Stay with me CEO

he freshly cooked broth. I knew they would notice that the mixture tasted a little off, but I was counting on the guilt that Baba Lola was masking as indignation at my beha

eat. I fought the urge to rip Funmi's jheri curls out of her as she plopped down on the front seat next to my husband and pushed the small pillow I always kept there onto the floor. I clenched my fists as Akin drove off, leaving me alone in the cloud of dust he'd kicked up. "What did you give them?" Akin shouted. "Welcome back, husband," I said. I had just finished dinner. I gathered up the plates and went into the kitchen. "Did you know they all have diarrhea? I had to stop next to a bush so they could shit. A bush!" he said, following me into the kitchen. "And what's so unusual about that? Do all your relatives have bathrooms in their homes? Don't they shit in the bushes or in dunghills?" I shouted, throwing the plates into the metal sink. The sound of the dishes breaking was followed by silence. One of the plates split in half. I ran my finger over the broken rim. I felt it cut me. My blood stained the jagged edge. "Yejide, try to understand. You know I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "What language are you speaking? Hausa or Chinese? Because I don't understand. Start saying something I can understand, Mr. Husband." "Stop calling me that." "I'll call you whatever I want. At least you're still my husband. Oh, but maybe you're not my husband anymore. Did I miss that news too? Should I turn on the radio, or is it on TV? Or in the newspaper?" I dropped the broken plate into the plastic bin next to the sink. I turned to face him. His forehead was glistening with beads of sweat that ran down his cheeks and collected on his chin. He tapped his foot in time with some furious pounding in his head. The muscles in his face moved in time with his jaw clenching and unclenching. "You called me a son of a bitch in front of my uncle. You disrespected me." The anger in his voice shook me, offended me. I had thought the trembling of his body meant he was nervous-it was usually like that. I had hoped it meant he was sorry, that he felt guilty. "You brought a new wife into this house and you're the one who's angry? When did you marry her? Last year? Last month? When were you planning on telling me? Huh? You son of a-" "Don't say that, woman, don't say that word. I