eyes.
“Bitch, you in the catalog on page 97 of the clearance section modeling a mock turtleneck. Don’t nobody know you,” Dylan frowned.
“It don’t matter if nobody knows me. They will once I’m Angel’s wife. And at the end of the day when it’s all said and done, you’re the one pregnant lookin’ stupid wit’ no man, no nothin’.”
“Don’t you know I eat bitches like you for breakfast?” Dylan leaned forward and glared in Milania’s eyes. “And if you really think for one second that Angel is gonna marry you, then you’re dumber than you look. You’re nothin’ but a rebound, and once Angel realizes what a gold-digging skank you are, he’s gonna drop yo’ ass like Buck got dropped from G-Unit. Now get the fuck outta my face, prostitution whore. Spandex hurts my eyes.”
“Are you done?” Milania replied sarcastically to try to make Dylan believe that her words didn’t sting.
“I was done the moment you walked yo’ stank ass up in here.”
“Check, please.” Milania signaled the waiter, grabbing her clutch. “Consider this a favor. Lunch is on me,” she dropped a stack of money on the table. “Now, stay the fuck away from Angel,” she shot over her shoulder, walking toward the door.
“Have you figured out what you’d like, ma’am?” The waiter asked with his notepad out.
“Tell me, do you all have public humiliation on the menu?” Dylan asked in a daze.
“Yes, honey, I had it for an appetizer.”
“Feels like I’m broken and you’re not here to fix me up.”
K. Michelle “Fallin’”
5
Milania sat with the window slightly cracked, puffing on an L as the car took leave from the restaurant. DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win” bumped loudly from the speakers. To most, the catfight she initiated with Dylan would’ve been a dumb move, but every move Milania made was calculated and never out of character. The dispute wouldn’t push her and Angel apart, but bring them closer together. Milania was willing to bet money on it. And, yeah, Angel would suffer from her devilish ways, but everything Milania did was for his own good.
With Dylan out of the way, he’d be more focused on their impending nuptials, therefore, helping elevate her status and career, which was blowing up by the day. Milania had offers coming in from everywhere. She’d been the cover girl for Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmopolitan , and Complex magazine. She’d even become Marc Jacobs’s new muse.
Nearing the hotel, Milania put out her blunt, dowsed herself in perfume, and popped a piece of Spearmint gum. Angel hated smokers. As Tony helped her carry her shopping bags up to the suite, Milania prepared herself for the performance of her life. With her room key out, she placed it in the door and thought about the one thing in life that would make her actually cry, which was being poor.
By the time the door was open and her right foot had crossed the threshold, a stream of tears graced her lovely face. To Milania’s surprise, she found Angel standing in the middle of the living area talking on his cell phone with an angry expression on his face. Damn, that bitch didn’t waste no time, did she? Milania thought. But when Angel turned and noticed the tears sliding from her eyes, any worries that Dylan had got to tell her version of the story first was put to rest when Angel said, “Ay, let me call you back. My girl just walked in upset. What’s with the tears?” he asked, ending his call.
“I tried so hard to get along with her, but she was just so nasty.” Milania rushed into his arms, sobbing.
“What happened?” Angel held her close.
“I told her that at first I had difficulty dealing with the fact that you and her were having a baby, but that now I was on board and wanted to be a part of the experience any way I could. I even went so far as to go to City Sprouts and buy the baby some things,” she pointed toward the door at the bags.
“But she wasn’t having it. She called me a
“Bitch, you in the catalog on page 97 of the clearance section modeling a mock turtleneck. Don’t nobody know you,” Dylan frowned.
“It don’t matter if nobody knows me. They will once I’m Angel’s wife. And at the end of the day when it’s all said and done, you’re the one pregnant lookin’ stupid wit’ no man, no nothin’.”
“Don’t you know I eat bitches like you for breakfast?” Dylan leaned forward and glared in Milania’s eyes. “And if you really think for one second that Angel is gonna marry you, then you’re dumber than you look. You’re nothin’ but a rebound, and once Angel realizes what a gold-digging skank you are, he’s gonna drop yo’ ass like Buck got dropped from G-Unit. Now get the fuck outta my face, prostitution whore. Spandex hurts my eyes.”
“Are you done?” Milania replied sarcastically to try to make Dylan believe that her words didn’t sting.
“I was done the moment you walked yo’ stank ass up in here.”
“Check, please.” Milania signaled the waiter, grabbing her clutch. “Consider this a favor. Lunch is on me,” she dropped a stack of money on the table. “Now, stay the fuck away from Angel,” she shot over her shoulder, walking toward the door.
“Have you figured out what you’d like, ma’am?” The waiter asked with his notepad out.
“Tell me, do you all have public humiliation on the menu?” Dylan asked in a daze.
“Yes, honey, I had it for an appetizer.”
“Feels like I’m broken and you’re not here to fix me up.”
K. Michelle “Fallin’”
5
Milania sat with the window slightly cracked, puffing on an L as the car took leave from the restaurant. DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win” bumped loudly from the speakers. To most, the catfight she initiated with Dylan would’ve been a dumb move, but every move Milania made was calculated and never out of character. The dispute wouldn’t push her and Angel apart, but bring them closer together. Milania was willing to bet money on it. And, yeah, Angel would suffer from her devilish ways, but everything Milania did was for his own good.
With Dylan out of the way, he’d be more focused on their impending nuptials, therefore, helping elevate her status and career, which was blowing up by the day. Milania had offers coming in from everywhere. She’d been the cover girl for Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmopolitan , and Complex magazine. She’d even become Marc Jacobs’s new muse.
Nearing the hotel, Milania put out her blunt, dowsed herself in perfume, and popped a piece of Spearmint gum. Angel hated smokers. As Tony helped her carry her shopping bags up to the suite, Milania prepared herself for the performance of her life. With her room key out, she placed it in the door and thought about the one thing in life that would make her actually cry, which was being poor.
By the time the door was open and her right foot had crossed the threshold, a stream of tears graced her lovely face. To Milania’s surprise, she found Angel standing in the middle of the living area talking on his cell phone with an angry expression on his face. Damn, that bitch didn’t waste no time, did she? Milania thought. But when Angel turned and noticed the tears sliding from her eyes, any worries that Dylan had got to tell her version of the story first was put to rest when Angel said, “Ay, let me call you back. My girl just walked in upset. What’s with the tears?” he asked, ending his call.
“I tried so hard to get along with her, but she was just so nasty.” Milania rushed into his arms, sobbing.
“What happened?” Angel held her close.
“I told her that at first I had difficulty dealing with the fact that you and her were having a baby, but that now I was on board and wanted to be a part of the experience any way I could. I even went so far as to go to City Sprouts and buy the baby some things,” she pointed toward the door at the bags.
“But she wasn’t having it. She called me a
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