Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

6- Confessions

Ola:

Nervous, I smack my lips to spread the watermelon-flavoured lip gloss I have applied. Earlier, I had put on a light layer of foundation and powder, filled my eyebrows, and lined my eyes with black pigment. With my hair in a high puff, I smile at the thought, fineapple.

How will tonight go?

I had been obstinate with Saheed yesterday, trying to cover up for what I had felt when he had whispered into my ear, "I missed you too, baby."

I had shivered.

It must have been the close proximity, or the way he had lowered his voice, or the strength and warmth rolling off him in waves, or the way he had held me so intimately...

He sure is a great actor.

After the meeting at his suite, I had avoided him at all costs, communicating only through WhatsApp. I had driven myself to my own apartment in Ikeja, where I had stayed for the rest of the day going over designs for my menswear brand, my latest pet project.

And now I was nervous about meeting him again, this time in the presence of Nonye.

The thought of my friend brings up some annoyance. It was her fault, for getting me into this situation. Because of her, I had slipped and lied, and now I am taking the lie further. Because of her, I had rushed and hugged Saheed, called him Zaddy. And because of her, I am going on a date when I would rather be at home, watching a movie on Iroko TV or a shark documentary on NatGeo Wild.

After my past relationship, Nonye had been almost as hurt as I was, and furious. Then came the fallout with my father, which worsened my case. Even after Nonye moved to Canada, she had tried everything to get me into another relationship in the hopes that I would be distracted, but that hadn't worked.

I slip on my footwear, a pair of dark green satin shoes with bowties at the front, and four-inch heels. Standing in front of my full length mirror, I smooth a hand over the front of my fitted, little black dress, made of cotton with a turtleneck and elbow-length sleeves.

"We are on our way," Nonye tells me over the phone while I leave my apartment.

"Same. See you in fifteen minutes."

"Saheed is there already. Imagine how punctual he is? So different from-"

"I've got to go now, see you."

You talk too much, Nonyerem.

The Venue is a posh restaurant with branches in major parts of Lagos State that serves local Nigerian cuisine with so much finesse, you won't be pissed about paying thousands of Naira for a plate of rice. In fact, you are more likely to thank them for the smaller ration. I always joke to myself that patrons also pay for the air conditioner and perfect lighting for perfect photos with a touch of that 'abroad' filter.

After stepping out of my car and handing the keys to the valet, I am ushered into the beautiful, intimate but artfully spaced area that is the dining room of The Venue. The waiter leads me towards the end of the area where a secluded table sits. I spot Nonny, with her big hair and colourful make up.

"Here she comes," my friend announces excitedly.

One of the three people seated is Saheed, who stands upand turns to greet me, his face a cool mask. My breath hitches in my throat as I take in the sight of him.

He is dressed in a white cotton turtlenecked shirt, topped with a navy blue blazer. Black chinos, navy blue suede loafers. An unshaven jaw covered with a shadow, hairline artfully carved, hair brushed neatly, adorning his scalp in waves.