Be My Valentine (Volume One)

Chapter One

I’m going to do it, Yemi Okeke whispered against the mouthpiece of her mobile phone. She sat at the edge of the sitting room sofa, struggling to keep the phone inclined against her ear while putting on her shoes.

Don’t you know it makes you appear desperate? Her sister’s voice on the other end of the line sounded exasperated. Women don’t propose to men. It’s never done.

Well, Lola, aren’t you the one who always says to take the bull by the horn, fight for what I want? she shot back, still keeping her tone down. Andy was fast asleep in the next room. She didn’t want to wake him.

Yes, but I didn’t mean propose to your boyfriend. Lola sighed, then added, Andy has been with you for six years; if he hasn’t proposed yet, he probably doesn’t want to marry you.

A sharp pang jabbed her chest. Her sister’s words mirrored her deep fear, and hearing them out loud made her angry.

I shouldn’t have told you about this, Lola. I’m hanging up, she said, suppressing the desire to raise her voice.

Listen, Yemi, I’m sorry, Lola replied quickly, her tone solemn. I love you and don’t want you getting hurt—

I won’t be, she interjected. I know Andy loves me. It’s just that he has it in his head that he needs to make more money before he can afford to marry. I’ve told him many times that my salary can take care of both of us. But you know how macho some men can be…

Her sister laughed, and she giggled, too. Their father was a typical example. Even though he pushed his daughters to work hard, he never allowed his wife to lift a finger, insisting it was his role to provide for her. They’d often teased him mercilessly for his old-fashioned views about males being the sole provider.

How are you sure Andy is ready now, though, sis?

Lola’s question broke through her musings.

If I propose to him, he will know I really don’t care about any of that. He will know I’m serious about a future with him. That I love him.

Oh, Yemi. Please think it through before doing it, Lola said after a brief pause. Just think about it for a while, okay?

Okay.

Although she had already made up her mind. After last night with Andy, she knew it was time to make the move. She would just have to take control of her destiny. Of course, she knew proposing to a man seemed like a desperate act to most people. But she didn’t care about anybody’s opinion.

At thirty-six years of age, she no longer did. She had spent most of her life caring about what others thought. She had gone to medical school, kept her grades up, never done drugs, smoked, or had sex all through university. While most of her friends experimented with life, her head had constantly been stuck in the pages of a book because she didn’t want to disappoint her father. She always wanted him to continue to boast about his first-born child. And slowly, life began passing her by. She’d found herself a thirty-year-old orthopaedic surgeon intern with no other real-life experience. Until she’d met Andy Onyema.

Smiling as she ended the call with her sister, Yemi recalled the night she’d met Andy at a club in Enugu, Eastern Nigeria. She’d suddenly decided that for her to overcome all the anxiety about dating, she needed to have sex, to ‘get rid’ of her virginity. It had been one of those sudden life decisions she usually made, like her recent resolution to propose to Andy. That entire week, she had researched the best way to meet men and eventually decided to visit a club for the first time in her life.

Knowing her sister, Lola, and brother, Kayode, would disapprove, she hadn’t told them about her plans. She’d put on a tight short dress, black sparkly high heels, and a long wavy wig, and had headed to Bursto club in a taxi, alone. Although her heart beat fast from anxiety, there had also been a surge of excitement bubbling up inside her about the prospect of meeting a man and doing something she’d never done before.

The night had turned out a disaster. She’d sat in the bar for over an hour, and nobody had approached her. Wondering what on Earth she’d done wrong, she’d ordered a cocktail. After downing a glass, she’d stepped on the dance floor and begun wriggling her hips, trying to draw the attention of a tall, handsome man who’d caught her eye. Fifteen minutes of doing her most provocative dance in front of the man to no avail, she’d given up when she’d noticed his concentration on another woman.

Sighing in frustration, she had moved back to the bar and resigned herself to drinking alone. Why was it so hard to be noticed by men? Why didn’t men automatically find her attractive? At work, nobody noticed her. Was she that unattractive? Her self-confidence had deflated to zero as she’d emptied yet another glass of wine. Raising her hand, she’d signalled the bartender and ordered a glass of white wine.

"Haven’t you had enough to drink?

Yemi had turned her head sharply to the man who’d stood beside her. Her heart had jumped in her chest. Stunning male. Dark-skinned, tall, and muscular. She’d hesitated, unsure if he was actually speaking to her.

Who, me? she’d asked, just to confirm this magnificent man had spoken to her.

