If you like pregnancy romance books, check out one of Jamila's earliest dark romance books published in 2015. This is one of Jamila's torrid interracial romance books that despite its dark beginning has a satisfying ending...
Adesuwa is a nineteen year old daughter to a Nigerian mogul who is promised in an arranged marriage to a twenty eight year old Texan oil billionaire. She grows to love him and eventually grows with his child in this salacious, unexpected black woman white man romantic tale.
While a modern arranged marriage seems like the worst possible outcome, in this story of a first-time encounter, you'll quickly realize that quite the opposite is true. This story is a truly delightful quick read that will keep you desperate for the sequel. Luckily, there is a sequel for Adesuwa the Nigerian princess and her Texan billionaire husband...
Dark Romance Books: Billionaire Pursues African Princess Excerpt
My name is Adesuwa Okonkwo. I am now married to a white billionaire who made his fortune in oil off the backs of my people. Yet, I believe I am slowly influencing him to change his devious attitudes towards money and the Nigerian people. The conditions under which I came to be married to this man are completely non-traditional. Don’t worry, I love my husband, at least I grew to love my husband more than you or anyone else could ever imagine. He has provided for me and my family in ways that were unthinkable before our marriage. You see, I was given to my husband as a part of a trade.
Marriage has always been about the merging of financial empires. Modern life has given us notions about marriage which lead to the high divorce rate we see today. Nothing makes a marriage work better than being forced into the circumstances and learning to love the one you were given to. I’m telling you this as a happily married woman who has been kept like a princess. Ladies, listen to my story, and put your silly notions of true love away. Find a man who can provide for you like my husband, Tom Chadwick, provides for me. Trust me, you’ll be better off for it.
I was nineteen years old when I got married. My father was a massive business owner who had built his empire from the ground up in Nigeria. We had enough money that we moved back and forth between the United States and Nigeria regularly. My father did business in the United States and he used the opportunity to show off his beautiful, young family to business partners and network. My father always told me, that in America, white people respected you more for having a beautiful and wholesome family.
My father’s wife is one year older than me. My mother and father have been divorced for years. Honestly, my stepmother is more like a best friend to me than a mother. She’s a half Nigerian, half Japanese woman from a wealthy family. Her name is Rumiko. At first we didn’t get along, but eventually, especially after I got married, I started to understand her perspective a bit better.
Since I was a good Nigerian girl, I was a virgin when I was nineteen. This made me invaluable as a potential bride. Thankfully I had managed not to bring shame to my family, unlike many of my peers who were pregnant sluts by the time they were my age and for the most poor Nigerian men! They didn’t understand the wisdom of marrying older and richer unfortunately. I am skinny and five foot seven. My father has told me to always prioritize my looks so I keep my dark skin incredibly moisturized and I have natural hair that stretches down the middle of my back. I often flat iron it and wear it straight though. I should have known that my father was simply grooming me for marriage my entire life. But I just assumed he wanted a pretty daughter around him to make himself look good. All my brothers were studying at universities in Germany, the UK and the United States. I was the only girl, so I expected he was extra protective of me for that reason.
It was late May when my father pulled me out of school and took me and Rumiko to live in New York for the next three months. I didn’t know much about his business but I knew he was incredibly stressed. He was trying to break into oil and he needed to close a few clients before moving on. He had brought his lovely wife and daughter along to help him clinch deals. Little did I know at the time that I was a crucial part of one of those deals.
I was just happy to leave Nigeria for some excess spending in New York and for hanging out with Rumiko. My stepmother had a great taste in fashion and style and an eye for labels. Her materialism is what kept her and my father together because they had nothing in common. Well that and wild sex. As gross as it was for me to think about, I could often hear her moaning through the house. Plus, despite my attempts to stop her Rumiko often filled me in on the disturbing details of the ways she knew how to please a man. She was made for married life, made for a man to never become bored with. My father would always tell me I could learn a lot from Rumiko, and I think that’s probably what he meant. At the time, I was a happily oblivious wealthy African princess.
Everything changed one evening at a rooftop cocktail party. The biggest of moguls from around the globe were invited to an Upper East Side penthouse with an amazing view of the city. It was a family event with the usual hor d’oeuvres, classical music and plenty of booze. My father had sent Rumiko and I shopping with his black card to get dresses appropriate for the event and to get brand new sets of pearls. In this environment, pearls and Lilly Pulitzer were just as important as your actual network. Rumiko and I both looked amazing in these floral patterned dresses because of our deep skin tones. We went shopping and spend hours choosing shift dresses and heels, complementing our outfits with strings of pearls and giant pearl earrings.
We paid professional makeup artists to come do our faces in the hotel and got manicures and pedicures. We both knew it was an important event and any flaws to our faces and bodies would reflect poorly on my father and possibly impact his business. The world of the wealthy is so complex!
The afternoon rolled around. My father had hired a car to take us to the event. We arrived at the rooftop penthouse and I was honestly unimpressed. In Nigeria, the houses that the wealthy lived in were more like giant compounds. If I were to be honest, this penthouse felt like a giant box. There was no courtyard, no animals, no swimming pool. Yet, I could tell this tiny home contained immense wealth. The furniture all looked incredible, and as we were led onto the rooftop by the host, I could see that there were Eastern European servants milling about, fussing with cleaning, preparation and serving. The rooftop impressed me far more than the apartment. The view of the city was incredible. The air up here felt different. The rooftop wasn’t too crowded either. There was a classical music group playing on one end. The scent of red wine and shrimp filled the air. Beautiful thin ladies of all ethnicities came up to me and Rumiko, introducing themselves and making small talk. I loved the environment. I met so many women, who like me, were there as veritable arm candy.
