Chapter 11 - Naledi

# Chapter 11: Naledi

"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" I ask Mandla as he takes a left turn instead of a right. "Gogo's house is that way."

"I know where it is," Mandla says, looking over at me with that casual smile he wears so often now. Had I not witnessed it on the daily these past few months, I wouldn't have believed it possible. Though he's still plenty grumpy—which secretly turns me on—he seems happier than I've ever known him to be.

"As fun as a detour sounds right now, we can't be late to your couch burning party."

"This won't take long," he says, laughing when I shoot him an annoyed glare. At a stop street, he looks over and asks, "Do you trust me?"

"Dumb question."

"That's not an answer, sthandwa."

"Of course I trust you."

He reaches his hand across the centre console, flattening it against my thigh. "I'll get us to the party with time to spare."

Two blocks later, Mandla pulls into the driveway of a large face-brick double-storey with pillars and big windows, parking alongside a blue SUV.

"Do we know these people or something?" I ask.

He leans across the centre console, cupping my cheek before he kisses me. "Come on."

I follow him to the front porch, annoyed that he won't tell me what this is about. But before I can press him again, the front door opens. A woman about my ma's age in a pencil skirt and silk blouse answers the door.

"You made it," she says, her smile radiant.

"Naledi," Mandla says, introducing me.

"I'm Portia Dlamini."

"Not to be rude, but is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"She's our estate agent."

I snap my head to Mandla. "Since when?"