She’d been wrong many times before, assuming a male had interest in her, only for disappointment to set in whenever she discovered otherwise. They always seemed to look past her and straight to her sister. Never her.

Yes, you, the man had replied, his lips slanting into a half-smile. I’ve been watching you all night, and you look like you don’t belong here.

Taken aback, she had snickered. And how do you know I don’t belong here? You know nothing about me.

He’d laughed. A charming, rich laughter.

Instantly, she’d made her mind up. This was the man who would help her with her ‘problem.’

Your wig tag is hanging on your head. And you forgot to place the other false eyelash. It’s obvious you don’t go out often, or you wouldn’t make this very grave mistake.

Embarrassment had stung her cheeks. She’d immediately reached for her wig to check for the tag. The man had stopped her.

I’ll help you take it off if you agree this is your last drink. You’ve had a bit too much tonight.

She’d nodded. He’d smiled and deftly snagged off the tag from her wig.

I’m Andy Onyema, and you are?

Yemi Okeke.

That night, Andy had been a perfect gentleman, and despite attempts to force him to have sex with her, he had declined with the statement, You are drunk. I don’t take advantage of drunk women.

More determined to get to know him better, she had sought him out the next day and found out he was a secondary school teacher who loved sports and family life. He had a good sense of humour and treated her with respect. She fell hard for him. When he asked her on a date, she agreed without hesitation. The beginning of their relationship. Six years in, and she still loved him.

Applying a coat of Vaseline on her full lips, she glanced at the compact mirror in her hand. She had more confidence now than she did back then. And she had Andy to thank for always telling her she was the most beautiful woman in any room. So, yes, she wanted to marry him and have his children. She wanted to build a family with him. It didn’t matter who proposed to whom. All that mattered was that they live happily ever after.

Chapter Two

Vincent Mba sat at the end of Nanos restaurant awaiting his youngest sister, Violet. He had flown in from Lagos to Enugu on short notice to meet her fiancé. As the first-born, and only son, he had been thrust early with financial responsibility of his three younger siblings at the early age of sixteen when his father had died unexpectedly from a brain haemorrhage.

From that day when he had been called home from school with the horrible news, he had been forced to grow up quickly. Within a week, he’d discovered that in his father’s will, he had been made sole heir of a multimillion Naira investment company. He had become a father to his three younger sisters and somewhat his mother, who had never remained quite the same after. And seventeen years later, he still maintained that role.

He glanced at his watch: six p.m. He sighed. Violet was always late. Of all his sisters, she seemed the least responsible. At twenty-six, she still depended entirely on her trust fund for survival. With no real job and no ambitions after her degree in English linguistics, she pranced around the Eastern part of the country doing her so-called photography business. He wondered who her fiancé was. Hopefully, a responsible man who could help her see the light.

A shadow at the entrance of the restaurant caught his attention, and he looked up. His pulse rate spiked. A tall, slender woman with smooth cocoa skin strolled in wearing a red gown that clung to her gorgeously flared hips in a sensual way. She walked gracefully to a seat at the other end of the room and sat down.

An immediate stirring started in his loins as he observed her. His heart thumped as though wanting to burst out of its confinement as his gaze trailed slowly up her stunning figure to her face. Beautiful. Oval-shaped, lovely large eyes draped with long eyelashes, and full, pouty lips coated with nude lip gloss. His type of woman. The kind he could see himself rolling around a bed with for hours.

Definitely need to get her number, he thought, making a move to rise from his seat. He halted when he noticed her incline her head towards the entrance and smile at a slender, dark-skinned man who walked in.

Deflated, he watched as the woman waved vigorously at the man. There was apparent intimacy in the way her companion smiled and hugged her when he reached her table before settling in the seat opposite her. Vincent turned his attention away from them abruptly.

Although the presence of a rival had never stopped him from pursuing a woman, he was not in the mood to waste the two days he had in Enugu struggling to get laid. He had his choice of stunning and willing women back in Lagos who rushed over to him whenever he snapped a finger.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he reached for it. After sliding his thumb across the screen, he placed it against his ear.

Where the hell are you, Violet? I have been waiting for twenty minutes, he gritted through clenched teeth.

I am sorry, Vin. I am just parking, his sister’s voice came solemnly at the other end of the line.

That’s the problem, Violet, you are forever apologising. You need to take life more seriously, he said, then dragging a deep breath in to calm himself, he added, Do you want me to order before you come in?

I am already here … I see you …

She hung up. Vincent turned his head sharply towards the door and immediately spotted Violet walking in, her multicoloured half-top and off-colour baggy trousers announcing her flamboyance.

