Her Forever After. Nani Khabako

      This book is dedicated to Bongi, Jones, Khwami, Thembi, Gran and Ben-B.

      All my love.

      1

      Tumi Vika sat impatiently tapping her fingers on the elegant mahogany table as the drone of cheerful people behind her seemed to grow ever louder and more cheerful. Even in the exquisite surroundings of one of her favourite eateries, she was nagged by a feeling of un­ease in the core of her stomach.

      A storm was brewing, for sure.

      And for a self-confessed control freak such as herself, any unplanned discord brought with it unmitigated grumpiness. She was convinced there was a plague of incompetence running rampant in all Cape Town establishments. That had to be the reason why she was in a foul mood lately, or simply finding fault with most things.

      It had absolutely nothing to do with a certain horrid cretin who’d recently crawled out of the woodwork, hellbent on ruining her life.

      Mandi.

      Her shameful university obsession was back in the country, presumably having tired of sowing his wild oats throughout all the continents and geographical locations. She’d hardly been researching him, but she had heard about his scandalous exploits, the worst being a rumoured affair with a Russian tycoon’s niece! As if his shameful philandering had not been enough, his doing it in such a public fashion had been truly disgraceful.

      Adding insult to injury, he’d sent Tumi a two-paragraph e-mail the previous morning, informing her of his imminent arrival in her dry and boring life. He had left for the UK to pursue a career in journalism shortly after graduating, leaving her a heartbroken mess. He had quickly established himself as a top-notch political commentator and interviewed some of the most powerful people in the world. For months it had been widely speculated that the African News Network wanted him to work for them. Just a few weeks ago, he’d been signed up as the senior political reporter at the network, which was the biggest news agency on the continent.

      At the youthful age of thirty, he was on his way to be­coming a legend in the media world, respected for his professional integrity and shrewd intellect even though his private meanderings and Casanova-like antics were discussed in hushed tones.

      Tumi flicked back her ebony braids and sipped more of the cooling espresso. She noticed a distant male form gazing at her – eerily and for too long.

      It was strange how she’d become accustomed to this.

      Before she could mentally dread the prospect, he was on his way to her table.

      “Hello. I couldn’t help but notice that you were dining alone.”

      Originality was obviously not a strong point with him.

      “Yes, I actually prefer it that way.”

      “A beautiful woman like you has no business being all by herself and without good conversation.”

      Before Tumi knew it, he had plumped his butt down on the chair opposite hers. What was it about some men that made them incapable of noticing when their presence wasn’t welcome?

      She had a million things going on in her mind, one being a particular man. The last thing she needed now was another one to deal with, and some weirdo at that.

      “Look, sir,” she said, wanting him to know they were not on friendly terms, “I’m sitting by myself because I chose to. If I had wanted company, do you honestly think I would’ve struggled to get someone to join me?”

      Before he could mutter some response, she was out of her chair and making her way to work.

      Tumi was a striking woman. Well put together, groomed, never missing a spinning class. She turned heads on a daily basis.

      Strange as it was, it did nothing to inflate her ego. It just made her more determined to be more than the pretty wife of so-and-so. Or, even worse, the docile lover of a heartless wretch.

      She wondered how much she’d enjoy dangling her success in Mandi’s face. She was no longer the starry-eyed bookworm with a permanent grin he’d known, eager to please his imperious self.

      Just like the presumptuous stranger at the restaurant, he’d be quickly cut down to size, should he have any illusions about where they stood. She’d have Mandi know that she was the features editor at one of the top glossy magazines in South Africa. She mingled with the who’s who of the entertainment, media and business world.

      Tumi lived her own life and took bloody good care of herself and her mother. Mandi probably expected her to swoon at his glorious feet now that he’d returned. As if she’d celebrate his arrival like he was some roman­tic saviour. She had no intention of becoming his local plaything. She had trusted him once, but that had been a long time ago when she still believed in fairy tales.

      She was a woman now. A well-respected, talented and much sought-after woman.

      So Mandi Mabandla could take that piece of information, wrap it around his frequently stamped passport, and down it with a bottle of vinegar!

      * * *

      Tired after a day’s work, Tumi struggled for keys that had been buried under a million other items inside her Louis Vuitton bag. Oh, her mother would die if she knew how much money she’d spent on this one single item. Tumi had always felt that good things only came to those who worked hard for them, and she had no qualms about those good things being authentic designer bags.

      As she entered her beautiful bachelor flat, she knew she was forgetting something but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She was glad to notice that she still felt that pang of bliss when she looked at the beauty with which she’d managed to surround herself. That feeling was what kept her motivated, what made her the first person to walk into the office in the morning and the very last to leave.

      The décor was mostly white and gold, broken up only by soft shades of pearl and tan. She walked over to the white leather sofa that was positioned in front of the humongous window overlooking a throng of stately trees that concealed some of the most beautiful houses in Camps Bay. She was hardly in with that bunch. That would have to wait for when she owned her own magazine.

      Then, like a ton of bricks, it struck her why she felt as if she’d forgotten something. She would have to immediately call her loudmouth of a best friend and grovel her way out of another broken promise! She’d been so busy stressing about Mandi being back in the country that she completely forgot she was meant to meet Tatum and Tholaphi for cocktails at Long Street Café.

      When Tatum picked up her cellphone, all she did was give a long-suffering sigh and a brief but faint murmur to signal she’d answered.

      “Honey!”

      “Tumi, I’m not in the mood.”

      Well! There went that whole feigned civility thing.

      “Babe, I’m truly sorry. I would make up a tale but the truth is, I forgot.”

      “We waited for you! What happened to Wednesday, ladies’ night out?”

      “I’m afraid I wasn’t in the headspace to remember anything but my own arse.”

      There was a reluctant snicker on the other side, which made Tumi hopeful. Tatum could never be mad for long anyway.

      “What’s wrong, darl?”

      She supposed she could get away with lying, but knowing how clued up Tatum was regarding the latest on the city’s social scene, it would be pointless to delay the inevitable.

      “Mandi.”

      “Him! We haven’t spoken about that lecher in ages. I mean, he did some number on you, babe – it was a sight to behold! Tragic and verging on gut-wrenching.”

      “I get it!”

      “I heard he’s back in the