*Delores Amelia Brown*

Cupping my hands under the faucet, I splashed water on my face in an attempt to rinse off the last bits of my makeup.

The 2023 maiden edition of the Afrochella Fashion Show had just come to a successful end, and honestly, I was happy to have been a part of it.

Though the invite was too sudden, playing a role in this event opened my eyes to a new area of capabilities I wasn't even aware I had. Yeah, I'd done a few pageantries when I was a kid, but none of them could compare to this.

Strolling down the runway in the most daring outfit in Richael's collection gave me a sense of exhilaration and accomplishment. It was like I was on top of the world, and receiving all the cheers from the crowd just made everything a hundred times better. But the highlight for me tonight was seeing that stunned expression on Kwame's face.

I closed the tap, remembering that moment on stage. Frankly, I was minutes away from bursting with laughter, but since that would be considered inappropriate on the runway, I managed to keep it down with a simple smile. I knew he wasn't expecting me to pop up on the runway, but I also wasn't expecting him to react that way. Kwame always seemed like the kind if guy who had everything sorted out. Nothing could surprise him. Seeing him with that expression tonight was very priceless to me.

A knock came rattling through the door.

"Hey Delores, are you done?" Dayton asked from the other side.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Grabbing my towel, I wiped off the little drops of water on my face. I'd already switched into the clothes I was wearing before the show and undone the braided crown the headpiece sat in. Pulling my hair into a quick ponytail, I gathered up the rest of my belongings and opened the bathroom door.

"There's my super model!" Dayton cheered. "You were amazing out there, a hundred times better than when we rehearsed."

"Thanks D." I grinned. "I'm just glad I was able to pull this off. Before I came up, I was literally drowning in anxiety."

Dayton laughed, "Really? From the photos I took, you could hardly tell. Here look." She pulled out her camera. "This one right here is one of the best."

Taking the camera, I honestly couldn't believe that was me. I had seen myself in a mirror before going upstage, but that I'm age couldn't compare to this one. The angle Dayton took the photo from had given it extra depth and a soft touch to my features. The gown also looked exceptional, like it was made specifically for me.

"A couple of magazine editors were at the show," Dayton told me. "They promised to feature every single one of Richael's outfits in their next issue."

"That's right!" An elated Richael hopped into the dressing room. "And that's why we're going out to celebrate! C'mon! I know a great restaurant nearby with a sick wine list."

¤¤¤¤¤

With a flick of Arturo's wrist, a resounding pop filled the air followed by a chorus of cheers and applause from our table.

All six of us were currently seated in The Southern Feast—a popular restaurant known for its superb take on local dishes and beverages. Though it was a full house upon our arrival, Richael managed to get us a table since she was friends with the owner.

The moment Dayton informed the guys we that were going out to celebrate, they stopped whatever they were doing to meet us at the restaurant. So here I was, seated next to Dayton as Kwame lifted his now filled wine glass.

"I propose a toast," he started. "As we celebrate the victory that was today's fashion show, we look forward to greater success stories for our designer, Richael..."

She lifted her glass, beaming.

"And to our photojournalist and future model in the making, Delores," He turned to me, looking so deep into my eyes that it made my heart beat faster. "You were amazing out there."

Trying to surpress a blush, I replied, "Thanks."

"Cheers to greatness." Dayton added on.

"Cheers to greatness!" We all yelled and began to clink glasses.

After touching Dayton's glass with mine, I turned to find Kwame reaching out. Our glasses met with a soft clink, and I quickly brought the drink to my lips in an attempt to ignore his proximity effect on me.

Drinking the wine turned out to be a very good distraction. The pleasant tartness of the crimson liquid took my tastebuds on a joyous rollercoaster ride, leaving the feel of shimmering bubbles on my tongue.

"Mmm," I took another sip. "This is some very good wine."

"Of course." Arturo gave me a top up. "You can never go wrong by celebrating with a classic bottle of ninety-eight Chardonnay due Blanc de Rothchild."

"I told you this place had a great wine list." Richael smiled.

Basking in the unique flavour of the wine, we picked up our menus to order some dinner. While the others chose to go for continental meals with a blend of local ingredients, Kwame and I chose to go completely local by ordering a big bowl of fufu and light soup.

The size of the meal overwhelmed me in the beginning. But after taking the first three morsels, I honestly found myself enjoying it so much that I began thinking of writing an article on Ghanaian cuisine. There was so much to write about and I wondered if I could actually pull it off alongside writing my main piece on Afrochella.

It was a few minutes after ten when the last traces of dessert, a tiger nut milk pudding, were consumed. Not long after, a live band took center stage, filling the whole atmosphere with irresistible hiplife music.

Pair by pair, the number of people at our table began to dwindle. First was Dayton and Arturo, then Richael and Trevor hit the dance floor, leaving me and Kwame to our raging thoughts.

I was about to pour myself another drink when Kwame suddenly snatched the bottle of wine from me. "Hey!"