Typical of Violet to dress like a Christmas tree. He beamed, rising to his feet. His smile froze on his lips as soon as he noticed Violet’s companion.

Dear Lord, hope this isn’t her fiancé. His gut twisted as he watched them strolling towards him, fingers entwined. Although he believed himself to be an open-minded man who tried not to judge people before getting to know them, he couldn’t help but cringe. The man beside his sister had long dreadlocks hanging down from his head to his shoulders, a tight T-shirt clinging to an extra-buff torso, and even tighter jeans over his legs. Is that a tattoo on his arm? He fought back a sigh. This guy looks like someone every parent would warn their daughters against getting involved with.

My biggest bro! Violet exclaimed, snagging his attention back to her.

My baby sis. Vincent pulled her in for a bear hug. I have missed you so. You really need to visit us more in Lagos. Or better yet, move back—

Don’t start that now, bro. I’ve told you all, I’ve made my home here, she interrupted, a slight terseness tainting her tone as she pulled away from him.

Okay, okay, he conceded. His gaze immediately went back to her companion, hinting for an introduction while praying inwardly that he wasn’t who she was intending to marry.

"Vincent, meet my fiancé, Anozie Echebe, also known as Flow Digger. He is the owner of Estencia Fashion Magazine and the hit radio station, Eastern Beats."

Vincent stretched his lips into a tight smile as he extended his hand towards him.

Nice to meet you, Anozie. I’m Vincent Mba. Violet’s older and only brother, he said, trying his best to infuse some excitement in his tone.

Nice to meet you, too, Anozie said, shaking his hand firmly. I’ve heard so much about you; how you have been like a father to Violet. I feel somewhat nervous being here.

Vincent was surprised by the firm quality of Anozie’s voice. He sounded like a calm man, despite his unconventional appearance.

No need to be … yet, he replied with a smile, dodging the swat his sister threw at him for his last word.

Anozie chuckled, seemingly unoffended.

Okay, let’s sit, so that I can tell you all about how my darling Anozie won my heart, Violet said.

They settled down and ordered shortly after. Within minutes, their food had arrived, and they soon settled into deeper conversation.

Vincent turned his gaze to Anozie.

So, tell me how you two met? he asked as he sliced through the spiced chicken on his plate with his fork and knife. My sister has been so secretive about you. I was completely startled when she rang me telling me about your engagement.

Anozie grinned, the cleft in his jaw a bit more prominent as his lips parted.

Oh, we met at a photoshoot. She was the photographer of one of the models for my magazine, he replied, his eyes distant and gleaming as though recalling a pleasant occasion. I walked onto the set to see this beautiful but eccentric woman bent in an awkward position on the ground, camera cradled in her hands, saying, ‘Smile, baby, yes, move, baby, that’s right, tilt your head, give it to Mama, baby,’ in a very mesmerising way, to a half-dressed male model.

Violet threw her head back and laughed. Vincent felt the corner of his lips tilt into a smile.

That sounds like my sister, he said.

Oh, I tell you, I had never felt a stronger connection to any other human being as I did at that moment, Anozie continued. I mean, she was so clearly into her job that I wasn’t surprised how stunning the photographs turned out to be. One of our bestselling issues of all time. Of course, I pursued her relentlessly afterward until she finally fell for my irresistible charms.

You wish, Violet teased, clearly thrilled with the recount. You are just a big-head.

And that, I have discovered, is Violet’s way of saying I love you.

Yes, big-head. I love you.

Vincent watched as Anozie lowered his head and brushed his lips against his sister’s puckered lips.

Oh, for goodness’ sake, he protested playfully. Quit with all that PDA. It is not my cup of tea.

They all laughed at his comment.

As they talked, Vincent immediately let go of all the scepticism he felt about Anozie being the right choice for Violet. They were a perfect match. In spite of his dread-locked, Rastafarian image, Anozie was nothing but a gentleman. Focused and hardworking. It was also very clear he adored Violet in the way his eyes shone anytime he looked at her.

If there was anyone he could hand his sister over to, it would be Anozie. For the first time ever, he felt relaxed that Violet was in good hands, and he didn’t have to worry about her being way up in Eastern Nigeria while the rest of the family lived in the West.

I’m glad I finally got a chance to— he began.

A chorus of loud gasps from the other end of the room interrupted him, and he flicked his gaze towards where the commotion was coming from.

There, on one knee, was the tall, cocoa-skinned beauty he had sighted earlier, holding out a small opened box towards her startled-looking companion.

