I was called into the room, though I had no idea how long the three of them had been talking outside.
Houston knocked on my door, and as soon as I opened it, he slipped inside, pressing me against the door.
His passionate kiss landed on my lips. "Wife, I've missed you so much."
I kissed him back, but he quickly pulled away. "Not yet, your mom wants you outside."
I was furious, feeling like he had taken advantage of me and kissed me, all while saying I was the one in a hurry.
Apparently, my dad had already admitted everything.
He was an avid chess player, though a terrible one, and nobody wanted to play with him. He'd eventually turned to Houston.
When Houston was a child and had trouble fitting in, my father made him play chess with him.
Houston was taught to play but kept losing.
Eventually, even Houston didn't want to play anymore.
In the end, my father suggested a bet, gambling with toys. Red in the face from losing, he insisted, "Let's play one more round. I've still got a bet to make."
He pointed to me, sitting next to Alexander. "'I'm betting my daughter on this. Win ten games in a row, and I'll let you have her."
Houston agreed and made him write out the terms, sealing it with their fingerprints.
That draft paper was poorly made but had been carefully preserved.
It was more of a promissory note than an actual agreement.
My father chuckled. "Sweetheart, this is Houston, Director Hooper's son. He's such a good kid—every year, he brings you gifts. The handmade rugs, the scarves, and your favorite beef jerky, it's all from him."
My mother was taken aback. "You're saying he's Jamarion's son?"
"Yes," my father replied.
My mother pinched him lightly. "Now that he's come to ask, what are you going to say?"
"Let them get engaged," he said, smiling.
