The Arrival

Transcript

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CHAPTER ten The Arrival The plain doors opened to warm Iberian sunlight, brushing against Elise's cheek like a soft benediction. Portugal was vibrant in a way Georgia could never be, red tiled rooftops stretching like prayer hands across the hills, salty air tangling itself in her curls, and a low hum of street violins playing somewhere nearby. As she stepped onto the jetway, Malik reached for her carry-on. She led him. It was a small surrender, but her shoulders appreciated it. Their driver stood at the bottom of the ramp with a placard reading Montgomery Delegation. Of course. Her mother made sure everything was branded, even their presence. They exchanged greetings in accented English. A sleek black car waited at the curb, trunk popped open, cooled bottles of mineral water nestled inside like offerings. Malik opened the door for her. She slid in silently, watching the city blur as they weaved through cobbled streets. Smells like olive oil in old cathedrals, Malik joked, cracking open his water bottle. She smirked. Better than stale carpet and deacons who chew gum during altar call. They both laughed. Easy, light. A moment she could breathe in. The hotel rose before them like something out of a dream, historic bones dressed in modern glass. Their suite overlooked the harbor, with golden sun slicing through the shutters like the fingers of God. She pulled open the curtains and let it all in. Beneath the stillness, tension curled low in her belly. Tonight was the welcome service, a joint event with the International Pastors Coalition her father helped co found. Malik would be at her side, smiling on Q. Elise would be everything they expected, brilliant, gracious, untouchable, until tomorrow, when she could retreat, be no one or someone else. She slipped off her heels, closed the balcony doors, and leaned back against the cool wall. Malik entered the room with two glasses of sangria, and held one out to her. She clinked his glass with hers, to pretending with conviction. Portugal, night one, balcony to bedroom, the bottle of red wine between them was nearly empty now, their two crystal glasses catching glints of moonlight like secrets unspoken. The Lisbon air curled warmly around Alisa's skin, tugging at the loose hairs framing her face. Down below, the river shimmered like black silk, the city alive with distant laughter, music, and late night conversations. Malik stretched in his seat, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease the gold chain resting at his collarbone. His linen pants were relaxed, the edges of his sleeves rolled. He looked like vacation felt. You're quiet, he said, watching her from beneath his lashes. Trying to absorb all of this, she replied, eyes skimming the view. The quiet, the distance. The freedom, he added. She nodded, even if just for a night. A hush fell between them, one not awkward but weighted. Elise leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, the silk of her robe catching the breeze, her leg crossed and uncrossed, revealing smooth skin and the faint trace of goose bumps. You ever think you're running from something? he asked suddenly. I think I've been marched to death, she said flatly. Running would require choice. He studied her for a moment, and smiled. Well, you're here now. No one's chasing you, no one's watching. She raised a brow. You sure about that? He tilted his head. Should I give them a show? She smirked, her lips curling slowly. No. She stood and walked toward him, one deliberate step after another. But I want to give you one. Malik leaned back slightly, his eyes wide but hungry. Oh? Sit, she said. He obeyed. Inside the suite, the sheer curtains billowed from the open door. Elise moved ahead of him, the sway of her hips exaggerated, deliberate. She glanced back once, slow, playful, and he followed her into the room like a man caught in a spell. She dimmed the lights with the remote and turned on a sultry playlist. Then she moved to the center of the room. Don't touch, she warned softly. Just watch. Malik sat on the edge of the accent chair, jaw tight with restraint. She danced slowly, teasing the tie of her robe open with a flourish. Beneath it a delicate bodysuit clung to her like poured ink. She traced her own thighs with her fingertips, slid one hand up her torso, and closed her eyes as if the moment were hers alone. Her breathing changed. So did his. She arched slightly, hands roaming, then slipped one hand lower between her legs. He swallowed audibly, his fists clenched, eyes locked on her. She moaned softly, eyes fluttering open, locking onto his. It wasn't performative. It was power, controlled, sensual, and deeply personal. Then buzz buzz. Her phone lit up on the dresser. She ignored it. Buzz. She reached for it, catching her breath, cheeks flushed in red. I was biting my lip. Amara, the world slowed. Elise blinked hard, her thumb hovering over the screen. Her chest rose and fell, her skin still humming. She looked back at Malik. He stood now, breath heavy, eyes pleading. I want you, he said hoarsely. Elise, please. She smiled, walked over to him, kissed him long and deep, then pulled back. Not yet. And with that she eased him backwards, softly closing the door behind him. Alone she turned the lock, heart still racing. Then she texted Amara back. So was I. The sun shimmered on the water like God was painting in motion. Elise adjusted her sunglasses and stepped onto the tour boat with Malik at her side. He looked peaceful, unbothered by the subtle