of all my relatives, I sank into a deep depression. Between my aunt and my fiancé, I was under both surveillance and a twenty-four-hour suicide watch. They were smart to watch me, though, because there was no way I wouldn’t do something drastic if given the chance. I needed to get out of the situation, but I didn’t know how that would happen.

The day after my aunt’s dinner party, Sterling Gillespie made an official announcement through Parliament that he had proposed to the woman he’d been secretly seeing. That woman was me. A huge diamond ring was shoved on my finger, and I was forced into a sensible dress and paraded in front of the media.

There was often a person with me who was listed as my personal security agent. He typically held a gun to my back under the guise of guiding me while I walked. While I attended dog and pony shows to sell the idea that I was happily betrothed to Mr. Gillespie, my aunt and uncle were often secured to chairs and held at gunpoint. I was constantly reminded that if I ever acted like I was anything but in love with Mr. Gillespie, Moses and Lianna would be killed.

“Blink twice if you want me to get you out of here,” Faylise whispered as she sat on the sofa next to me.

I wanted her to shut up because, even though Gillespie’s henchmen had been asked to stay outside of the house, I was convinced that my aunt’s home was bugged. “I’m good. I’m enjoying my blessing ceremony.”

On the island of Iredia, it was customary for every bride to have a blessing ceremony. It took place on the evening before the wedding. It consisted of the women from both families getting together, fellowshipping, cooking, and sharing a meal. The groom’s mother would sometimes teach her future daughter-in-law how to prepare the groom’s favorite dishes. Gillespie had a full staff at his palatial waterfront mansion. He wouldn’t need me to cook. Instead, he and Gretchen hired a much sought-after chef from America to prepare the food for my party.

Sometimes, a blessing ceremony would evolve into a henna party, where the bride’s arms were done up in an intricate pattern. But this wasn’t a mutual marriage. I was being forced, and henna was for happy brides. I refused to incorporate henna.

Gretchen allowed me to forgo the henna, but there was no getting out of the traditional sleepover. My aunt insisted that all of the women gather at her home and be prepared to spend the night. She even let me invite Faylise so nothing would seem suspicious. I was pretty sure that the fact that my mouth was forever turned down, and my eyes were red from crying, was a dead giveaway that something suspicious was at play. I let Gretchen have her delusion, though. It seemed to be part of her personality.

The chef was in the kitchen, throwing down. It wasn’t the same chef who’d served us at my funeral. That was how I thought of Gretchen’s dinner party. It was the last day that I felt truly alive. Anyway, that one was a man. This one was a woman. It didn’t matter who cooked the food when Gretchen had given her the same menu. It was heavy on beef, chicken, and pork dishes when she knew I didn’t eat meat.

When the chef announced that dinner was ready, the guests—most of whom I didn’t know because they were related to Mr. Gillespie—moved to the dining table. Gretchen led me over with a fake smile on her face as she secretly dug her nails into my shoulders.

“The future bride should sit at the head of the table. The seat of honor,” Lianna said with a smile as fake as Gretchen’s as she intercepted me. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and led me away.

As the food was placed on the table, I looked at it with disdain. I hadn’t had much of an appetite in the month I’d been held captive at my aunt’s home. That was lucky for me because there wasn’t much on the table I could eat without getting sick.

“I heard you’re a pescatarian, baby,” the chef said in her American accent that was similar to Lianna’s. Maybe she was from the American South, too. “I’ve prepared a few special dishes just for you, my love.” She gave me a wink.

I wasn’t sure what to think, so I ignored it. I didn’t trust anybody at that table except Faylise and Lianna.