Between Reel and Reality (Lesbian Romance)

Chapter Twenty: Sanctified

CIERRE

My tongue slips through my lips as I sit in front of my vanity, concentrating on applying my 90s-inspired eyeshadow. The lyrics of a ScHoolboy Q song try to awaken a drop of my inner masculinity. It has been a while since I embraced my dominant side. But with each gangster rap anthem, a sense of empowerment rises within me. Thankfully, Amel has had a few days to recover from her physical ailments. I plan to push her limits tonight—if she allows me to.

Trying to calm a raging bull is easier than wrangling the subservience out of Amel. It requires showering her with affection, thoughtful gifts, and an assertive demeanor to coax her into surrender. I have presents on deck and a romantic, chivalrous evening planned with breathtaking Paris backdrops. We're set for a stimulating affair once I remind myself I'm the strap-slinging slasher.

Even if Amel resists the urge to transform into my sweet angel and prefers to maintain their authoritative role as head honcho, the chance to explore the depths of admiration presents a compelling opportunity. Stomach-turning questions have been bothering me for weeks. Is our chemistry supreme enough to renew our romance? Can our bedroom intimacy evolve from purely physical to a more sensual and emotionally connected experience? If we have a miraculous reconnection, will it outlast any mental or bodily debilities that manifest? My wonderings haven't granted me any answers or solace. There's nothing left to do but employ actions and discover where my movements lead me—no matter how frightening every motion seems. While I pray we progress towards a forever, unshakable love, I'm prepared for disappointment, as much as I'm desirous for a blessing.

As I'm in the middle of uttering a 2Pac lyric, a FaceTime call interrupts me. Despite the distraction, I take a moment to examine the intricate details of my makeup. I savor how the pink gloss complements my brown lips and how the foundation flawlessly blends with my dark skin. While I'm analyzing my appearance, I realize who the caller is. With urgency, I button up my blazer, concealing the alluring cleavage I intentionally displayed to captivate Amel's gaze.

Daddy has a knack for calling at the most unexpected moments. He's on a comedy tour with my sister-in-law Lala, so he's been subjecting me to stupid dad jokes through texts. With eager anticipation, I answer the phone with a broad grin, ready to hear his voice, even if it's filled with nonsensical chatter.

"Hey, old man!" I greet.

In our family's Beverly Hills estate, the midday sun casts a bright glow over LA, entering the living room and shining on my dad's confused glare. He lifts his baseball cap, squinting as if he's in need of bifocals. "Oh, my bad. I'm sorry to bother you, Queen Latifah. I meant to dial my daughter," he says.

Through the laughter erupting from my gut, I shout, "You're not funny, Daddy!"

A taunting smile breaks as he asks, "Oh, so this is my little Cici?"

"Yes, sir. Ain't I pretty?" With my palms hovering over my cheeks, I present my flawless face, playfully batting my eyelashes.

"Oh, babygirl, you look like a pretty groomsman in that oversized blazer."

"Daddy, be serious!"

My dad drops his comedy routine and graces me with a smile that resembles mine. "I'm just kidding, babygirl. The only woman more stunning than you is your lovely mother." After flattering me, he asks, "Where are you off to dressed as Bernie Mac? Paris has Halloween in March?"

Momma's voice comes from the distance. "Boy, who are you talking to like that?"

Dad's brown eyes lift. Due to the flirty glint within them, I assume he's watching Momma as she approaches. "God answered my prayers, baby," Dad tells Mom. "I finally got all sons. Cierre's transitioning." I swear this man can't go ten seconds without a joke. I understand he's a comedian but got damn!