💃A man worth knowing🤔🤔

💋Chapter Nine💋

Chaos. Controlled chaos.
That was the only description that
fit the scene backstage at the dance
studio the night of the fashion show.
Models ran around in their
underwear, clutching Styrofoam cups
of coffee. Andrew Morena trailed
after them in full Miss Morena mode,
complete with a tiara he’d acquired
for the occasion. With a clipboard,
pen and a spritz bottle of his
homemade concoction of witch-hazel
and mineral water, he was playing
the role to the hilt.
‘Come on girls!’ he trilled. ‘We
have to get you dressed and
looking fabulous.’
Spritz! Spritz! His flustered face
glowed with moisture. ‘I need a
drink, an aspirin,’ he complained to
Mandi. ‘I’m having a nervous
breakdown here!’
She smiled. ‘As long as I’m
invited.’
‘So not funny.’
She had to admit the studio was a
cacophony of noise. It didn’t help
that the Isiduko musicians were
rehearsing a medley of tunes nearby;
Cole was running through a final
sound check for the night’s event.
Andrew had taken one look at Cole
and fallen in love: it looked like Nombi
had some competition for the
American dancer’s attention. Not
that Andrew stood a chance.
Somewhere at the front of the
studio, she knew Linda was
frantically putting together gift bags
for all Midnight Rose’s VIP guests
and co-ordinating the guest list. Two
discreet security guards had been
hired to make sure everything went
smoothly. Nothing had been left to
chance.
Dressed in faded blue jeans and
white T-shirt, Mandi was at the
centre of the storm. She was
frazzled, stressed, excited, nauseous
– but it was all coming together.
The outfits had arrived from the
factory the night before; she’d had
spent the morning in fittings with the
models. The afternoon had been
spent in rehearsals, as well as going
over last minute checkpoints.
That morning, a huge bouquet of red
roses had arrived with a note from
Themba. This time, she told herself,
everything would work out. Even
now, she wore the pewter rose
bracelet. Her good luck charm.
She went to find her sister. In a
chair at the nearby make-up table,
Nombi was having her hair done. For
once, she’d proved to be utterly
unselfish. She’d offered to pay for
the make-up and hair stylists for the
day. Mandi was touched by the
gesture.
‘I wonder if Cole has remembered
to keep a single spot on the poet at
the start,’ Mandi fretted. ‘Tonight
has to go off without a hitch!’
‘Stop worrying!’ Nombi said, as a
stylist covered her hair in a cloud of
hairspray. ‘You’ve practically
chewed your Styrofoam cup in
half.’
Mandi looked at the crumpled cup in
her hand. ‘That reminds me,’ she
said. ‘I need more coffee.’
‘You need to chill, sisi,’ Nombi
said. ‘The show’s going to be
fabulous. I’m here. How could it not
be?’
Mandi pulled a face. ‘You’re such
a diva, Nombi.’ She paused. ‘Thank
you for all your help. Youhave no idea how much this means to
me.’
There was a silent moment of emotion
between the two sisters.
‘Uncle Jakes would be so proud of
you, Mandi.’
‘I hope so.’ She leaned over,
touched her sister’s hand. ‘All I
ever wanted was to make a success
out of the legacy he left us.’
The hairdresser moved on to the next
model and, for a moment, the sisters
were alone.
‘I know he’d be proud of you,’
Nombi insisted. ‘After Mom and Dad
died, he really was like a father to
us.’
‘That’s true,’ Mandi agreed.
‘Even if he was a bit too strict.’
‘There’s something I need to tell
you.’ Nombi moved restlessly in her
chair. ‘You remember
when you went to Durban with the
fashion college?’
‘Mandi! ’ A voice behind them cut
off the conversation. ‘We have a
full-scale disaster on our hands.A
nightmare!’
Mandi whirled around to face
Andrew, spritzing like mad at his
face. He was practically dripping
witch-hazel and mineral water.
‘What is it, Miss Morena?’
‘One of the models has cancelled.’
