Imani strolled into the living room with a fashionable, sleek black dress hugging her curves like second skin. It's trimmed in red—the same red that colors the bottom of her heels and accents her hair. She was stunning, and judging from the smirk on her face when she caught her reflection in a passing glass, she knew it.

She was a bit late greeting her guests, having needed to change her original outfit because her husband chose to wear red to spite her. Petty, but that's their relationship.

Imani narrowed her eyes for a second before shoulder-checking him roughly as she brushed past, not breaking her stride. She didn't need to look back to see him attempt to hide his glare behind a facade of civility. His annoyed huff was more than enough to keep her satisfied.

"Mother! Mother!" A smaller voice called out—her son Devon. "Come watch us play!"

Imani turned toward the corner where Devon was playing a poor imitation of basketball with his best friends, Dominique and Aston. They had a small rubber ball and were bouncing it against a wired trash can propped up on a chair. "Why? Had we not just ordered a court to be built in the backyard already?" she wondered, noticing they were playing near open food.

Imani opened her mouth to gently chide the boys until she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a deep, friendly chuckle.

The Albercht Brothers, longtime friends of the Howards. Vincent, the older and more friendly of the two, gave her a charming grin. "Don't worry about les petits, Imani! Kids will be kids, non?"

Sébastien nodded in agreement, already looking a bit exhausted. "It's better they wear themselves out now than later on."

"Ah, true, I suppose you two would know much better than others, huh?" Imani laughed, greeting them with air kisses on the cheek.

Her eyes drifted down to the tiny bundle cradled in Vincent's arms. "Wow, haha. Was three not enough for you, Vince?"

Vincent chuckled proudly, looking down at the baby adoringly. "Ah, ce p'tit bout decided to join us not long ago. A little early, but he just couldn't wait to meet his daddy, hehe."

And then came the spit-up.

While Vincent rushed off for towels, Sébastien continued the conversation. "Yeah, Noah came a bit earlier than expected. We were thinking of taking all the little ones to the ski lodge, but with Noah now here, we may take a trip to France for Valentine's Day so he can meet his grandparents."

"Ah! How fun. Well, I hope a safe flight for you and your families."

Mark joined her side as the food was prepared, holding Devon on his hip—the boy already tuckered out from playing. Or perhaps it was just Mark's clever attempt to avoid touching Imani.

"And what do you two have planned," Sébastien asked.

Mark and Imani shared a look. They had plans, but not with each other.

"I have a diplomatic meeting scheduled in Turkey," Mark said smoothly, avoiding any mention of who he would be meeting there.

"And I have a photo shoot," Imani added, even as her mind drifted to thoughts of her upcoming date with you. "But what's more important right now is this meal together, no?"

---

The Albrechts had long since retired to their own homes by nightfall.

Mark lounged on a couch, papers in hand as he worked on his election campaign. He barely glanced up as Imani moved around the kitchen.

"Devon?"

"With his nanny," Imani muttered back as she grabbed her keys and headed toward the coat closet. "I'm going out. I want coffee."

Mark snorted, knowing that wasn't all she was doing. "Fine. Don't forget to pick up some chocolates for Devon's Valentine's thing at school tomorrow while you're with her."

Imani gawked, eyes narrowing. "Tomorrow?! What the fuck do you mean it's tomorrow? Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"

"Why didn't I—oh please. I told you last week!" Mark scowled. "And you know I have a calendar for Devon's schedule on the fridge. It's your job to keep yourself informed on your own son!"

Imani scoffed. She knew she should probably just agree to get the damn chocolates instead of starting an argument, but when had either of them ever taken the mature option?

"Oh, don't even try to put this on me, you bastard. I was in Dubai then, and you know damn well my career keeps me busy year-round. God, half the stores are probably closed by now!"

"Well, next time maybe focus more on improving your memory than stickin' your tongue down her throat."

Imani stared at him for a long moment. "Right." She gave a low, mocking laugh before snatching the glass from his hand. "Fucking prick."

Some of the bourbon splattered onto the coffee table, staining his papers, before she threw the rest in his face.

"Damn it, Imani!" Mark yelped, springing up to save his documents. But she was already out the door.

"Oh, that motherfucker—" Imani yanked open her cherry red Porsche door and slid behind the wheel. She fumbled for her lighter in the dark, finding a cigarette soon after.

click. click.

"Come on... come on..."

The end finally sparked, and she took a long, deep drag. It helped—but not fast enough. Her fingers curled around her phone, scrolling through contacts until she found your name.

"Hey you," Imani grunted as soon as you answered. She felt a bit bad about sounding so rude and calling so late, but just hearing your voice made the tension in her shoulders ease.

"Where are you right now?" Imani demanded, pulling her seat belt on and starting the car. "And don't worry about anything. You know I'm paying... just meet me at The Resort, and be ready to go shopping. I need you there. Now." She jerked the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway.