Tropical Fantasy. Monica McKayhanЧитать онлайн книгу.
as if Charlotte’s hopes and dreams for her daughter were lost. She’d wanted Sasha to do something more meaningful—such as being her first daughter to marry, becoming a homemaker, and giving her some grandchildren. Those were Sasha’s duties as a daughter. Women didn’t pursue such careers. They married men who pursued those careers.
Sasha had been unable to completely please her mother. It seemed that while she couldn’t do anything right, Bridget was the one who favored her mother. She would be the first to marry, she’d be the perfect homemaker, and she’d give their mother beautiful grandchildren. Bridget had gone to college, but instead of pursuing a career in her field of accounting, she’d opened a little boutique—sold items on consignment, which barely took care of the overhead. But that was fine, because she’d managed to snag a great husband in the process. And she showed up for Sunday dinners.
After kissing her mother’s cheek, she caught up with Bridget and the rest of the bridal party. They were already climbing into the back of a black SUV when Sasha took the front passenger’s seat and secured her seat belt. The SUV made its way out of the resort’s circular drive and down the hill. As they drove down Bay Street, Sasha noticed the straw market and made a mental note to stop there on the way back. She loved the shops and fraternizing with the Bahamian women who peddled their handmade souvenirs. She loved the Bahamas.
They took a water taxi to the spa on Paradise Island, where they were greeted with glasses of wine and fresh fruit. With an herbal-scented green mask on her face, Sasha relaxed while a young Bahamian woman rubbed her feet with hot oils and another manicured her nails. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. It had been months since she’d enjoyed a manicure and pedicure. Bridget sat in the leather chair next to hers.
“Thank you for coming, Sash. It really means the world to me that you’re here,” said Bridget.
“Glad I could be here for you,” said Sasha.
“I know that it’s not the most convenient time for you, but I appreciate the sacrifice that you made.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Sasha, closing her eyes again.
“I love you, Sasquatch,” said Bridget, using her pet name for Sasha that had stuck through the years.
They’d been close once—inseparable even. That was long before Kevin had shattered Sasha’s heart, and before she’d buried herself in her work to escape the pain. Her sister had been her best friend and confidante, but all that changed when Sasha decided to shut everyone out of her life and to make her career a priority. Nothing else mattered except passing the bar. And once she’d accomplished that, her journey from intern to junior associate was inevitable. It wasn’t long before she’d snagged a senior associate position, and in just six years, she was already being considered for partner.
Sasha hadn’t been on vacation in three years. There was never time. She barely made time for hair appointments, manicures or pedicures. More often than not, she’d stop by Ray’s in the City—one of her favorite restaurants—for takeout on her way home. She’d grab a bottle of wine and eat dinner alone in her large kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors, law books scattered about in front of her. She had a knack for cooking—was an undercover chef. Had law school not worked out, she’d have gone to culinary school, she often thought. She was a great cook. Yet, her evenings had been reduced to expensive takeout and a bottle of Chardonnay to wash it all down.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Sasquatch,” Sasha told her sister. “I’m not a big, hairy Bigfoot-looking thing.”
Sasha was far from big. With her petite frame, medium-brown complexion and short bob haircut, she often turned heads when she walked through downtown Atlanta wearing one of her tailored suits and her designer heels.
“I think it’s a cute nickname,” Bridget said with a giggle. “You’re too uptight, Sasha. You need a man.”
Sasha was tired of people telling her what she needed. Just a few hours earlier she’d had a confrontation with Vince, and then had to deal with her mother, who always told her she needed to spend more time with the family, needed to show up for more Sunday dinners. And now her sister was swearing that she needed a man, which, in her opinion, was the last thing that she needed. Men always complicated things, got in the way. What she needed was that corner office with the view of the city.
“Have you sworn off men forever, Sash?”
“No, not forever. Just for right now,” said Sasha.
“You think you might get married someday?” Bridget asked, out of the blue. “Are you ever going to forget about what Kevin did and settle down with someone new?”
“I don’t know, Bridge. I’m really married to my career right now. And I like it that way.”
“Your career can’t keep you warm at night, or take you on romantic walks through Piedmont Park,” said Bridget. “And what about sex? When was the last time you...?”
“Bridget, please!” Sasha eyeballed the Bahamian woman who was massaging her feet and wondered if she was eavesdropping. The woman smiled as if she was waiting for Sasha’s response to her sister’s inappropriate question.
“I’m just asking. I mean, there are probably cobwebs in there. And everybody needs a little maintenance every now and then,” Bridget told her.
“See, this is exactly why you and I don’t have these types of conversations.”
“I’m sorry, Sash. I’m just teasing.” Bridget smiled, then said, “But seriously, don’t you want to get married and have some babies one day?”
“One day...yes.”
“I know you don’t like to be set up, Sasha, but I was thinking...”
“Oh, here we go,” Sasha groaned.
She knew that her sister was probably about to fix her up with Vince, which is why she’d sent him to the airport instead of coming herself. She’d wanted the two of them to hit it off. And Sasha could understand why—Vince was gorgeous. As a matter of fact, he’d danced around in her thoughts since the moment she’d left the resort. But she didn’t appreciate being set up, and she was tired of people thinking that it was okay. She was fine being single.
“Paul,” said Bridget. “He’s one of Derrick’s groomsmen. He’s the fair-skinned one. Not very tall, but he’s such a sweetheart, Sash.”
Such a sweetheart. Interpretation: “He’s not very attractive.”
“When I found out that he was a judge in DeKalb County, I knew the two of you would hit it off—seeing as though you’re in the same line of work and all. I can’t wait to introduce you to him. I told him all about you.”
“What? No more matchmaking, Bridget.”
“He graduated from Harvard...cum laude.”
“That’s nice,” Sasha said sarcastically.
“And he’s single,” Bridget urged, “drives a Maserati. Can you believe that? How many black men you know are driving around the city of Atlanta in a Maserati?”
“Not very many.”
Sasha was ready for the conversation about Paul to be over. She’d seen Paul once or twice and hadn’t found him the least bit interesting. He was the type her mother would choose for her. No matter what he did for a living or what type of car he drove, he definitely wasn’t her type. Although she hated to admit it, the truth was she was more interested in knowing more about Vince.
“So how long has Derrick known Vince?” Sasha asked, trying not to appear to be interested.
“Girl, all his life. They grew up together. Same high school...same college,” said Bridget, “but Paul he hasn’t known very long. A couple of years maybe.”
“He seems a little arrogant,” Sasha said. “Vince, I mean.”
“He