‘Oh, God, no!’
‘Food poisoning,’ Andrew
explained. ‘Or a sudden attack of
bulimia. Who can be sure?’
Mandi felt the start of an anxiety
attack. Andrew held his temples with
his long finger. ‘We can work
around her other outfits, but the end
result is we don’t have anyone to
model the wedding dress at the end
of the show.’
Mandi groaned. She and Andrew had
planned to end the event with a
show-stopping wedding gown. It was
a stunning creation. It combined a
traditional Xhosa headdress in ivory
with a gown in a long shweshwe cut,
in ivory and lime.
‘Who are we going to find on such
short notice?’ she blurted.
Nombi and Andrew exchanged a long,
meaningful look, then looked across
at her. ‘Not me,’ Mandi snapped.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
At that moment, a breathless Linda
appeared at the make-up table.
‘The guest list is all sorted,’ she
said. ‘We’re ready for a barrage
of VIPs.’
Nombi shot Linda a look. ‘Tell Mandi
she has to wear the wedding dress in
the finale.’
Before she could protest further,
Andrew rapped his pen against his
Perspex clipboard. ‘No
arguments,’ he snapped. ‘You
simplyhave to do it. Or I will don
that wedding frock and really cause
a sensation!’
She had no choice, she realised. No
doubt Andrew would live up to the
dare. She threw her hands up in
surrender.
‘Then it’s decided,’ Nombi said,
retouching her lipstick.
Mandi threw them all a dark look.
‘You don’t
have to look so damn smug about
it!’
In the next half hour, Mandi ran
around, dealing with last minute
crises.
A zip on a skirt broke. ‘Get me a
needle and thread!’ The heel of a
suede stiletto snapped and the
replacement pair didn’t fit the
model. ‘You’ll have to go
barefoot!’
A few minutes before the show,
Mandi stood in a curtained cubicle
backstage. She helped a model into a
gold sheath dress, zipping her up.
‘I think you’re ready!’ She
fastened a gold-and-black beaded
necklace around the girl’s neck.
‘Don’t forget this!’ She handed
over a snake-print clutch bag. ‘Go
knock ’em dead!’
She pushed the girl out the cubicle.
Taking a few minutes to catch her
breath, she pushed aside the filmy
black curtain and stepped out.
Straight into a male chest of solid
muscle. She smelled his cool, clean
aftershave before she even looked up
into dark eyes. ‘You came!’
As usual, he looked fabulous in a
black suit and an equally black shirt,
unbuttoned at his powerful throat.
Themba held her shoulders in a firm
grip, the heat from his long fingers
seeping into her veins.
‘I came straight from the airport,’
he said. ‘My mother’s out front.
She sends her best wishes.’
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’
‘Did you get my roses?’
‘They’re lovely.’
He said, ‘I have something else for
you.’
‘What?’
‘This.’ Slowly, Themba pushed her
back into the empty cubicle, swishing
the curtain closed behind him.
Mandi squeaked in protest. ‘What
do you think you’re doing?’
‘I want a moment alone with you,’
he murmured huskily. ‘Privately.’
Her heart knocked in her throat;
every nerve ending in her exhausted
body exploded with adrenalin.
‘I have a show to put on. I can’t
be playing hide-and-go seek in here
with you.’
Themba silenced her by dragging her
against his hard, muscular thighs, his
mouth swooping down to claim her
lips. His kiss was hard, hot and
demanding. She couldn’t resist the
rough twist of his lips.
Yielding, she sighed and opened her
mouth to him. Her arms circled his
whiplash waist as, instinctively, she
pulled him closer to her body. She’d
never felt something as intense, as
explosive, as all-consuming as his
kiss. His tongue slipped into her hot,
sweet mouth, probing, testing,
teasing her. Until she was breathless
and clinging tighter to his body.
Breaking the kiss, she panted,
‘Someone might see us.’
‘Don’t care,’ he muttered, his
warm, sensual lips finding her neck,
leading a trail of kisses from her
collarbone to the back of her ear; it
was like being stroked by a hot
feather.