She appeared to be proposing to the man. And the man looked annoyed.

Stop this nonsense, Yemi, he said, rising abruptly.

But, Andy, you have not replied my question. The lady seemed heartbroken. I asked if you will marry me.

You are embarrassing me, Yemi! And yourself, he spat, reaching out to lift her from the floor. She resisted his attempt.

We have been together for six years, Andy, she said, box still held out in her hand. Why is my question shocking to you? Why do you feel embarrassed?

The man shook his head. What is wrong with you?

What do you mean? I am asking my boyfriend of six years if he wants to be my husband—

Stand up now! he barked, interrupting her.

No, Andy … I need an answer.

Andy stood there, arms akimbo, eyes blazing with fury.

The answer is no! Never! he spat out.

The room erupted into chaotic noise of laughter, shock, and ridicule. Just as the uproar arose, it ended suddenly, leaving the restaurant in chilly silence.

What? Oh, my goodness. Vincent found himself engrossed in the drama enfolding before his eyes. It seemed the entire room had frozen in time, every focus on the couple, some people already capturing the debacle on their mobile devices. Even Violet and Anozie had abandoned their meals, looking on at the scenario with rapt attention.

Andy, say yes, please … I love you. The woman’s shaky voice broke the silence.

I don’t love you, Yemi, he said, lifting his personal items off the table. And thanks for ruining this lovely day for me.

With that, Andy stormed off, leaving the proposing lady on her knees, tears glistening in her eyes, and the room thrown back into a din of multiple opinions and reactions.

Vincent kept his eyes on the woman who remained on her knees, tears flowing down her face until a group of strangers rushed to her, embracing her and pulling her off the floor with murmurs of soothing phrases, some of which he heard: It is well., He is not meant for you. , God will send you your husband., You dodged a bullet, ma.

What kind of woman proposes to a man? How desperate did one have to be to embarrass herself in public like that? He shook his head as he gazed at the lady who had resumed her seat, bawling like a baby. She looked so pathetic.

Wow, that was really heart-breaking to watch, Violet said, cutting through his musings.

I agree, he replied. Oh, such drama.

You have to give it to her, though. It takes a bold woman to go for what she wants, Anozie said, surprising Vincent.

So, you wouldn’t mind being proposed to by a woman? He raised a brow.

No, I wouldn’t. Not if I actually want to marry her.

Hmmm … I don’t know about that. He turned his attention back to the woman. She had straightened her back, and although he noticed her fingers trembling, she appeared a bit calmer. It certainly didn’t work out for that lady. And I just find it a bit desperate.

You would, Violet said.

What does that mean? he asked, feeling slightly affronted.

Oh, come on, Vin, face it. You are a bit stiff and old-fashioned.

I am not, he objected.

You are, she insisted. And I’m not saying there is anything wrong with that. It’s who you’ve always been. But think about it. You have to admire a woman who goes against the typical norm and takes matters into her own hands.

Exactly, Anozie chimed in. It shows boldness. A woman who knows what she wants. It’s clear the man doesn’t. And she has really dodged a bullet.

Vincent flicked his eyes in her direction again. She was still seated, her back to him, her focus on the drink in her hands.

Was it old-fashioned to want to be the one who asked a woman to be his wife? Did it count who asked whom? In his opinion, it did. He believed a man should be the one to take that step, buy the ring, and not have to wait for his woman to propose. Call it old-fashioned, but that was the way he preferred things.

As though sensing his perusal, she suddenly turned her head towards him, catching and holding his gaze.

Vincent’s pulse jerked. Her eyes, although red and puffy from tears, showed a resolute personality, a driven and intelligent woman.

An almost irrepressible desire to speak to her overwhelmed him, and just as he contemplated doing so, she turned away from him, rose from her seat, and walked out, head held high despite the pitiful glances from everyone in the room.

Without a doubt, the strange lady had aroused his interests. Yemi—her name. If he weren’t here for only two days, he would have ensured he found her again come Hell or high water.

However, there wasn’t any point chasing after a heartbroken woman when he had a choice of women without any baggage or strings attached back home in Lagos.

Chapter Three

Yemi took a deep breath in as she settled at the backseat of the Uber. She was on her way to meet the board of directors of the private orthopaedic hospital where she had been offered the job of Chief Surgeon.

What an amazing opportunity. As the first female to be given the role of Chief Surgeon of that hospital, she felt not only exhilarated, but also nervous.

Where exactly are you heading to? the smartly dressed middle-aged man at the wheel asked. In well-pressed, pale blue shirt and trousers, he looked like he had a white-collar job but drove cabs as a side hustle.

