Chapter 15

RULE #14: WHEN IN DOUBT, DANCE.

Presh

I got ready too early. Maybe I was just excited or eager or something, but I've been standing outside my mother's house in a shimmery sapphire and gold floor-length gown since quarter to eight. My mother and I got our nails done together and Amahle helped me curl my hair. I don't remember the last time I got so dressed up, and I don't understand why my stomach is being assaulted by butterflies.

But when his car pulls up, the windows are too tinted to see his face. I'm a little surprised that he's driving. I thought rich businessmen were chauffeured around by big, silent men in black suits, or maybe I've been reading too many of Amahle's books.

When the door opens and he steps out, walking around the car to open mine for me, I nearly lose my breath. Musa always looks handsome, but in that blue satin suit, he looks so good it hurts my eyes. His hair is cut sharp and his beard has been trimmed to perfection.

I keep forgetting he's old enough to be my father, especially when he looks like that.

His eyes seem to linger on me as long as mine linger on him.

"Precious," he says quietly, approaching me.

"Hi," I stammer awkwardly.

"You look… so beautiful."

There's something about his tone, the way he trips over his words and adds that so in there, as if saying I simply look beautiful isn't enough. It tells me he's not just handing out compliments to be polite. He looks almost shaken as his eyes move over me.

"Thank you," I mumble.

Then his gaze goes up to my house and back to me.