"I think you've had enough for one night." He pushed the cork back in place.

"Are you kidding? I've only had four glasses."

"And based on the alcohol content, that's enough to get a teenager drunk," he chuckled. "How about we hit the dance floor instead?"

I eyed his outstretched hand. "No thanks. I'm not a good dancer." I wasn't that bad at it, I just didn't want to dance with him.

But Kwame wouldn't let that happen. His hand latched onto mine in a firm grasp. "Well, why don't we change that, then?"

"Whoa, wait, Kwa-" 

He dragged me to the dance floor. When he found us a good spot, he took my other arm and began to sway us to the music.

The whole thing looked silly in my eyes, like a couple of kids at a party, holding hands and dancing. But for some reason, it made me feel lighthearted, at peace and comfortable. I was comfortable around him, too comfortable and it bothered me.

"Ok, let's go in for a twirl!" He let go off one arm and raised the other so I could spin under his gaze. It was a slow move, but as the music's tempo began to rise, so did our movements. They were smoother and in sync with the beats. I could feel my own dance moves settling into the picture and it made me laugh when Kwame tried copying a couple of them.

Too soon, a gentle shift in melody occured signalling the transition to a mellow tune. For a minute, I felt lost, not knowing whether to quit dancing and to return to the table. But Kwame already had an answer.

Taking my hands, he gently placed them on his shoulders, then wrapped his arms round my waist and pulled me closer.

My lips cracked into a grin. "Was getting this close part of your plan?"

"Kinda, yeah." He smiled. Without missing a beat, he adjusted our movements, allowing the new rhythm to guide us. "I sort of got the feeling that you didn't want to dance with me."

My head shot up, and I immediately felt bad. "It's not that, it's just... the last person I danced with like this was Cas... during our third and final anniversary."

"Oh." Concern touched Kwame's features. "If...if you don't mind my asking, what exactly happened between you two?"

I bit my lip and avoided his gaze, knowing that answering that question meant revealing my diagnosis, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that. 

However, Kwame, again, had somehow picked up on my reluctance and looked at me with concern. "Whatever happened, you can tell me, Delores. I swear, I won't judge."

His genuine tone broke through the last of my resolve, and I drew in a shaky breath. "His cheating started after I was diagnosed with POI—Primary Ovarian Insufficiency. It’s a condition where a woman’s ovaries stop functioning properly before the age of 40. It meant I couldn’t have children, and Cas couldn’t handle it.”

Kwame’s eyes softened with understanding, and he held me a bit closer.

“At first, he seemed supportive,” I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. “He went to the doctor’s appointments with me, helped research treatment options, and promised we’d find a way to deal with it together. But as time went on, he became more distant. He started staying out late, coming up with excuses for why he couldn't make it home for dinner. I thought it was just stress from work... until I found out he was seeing someone else.”

Kwame’s grip on my waist tightened protectively, and I took a deep breath before continuing. “I confronted him about it, and he didn’t even try to deny it. He said he needed a ‘real’ family, one that included children, and he didn’t see that with me anymore. It broke me. I felt like I was the problem, like I was less of a woman because I couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

Even though he'd brought us to a standstill on the dance floor, Kwame’s hand moved to my back, gently rubbing in slow, comforting circles. “Delores, that’s not your fault.”

“But it felt like it was," I whispered, feeling a lump form in my throat. "And I couldn't do anything to change his mind. So he left. The last time I saw him was in the courtroom, signing our divorce papers. He looked relieved... and I felt... empty.”

Amidst the slow dancing crowd, we stood still in each others arms. Part of me felt that I'd picked the wrong time to offload this story on him, but Kwame's next utterance made me take back that thought.

"It's a good thing he cheated on you."

The statement had me pulling back. "Excuse me?"

"Think about Delores." Kwame watched me with a stern look. "Cas never loved you. If he did, he would have found a way to make things work no matter how long it took. Instead he used your diagnosis as a yardstick to have an affair with someone else. That's just plain bullshit. If you love someone, you do whatever it takes to always be by their side, no matter the cost."

For some strange reason, in the dimly lit ambiance of the restaurant, time seemed to slow down. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving just me and the man standing right in front of me. With those last words, he'd opened my eyes to an aspect of love I didn't even know existed.

Is that the kind of love he wants to offer me? I quizzed in my head though no answer came.

But I could see it in his eyes, the soft mixture of excitement, tenderness and affection. All of it was right within this man. It sucked me in, drawing us closer to a meeting of lips... until we were rudely shoved to the side.

"Hey!" Kwame snapped.

"Whoops!" A drunk Pedra stumbled to the side, bumping into the arms of Orell. "Sorry," she laughed.

"Yeah," Orell snickered. "Sorry to cock-block you."

The two of them burst into another hearty laugh.

Lips curving in disapproval, I pulled out of Kwame's arms.

"Hey, where are you off to?"

"I need a drink." I tossed the response over my shoulder as I moved away.

******