St Andrews Orthopaedic Hospital at Gbagada Estate, please, she replied with a smile.

Oh, I know that hospital very well. Only rich people can afford treatment there. Very expensive. Obvious disapproval clouded his tone.

Yemi forced a smile but remained silent. She didn’t feel like chatting with him at all and hoped her silence would discourage further comments. No such luck.

This Lagos, eh, only the rich can afford proper treatment. A poor man or even a hardworking man like myself will end up dying if we fall sick, he continued, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror intermittently as he spoke, trying to catch her attention. You seem new to Lagos. How long have you been here?

Yemi felt like ignoring him but didn’t want to be rude.

Four weeks, she answered, wishing he would take the hint from her curt response and leave her alone to her thoughts. She wanted to use this ride to compose herself a bit before facing the strangers at her new workplace.

It had been difficult these past few weeks trying to regain her confidence, which had been shattered when her relationship of six years had crumbled. She still couldn’t believe what had happened and the can of worms that had been exposed after Andy had turned down her proposal.

Ah, four weeks. I wish you well in this city, o, he said, bringing her mind back to the present. People keep moving to Lagos thinking the grass is greener, but it really isn’t. If I knew the struggle here, I would have remained in Akwa Ibom. Maybe if I had, I would have been married with children by now. Are you married?

His question opened freshly covered wounds in her heart, and a lump wedged in her throat. She decided to forgo her manners and reached into her bag to pull out a book.

Please, do you mind just driving? I have a headache, she said, opening it and searching for the last page she’d read.

Okay, madam, the driver said in a biting tone.

Yemi suppressed a sigh of relief, keeping her focus on the opened pages of The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A Fuck. Her first purchase after she’d gone to work the next day following her disastrous proposal. She’d found all her colleagues in the teaching hospital where she’d been working for years staring at her with pity in their eyes.

When she had asked them why, a junior training doctor, whom she also considered a friend, had pulled out her mobile phone and shown her the video of her on her knees, asking Andy to marry her, posted on a popular gossip blog on Instagram.

The comments on the blog from strangers, labelling her a desperate, washed-up, old woman who had run out of options and other terrible names, had broken her heart. But that hadn’t been the worse part. To her dismay, someone who knew Andy personally had put up pictures of him and his family.

Apparently, Andy had already been married for fourteen years to a beautiful banker working in Northern Nigeria and had two gorgeous teenage children. So, all the while she’d been with him, he had hidden his other life from her so cleverly. And the entire hospital knew about her embarrassment.

She had been the only female orthopaedic surgeon in a male-dominated field and had worked hard to gain respect. The news spreading round the hospital had shattered her confidence. When she’d spotted her male colleagues laughing as she’d walked past them three days later, she’d known she had to resign and move away from the town. In Enugu, news—especially bad news— spread quickly like wild fire. Even at home, her neighbours regarded her with pity.

This new job at St Andrew’s Hospital was not only a chance for a fresh start in a new city, but a way for her to build back her confidence. Beginning with finding a way not to give a fuck. Hopefully, after reading this book, she would learn how to do just that.

Fortunately, the driver remained silent for the rest of the journey, and the traffic wasn’t so heavy. She reached her destination right on time. Actually, fifteen minutes before the meeting. Not bad for such a busy city like Lagos.

Thanks, she said to the Uber driver, handing him the fare.

No problem, madam. All the best with not giving a fuck, he said with a smile as he drove away.

Yemi couldn’t help but smile back at him. Lagos—The city where nobody minds their business. She had grown up here with her family but had left to attend university in the East, after which she had decided to stay on in Enugu.

Her family still resided here, and she was currently staying with her parents in a quiet residential area of Ikeja. Just temporarily, because her over-protective mother would drive her mad. Hopefully, she would move into the new flat she’d recently leased when her car arrived from Enugu next week.

Still smiling, she strutted through the hospital entrance and along the long hallway to the reception stand—a moderate-sized cubicle occupied by four female receptionists dressed in smart black and red uniforms. Three of them appeared to be busy on the phone, so she approached the one who wasn’t.

Hello, I am Doctor Okeke, the new orthopaedic consultant here to meet with the board of directors, she said to the pretty, fair-skinned lady with blond hair extensions sitting behind the desk.

Oh, Doctor Yemi Okeke? The receptionist smiled, an eyebrow raised in question.

Yes, for the ten a.m. meeting.

Oh, of course, we are expecting you, she said,