It was a hot Saturday afternoon, too hot, the kind of heat that had people guzzling cold drinks and craving a cold shower. In the refreshingly cool confines of Villa Medici there was one person unaffected by the boiling heat outside.
Tola sat opposite the most handsome man she had ever seen. Never mind that he was 30 years older than her, or that his balding head held a sprinkle of grey hair. She loved him and she knew he loved her too. Why else would he order that N300K worth bottle of champagne that the waiter had just set at their table? Why else would he be holding her hand affectionately as he slipped that delicate diamond encrusted bangle on her wrist? It had to cost almost a quarter million, she knew.
Yes, he definitely loved her. The little bear shaped purse on her lap buzzed. She ignored it. He was telling her how he would pay the fees for her next semester, would she prefer to stay in a lavish mini flat off campus? Of course she would. How wonderful of him.
The purse buzzed again. She rolled her eyes and reached in with her free hand to retrieve the Iphone X, a present he gave her on her last birthday two months ago. Her younger sister’s picture danced on the screen, a call. She sighed, swiped left to end the call and was about to slip the phone back in her purse when a message popped up. She didn’t bother reading it. It was probably her sister asking for money again.
‘Do you want to leave?’ he asked, concern drew deep lines on his face. “Hmmn,” she murmured, “why not?”
Who cared about wasting an expensive bottle of wine, the bangle glittered on her wrist and Tola was happy.
At the other end of the phone, Tola’s sister, Tomi bit her lip in exasperation as she stared at the call ended tab on her phone. Tola wasn’t picking up, what was she doing while their mum was having an epileptic fit? She glanced furtively at her mum and winced as her body continued to jerk convulsively and the nurse tried his best to hold her still.
Suddenly a heart wrenching scream echoed around the room. Tomi gasped in horror as her mum slipped from the grasp of the nurse and fell heavily on the tiled floor.
“Oh my God!” the 14 year old cried as she wiped the nervous sweat from her forehead and tried dialing her sister’s number again.
Not so far away, a private plane landed. The sole passenger was helped down the carpeted stairs by a uniformed gentleman. Cameras flashed as frenzied reporters tried to get a shot, a comment, an expression, anything that would make their headlines the next day. Their attempts were stifled by more uniformed men as a black Ferrari purred to a stop a few meters from the stairs and the passenger was helped in.
In minutes, the tarmac was quiet as disappointed reporters packed camera bags and replaced pens and notepads.
Funke Oniwas not a woman of many words. As a model, she had always let her body speak for her. She had a reputation for being a perfectionist and that applied to every aspect of her life, including her marriage.
Her husband was cheating, she knew.
What Funke could not fathom was why. It did not matter. Her investigator had found the girl he lavished so much on, poor misguided little fool. She tapped a beautifully manicured nail on the leather seat as she considered her options.
Who to punish: Her man or the girl? She could not afford a scandal that would ruin what she had spent years building. There was that upcoming deal with America’s Next Top Model to consider.
By the time they arrived at the duplex Funke and her husband shared, her mind was made.