Forbidden Glances

The next morning, I woke up with a strange mix of guilt and excitement. I kept replaying the moment on the balcony in my head, the way Kene looked at me, the deep sound of his voice, and how my body had reacted. I tried to push the thoughts away as I prepared breakfast. This was wrong. He was my husband’s brother. I was a married woman. I repeated these words to myself like a prayer.

Raymond left very early for a political meeting in Abuja. He barely kissed me goodbye before rushing out. As usual, I was left alone in the big house with the staff. But today, I was not truly alone. Kene was still here.

I was in the living room arranging some flowers when he walked in wearing a simple white T-shirt and grey joggers. The shirt hugged his chest and arms, revealing how much he had worked out while abroad. He looked even more handsome in daylight.

“Good morning, Naza,” he said with that calm, deep voice.

“Good morning, Kene. Did you sleep well?”

He smiled slightly. “I did. Though I kept thinking about our conversation last night.”

My heart skipped. I focused on the flowers, trying not to meet his eyes. “Would you like some breakfast? I can ask the cook to prepare something.”

“I’d rather have whatever you’re having,” he replied, moving closer to the table.

We ended up eating together at the dining table. The conversation flowed easily. He told me stories about his life in London — the cold weather, the architecture projects he worked on, and how much he missed Nigeria. I found myself laughing at some of his jokes, something I had not done in a long time. For the first time in months, the house felt warm.

After breakfast, he offered to help me with something in the garden. As we worked side by side, our hands brushed against each other while reaching for the same flower pot. That simple touch sent a spark through my body. I pulled back quickly, but Kene did not. He held my gaze for a long moment.

“You have very soft hands,” he said quietly.

I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Thank you.”

The rest of the day was filled with stolen glances. Whenever I walked past a room, I would feel his eyes on me. When I went to the kitchen to get water, he followed and stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.

“Naza,” he whispered, “why do you look so sad sometimes?”

His question caught me off guard. I turned around and found him staring at me with genuine concern. For a brief second, I wanted to tell him everything — how lonely I felt in this marriage, how Raymond barely touched me, how I had almost forgotten what desire felt like.

But I held back. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

He stepped even closer. Our bodies were almost touching. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The tension in the air was thick. My breathing became shallow. I could see the hunger in his eyes. Just when I thought he was going to kiss me, one of the maids entered the kitchen. We quickly moved apart.

That evening, Raymond called to say he would be spending the night in Abuja. My heart beat faster at the news. Kene and I would be alone in the house tonight.

We had dinner together again. This time, the atmosphere was different. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. We talked about deeper things — dreams, regrets, and the pressure of family expectations. Kene told me how he had always lived in his elder brother’s shadow.

As we finished eating, he stood up and extended his hand.

“Come, let’s sit outside. The stars are clear tonight.”

I knew I should refuse. But I took his hand.

On the balcony again, the same one from last night, we stood side by side looking at the city lights. This time, Kene stood directly behind me. I could feel his breath on my neck.

“You are a very beautiful woman, Naza,” he whispered. “My brother doesn’t deserve you.”

His words sent waves of heat through my body. I turned to face him. Our faces were inches apart. His eyes dropped to my lips. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

For a moment, the world stopped. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to feel his hands on my body. But the voice of guilt screamed in my head.

“I… I should go to bed,” I stammered, stepping back.

Kene didn’t stop me. But as I walked away, he said softly, “Goodnight, Naza. Sweet dreams.”

That night, I lay in bed unable to sleep. My body was on fire. I kept imagining what would have happened if I had stayed on that balcony. When I finally drifted off, I dreamt of Kene’s hands on my skin, his lips on mine.

I woke up in the middle of the night, breathing heavily, my nightdress damp with sweat.

This was only the second day, and I was already losing control.

To be continued…