‘That feels unbelievable ,’ she
groaned. ‘Don’t stop.’
A dark chuckle burst from his throat.
‘You don’t care if anyone walks in
now?’
‘Be quiet, Themba,’ she whispered.
‘Kiss me. I’ve missed you so
much.’
‘I’ve missed you too, Mandi. It’s
been torture being away from you.’
She smiled slyly. ‘Tell me ... isthis torture?’
Mandi’s hands travelled up from his
waist, pressing against his flat, hard
stomach. His
muscles flexed. Her fingers slid
between the buttons of his shirt,
stroking his hot, tight skin.
Themba bit down on his teeth.
‘What are you doing? Driving me
insane?’
‘You said I deny myself pleasure,’
she whispered. ‘It’s time I
enjoyed you, don’t you think?’
Themba seized her hand in his fingers
and dragged it to his chest. She
could feel his heart pulsing with his
own adrenalin. His magnificent body
was tense with arousal, she knew he
was reining in some powerful
feelings.
Midnight-black eyes stared deeply
into hers. ‘I could make love to you
right here, Mandi.’
She gasped. ‘It’s not that kind of
show, Mr. Dlane.’
A wink. ‘It could be.’
‘Behave yourself!’
‘Soon ... soon it will be time to
enjoy each other,’ he husked. ‘As
partners, as friends. As lovers.’
As husband and wife? she wondered
silently. His statement thrilled her.
‘I want that too.’
Now, he drew her hand up to his
face, moulding her slender fingers
around his powerful jaw. ‘Tell me ...
is tonight everything you ever
dreamed of?’
Kissing him softly on his lips,
Mandi’s voice was a shattered
whisper of emotion. ‘Almost
everything.’
He kissed her back, his lips lingering
warmly on hers. ‘I’ll see you after
the show.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said.
‘We’re having a party at a club.
You’d better be coming.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ He held her
tighter. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘Too much excitement, I imagine.’
Themba said, ‘I’d better let you
get back out there.’
Mandi rushed out of the cubicle,
feeling flushed and happy.
She caught up with Andrew. ‘Is
everything on track?’
‘This stress is so not good for me,
I’m going to get wrinkles,’ he
huffed. ‘And I’m far too young
for Botox!’
She checked her watch. ‘We have to
start soon!’
It was rush of last minute crises, but
soon the show was ready to start,
only twenty minutes later than
scheduled. From the side of the
stage, Mandi watched from the
shadows as the lights dimmed. There
was a rustle in the audience, then
silence. A single spot lit the centre
stage.
The young poet stepped forward. She
lifted her head, eyes focused on the
middle distance. Her words, pure and
strong, poured from her throat. From
that moment, the audience was
hooked, mesmerised, swept up in the
drama of the show.
She was glad she’d taken
Nosiswe’s suggestions. Rather than
a boring fashion show, she was
giving the audience a cultural
experience they wouldn’t forget.
Every single person here tonight was
swept away into a journey of
fashion, dance, song and storytelling.
Breathlessly, Mandi watched as the
lights lit the edges of the runway.
The models swept down the centre of
it, caressed by lights and music.
Wild clapping filled the studio.
Mandi felt euphoria burst open in her
chest. She felt the applause through
the soles of her feet. In that
moment, she knew the evening was
going to be a success.
Nombi took the runway and she
looked radiant and confident. Mandi
was so proud of her little sister. She
was supremely good at her job.
Of course, she couldn’t watch the
whole show. Halfway through,
Andrew summoned her backstage. It
was time for her to be dressed in the
wedding dress. Hair was next, then
make-up. A quick look in the mirror
told her she made a radiant bride,
even if it was make-believe.
If only it was real, she thought. If
only Themba and I were walking
down the aisle. The butterflies in her
stomach just wouldn’t quit. Her
throat dry, palms sweaty, she
stepped onto the stage. The music
softened to only a haunting, spare
umrhubhe.