There were few other African women, but there were women from Dubai, India and many different parts of East Asia. Of course, the wealthy Upper East Side women were thrilled with the ethnic variety. Diversity was “in” in these circles. Rumiko and I found ourselves in conversation with three tall and thin brunettes who seemed intent on getting us to go shopping with them. As the conversation about clothing and hot designers seemed to go on for way too long, I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder.
“Ade, let us go, I have someone I would like you to meet,” he said sternly. “Ladies,” he indicated goodbye to the women I was standing with and pulled me off to the side. My father walked with me through the party and began speaking to me. “Ade, I want you to meet a particular business partner of mine. He is very interested in meeting you. I am making arrangements with him to close a deal, so I hope you are personable when you meet him,” he said. The tone of my father’s voice revealed far more than his words themselves. He was essentially telling me to be on my best behavior, and do absolutely nothing to compromise the deal he would be making. What deal? I figured it was probably a reason for his stress since coming to New York. At the time, I didn’t know how integral I was to closing the deal. I was just an innocent Nigerian girl, hoping to please my daddy.
My father led me to a big tall guy wearing a pair of expensive chinos and a J. Crew button down. When I shook his hand to greet him, I felt the immense power behind his handshake. “I’m Tom Chadwick,” he introduced himself to me with a big smile across his face. I could tell from his accent that he was from the Southern United States. My father introduced Tom Chadwick further, “This is my potential future business partner. Mr. Chadwick has made billions in oil out in Texas. He is very interested in hearing about your studies daughter.” My father then turned away and moved on to chit-chatting with other people at the event. “I’m Adesuwa,” I said to Tom with my eyes turned downward. I felt completely shy around him. He was much taller than six feet, broad and muscled. That, and I was not accustomed to talking to white guys. “Don’t feel nervous, Adesuwa. I just want to get to know you a little better,” he said.
I looked up at him, and found that perhaps he wasn’t as scary as I originally thought. His eyes were a soft light brown color and his chiseled jaw was actually quite appealing to look at. I decided I would give this stranger a chance to get to know me better. “Do you like travel? My favorite place in the world is Venice,” I asked him. Luckily, we managed to click due to our shared love of Venice. Tom had also gone to a fancy international private school and shared my love for different kinds of Asian cuisine. Within minutes, we were laughing. The attraction was clear. I felt nearly magnetically drawn to Tom when I warmed up to him. Something about his Southern lilt, his gentlemanly nature and his tenderness when asking me personal questions made me feel very warm towards him.
Three glasses of wine later, Tom and I were laughing together, hooked on each other’s every word. My father came over to me and joined our conversation, bringing it back around to business. Tom was intrigued, hanging onto my father’s every word. I was too drunk to even hear what they were saying, so I wandered off to find Rumiko who had become “BFFs” with some rich young wives from Thailand that she had met. Rumiko and I did two tequila shots together and talked to each other while walking around the beautiful rooftop for a while. Sometimes it was hard to think of Rumiko as a stepmother. My father approached the two of us and beckoned for us to leave. It would have been pitch black outside at this point, but the lights of the city kept the rooftop nearly totally illuminated. I loved New York, but I was happy to leave the party and retire to the luxury and silence of our hotel.
The next day, housekeeping brought up brunch in bed for me. Luckily, it came with a mimosa that helped to calm down my major hangover. I saw a card on the brunch tray that was from my father. “Come down to the hotel bar at 1 p.m.” it said simply. My father could be a strange and detached man, especially when it came to me. I think in some ways I still reminded him of my mother, his true love. They were divorced, but I knew he would never love Rumiko, his trophy, as much as he loved the woman who had helped him to build his financial empire. I finished up my breakfast quickly. There were only a couple hours until 1 p.m. so I took a shower, and got myself completely ready to meet with my father. I pulled my long weave back into a ponytail and dressed in simple black jeans and flats with a Ralph Lauren cable knit sweater. After spending way too much time online shopping, I realized that I was about to be late to meeting my father. He abhorred lateness.
I dumped a bunch of my belongings into my Birkin (a gift from a business partner) and ran to the elevator to make it to the bar on time. When I got there it was 1:01 p.m. My father was already glaring. “Daddy, I am sorry for being late. I know you hate this disrespect,” I told him. That softened him up. He loved his little girl. Although, I could hardly be classified as a little girl anymore. I was nineteen, almost twenty years old. “Have a seat Ade, we need to discuss something,” he said to me. I could tell from my father’s tone that he had something important to tell me and that he was hesitant to begin.
“Ade. The business man you met last night, Tom Chadwick, he has asked for your hand in marriage and I have agreed. Before you become upset, this will add incredible value to our family business. You will be cared for and you will have a good life. I promise you that. Mr. Chadwick is a good man,” my father said to me. Discussion?! There was no discussion here! My father had decided for himself that I was going to marry Tom Chadwick and I had nothing to say about it. I felt completely deceived. Why was I just a pawn in the lives of rich men?
My father then informed me that I would be going to stay at Tom’s hotel starting at five that evening. He said that Tom thought it best we get to know each other just a little bit better before the wedding which would be in a month. I was unhappy, but I knew I couldn’t cry. I am Adesuwa Okonkwo and this might be my destiny, but it didn’t have to break me. That afternoon, Rumiko helped me pack up my designer clothing, makeup and all my belongings. My expensive leather luggage was filled to the brim when a limousine pulled up outside of the hotel to bring me to Tom Chadwick’s place. I had no idea where his hotel was in New York, but I hoped it wasn’t too far away.
If you ejoyed this romance excerpt, check out another one of our dark romance books on Jamila Jasper Romance. Ain't About The Money 2 is a passionate sequel that will keep your heart racing until the end. Click here to keep reading!