tension under her skin. His hand rested lightly at the small of her back, guiding her toward a pair of cushioned seats near the stern. She glanced over the river's edge, letting the cool breeze brush her face. The guide began his welcome spiel, in English and Portuguese, but she barely registered it. Her phone buzzed. A text. Amara. Apologies for how I responded that day. Elise's fingers paused above her screen. Her breath caught. She typed Why do you respond that way? If it was true. If you were watching? A beat. Then the reply came. Because all of our sessions are recorded, and I do have a license. Elise sat with that for a moment. A faint smile touched her lips. Rye, knowing. Understood, she replied. I hope the day is kind to you. Amara, it already is, I'm in Portugal, on a boat tour. This is my view. A photo followed. Elise opened it slowly and froze. The benches, the lighting, the side railing. They were on the same boat. She didn't respond. Instead, she turned to Malik, who was nursing a sparkling drink, and chatting with another couple near them. His laughter was easy, bright. She leaned in, brushing his shoulder. Hey, I'm gonna walk the boat a bit, stretch my legs. My therapist is on board apparently. He raised an eyebrow, amused. What are the odds? Go find her. I'll be right here soaking in the view. And this champagne. She kissed his cheek softly and stood, her sandals clicking lightly against the wood as she made her way toward the front of the boat. She walked casually, nodding at a few passengers. Then she saw her Amara, leaning against the rail with her partner beside her. Tall, elegant, but visibly irritated. There was a tension between them that cracked the illusion of vacation ease. Elise clocked the body language instantly. Amara wasn't smiling. Her shoulders were high, her stance defensive. A touch to the arm went unreturned. She didn't interrupt right away, just lingered near the edge of the conversation, close enough to be seen when the moment turned. Amara noticed her first. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. Elise her partner turned too, puzzled but polite. This is my client, Amara offered gently, her voice even. Elise Montgomery. Her mother mentored me years ago. I eventually took over her practice. The woman nodded, her expression brightening. Oh hi, I'm Sienna. Elise smiled. Nice to meet you. You two enjoy the tour. I didn't mean to intrude. She gave Amara a courteous glance, and stepped away, her sandals quietly carrying her back to the stern. By the time she reached her seat, Malik looked up from his drink and gave her a grin. Mission accomplished? She nodded, sliding back into place beside him. She's here. Small world, Malik offered her his glass. Well, cheers to strange coincidences and clear skies. They clinked glasses, and Elise took a long sip, her pulse still echoing with unspoken things. The evening air was thick with celebration. After the boat tour, Elise and Malik returned to their suite, barely having time to freshen up before heading to the grand ballroom of the coastal resort, where the church event was hosted. Word had spread quickly that Bishop Montgomery's daughter was attending, and the space buzzed with anticipation. As they entered arm in arm, a hush swept the room, followed by a subtle eruption of applause. Elise looked stunning in a deep emerald gown that glowed against her skin. Malik, in a tailored navy tux, offered her his arm with quiet pride. Smile, he whispered, you just broke necks. They made their way to their reserve table, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with ministers, church leaders, and dignitaries from around the world. The evening unfolded with prayers, announcements, and an impromptu musical performance. Elise remained gracious, poised, but inside she was still processing the earlier encounter with Amara. She hadn't told Malik and didn't plan to, not because of shame, just because she didn't yet have words for what stirred inside her. Then came the final award presentation. And now, the MC announced, we are thrilled to recognize a rising voice in ministry, a woman of poise, fire, and faith. Our outstanding emerging leader award goes to Minister Elise Montgomery, gasps, applause, cheers. Elise stood stunned as Malik urged her to the stage. She hadn't known she was even nominated. With graceful disbelief, she accepted the glass plaque and turned toward the crowd. Her speech was brief but heartfelt, her voice clear despite her pounding chest. When it was over, the MC asked if her fiance would like to say a few words. Malik grinned. He stood, adjusted the mic, and said with calm conviction, there's not a thing in this world more powerful than a woman who knows who she is and still chooses to serve. Elise is that woman, and I'm honored, deeply honored to walk beside her. The room erupted again. Back at the table Elise leaned into Malik, whispering, You trying to make me fall in love with you tonight? He smirked. Trying? I thought I already had. Later she slipped outside to call her parents. Her father's voice, though a little weaker, still had its warmth. Your mama showed me the video clip. Baby, you were born for this. I wish you were here, she said softly. I am. Every step. She wiped a tear as her mother's voice entered the line. You made us proud tonight, Elise. Enjoy the moment. You deserve it. She hung up, heart full, eyes lifted to the stars. The night was still young, and so was the fire inside her. You've just listened to the Bishop's Daughter Episode 10 by Lee Franklin. As always, thank you for listening.