Framed by the spotlight, Mandi was
conscious that every eye in the room
was focused on her. She stepped
forward in the slow, stately gait
befitting a bride.
There were gasps of awe, left and
right.
At the end of the runway, she
paused and looked down. In the front
row, she spotted Themba sitting next
to his mother.
Nosiswe beamed up at her, but
Themba’s faced was closed shut,
his eyes dark and unreadable. At
that moment, he stood up and strode
out into the darkness.
She swallowed and turned on her
heel, walking slowly back to the top
of the runway. Her mind whirled.
What had just happened?Why had he
suddenly got up and walked out?
She didn’t have time to think about
it as she was swept into the sweaty
commotion backstage. There were
only a few minutes available to her to
change into a simple black dress with
a blood red hibiscus tucked behind
one ear before she had to join the
models on the stage to take a bow.
The crowd gave her a standing
ovation. Cole rushed forward with a
huge bunch of lilies. She accepted
the bouquet, gave a shy wave at the
crowd; she was almost deaf from all
the clapping. Tears stung at her
eyes.
This was a moment she wanted to
remember for as long as she lived.
Backstage, after the show, she
looked for Themba in the throng but
he was nowhere to be seen.
Linda popped up at her side. ‘What
a success! The editor from Luscious
magazine was absolute-ly raving
about it,’ she said. ‘The
photographer from Urban told me he
was going to run a two page spread
in the next issue ...’
Mandi could hardly take it all in.
Overwhelmed and emotional didn’t
begin to describe her state of mind,
as people rushed up to kiss her and
congratulate her.
Everyone except Themba. He wasnowhere to be seen. She wondered if
he’d been called away on business.
She hoped not; she needed to see
him, touch him, be with him.
Nombi grinned as she looped her arm
through Mandi’s. ‘Come on! We
have a party to get to.’
Mandi frowned. ‘Have you seen
Themba?’
‘I’m sure he’ll meet us at the
party.’
Mandi pulled free from her sister. ‘I
have to get my purse,’ she blurted
in an agitated voice. ‘I’ll meet you
at the club.’
‘OK,’ Nombi said. ‘I’ll catch a
lift with Cole.’ A wink. ‘I’m sure
he won’t mind.’
Mandi rushed backstage. The crew
and models were thinning out; only
the detritus of the show remained.
No Themba. Where was he?
She couldn’t fight the panic
clambering in her chest, pulling her
muscles into a tense knot. Maybe
Nombi’s assumption was correct.
Maybe he would meet them all at the
club. It was possible he’d escorted
his mother there early in order to
avoid the crowds.
Resolutely, she grabbed a small
bolero jacket, touched-up her lip-
gloss, and walked out of the studio.
Outside on the street, Themba leaned
against the side of a gleaming black
convertible sports car. It looked new
and expensive. His ankles were
crossed as he leaned against the
door; his arms were folded tight
against his chest.
Her senses sparked to red-alert. She
didn’t like his body language. Not
one bit. Nor did she like the scowl
marring his handsome features.
‘Here you are!’ She bit down on
her lip. ‘I thought you’d already
left for the club –’
He cut her off with a sharp curse.
‘What was that stunt with the
wedding dress?’
She froze, checked quickly to see if
the street was empty. ‘What d’you
mean?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’
His voice was rough, brutal,
demeaning.
‘Themba –’
‘Was it meant to be some sort of
unsubtle hint?’ he demanded loudly.
‘Was all of this a game? Getting me
to help with the boutique so you
could sink your claws into me?’
Cold fear pierced her heart. ‘Why
are you acting this way?’
He took a menacing step forward, his
black clothes intimidating and
forbidding; instinctively, she took a
step back.
‘I told you before, I’m not ready
for marriage,’ he said. ‘I don’t
think I’ll ever be. You can’t force
me into it like this!’
Shuttered anger darkened his eyes.
It was like facing a stranger. It felt
like her insides had been ripped open,
as a pain she thought she’d long
forgotten tore deep into the middle
of her soul. Why is this all happening
again?