Page 3 of Wiley A.F.

ONE YEAR LATER

CIRCA 2006

Z

The day I spent with Dave replays in my head constantly. Life had been a whirlwind of tulle and extensive planning since then. I swallowed my doubts, forcing myself to move forward, always keeping my head held high and free of as much uncertainty as possible.

“Are you ready to become my wife?” Malcom bowed and then extended his arm, his hand waiting for mine.

“Malcom,” I giggled, locking my fingers with his, and he twirled my body against his.

“Because I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

My heart hammered inside my chest, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. His words shouldn’t cause this much fear in my body. This was the right decision. I wanted to bang my head on something hard to beat the words into myself. The correct thing to do was beyond me at this point, but I was tired of feeling like this. I was absolutely certain. If these were wedding jitters, I fucking hated them and could go the rest of my life without feeling them again. Tomorrow was twenty-four hours away; I would make it that far despite the free-for-all party of emotions happening within my mind without my consent.

“This is where you say something similar, Ezilynn.”

“Of course, I love you. Sorry.”

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I hesitated before answering. This was all I’d known for the past seven years. Malcom and me. Me and Malcom. When anyone thought of one of us, the other was always included. Somewhere along the way, I had lost myself. In the past, I was never afraid to be myself and speak my mind. I was tired of being the way I was.

I shook my head. “My feet have never been warm. I don’t know what it is, Malcom. I think it’s just the thought of marriage itself. I have no clue what it is. I’m just fucked up. Why would you want to marry someone like me?”

“Because, my sweet Ezilynn, there was never an alternative. You were always going to marry me. You just needed convincing.”

I nervously laughed as his lips pressed to my forehead, and the old familiar worry of the unknown crawled into my soul. Perhaps it had never left, it was only lying dormant beneath my skin, waiting for my self-doubt to awaken, and at this moment, it sank its toxic claws into me. His words were meant to be sweet and endearing—there was no denying that. It was how two people in love talked to one another, right? The possibility that I was so explicitly broken that I didn’t know how to love someone in return scared me to death. The majority of people who came from happy homes and were raised by two people madly in love with one another didn’t act like I did. At least, I didn’t think they did, but somehow, it was exactly how I behaved. I was emotionally drunk when it came to love, I guess. There was no other logical reason I could come up with other than that.

“I don’t deserve you,” I openly admitted to him, wrapping my arms around his body.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you, Z,” Malcom repeated my words, and I was certain it was only to make me feel better. He was doing what he always did, reassuring me because that was who he had always been in our relationship—the fixer. The problem was he had been trying to fix me since the day we met, and I was still just as fucked up, maybe more so.

“How about we agree to disagree?”

“Whatever puts a smile on your face.” He beamed, and I wanted to die. I promised myself I would spend every day for the rest of my life trying to show him as much love as I was capable of, even if it was only a measly ounce in comparison to the overflowing gallons he poured on me. I made a mental note to try and fit something like that into my vows—that and apologize ahead of time for fucking up his life. It needed to be said. If I put the words out into the world, I was more likely to live up to them. It set a standard to abide by, and I needed something to give me structure now more than ever.

3

WEDDING DAY

Z

“You are absolutely breathtaking, Z.”

“Malcom! You’re not supposed to be here. It’s bad luck! You know how our girl gets!” Dave snarled, angrily smacking a brush in his direction as we both turned to see Malcom.

My chest heaved in and out at the sight of him, and just like that, I knew I was an idiot. A strange warm sensation overtook my body, and one of the most genuine smiles spread across my face. So much time had been wasted worrying if this was the right decision. Now, it was no longer a question. Malcom was right; I was always supposed to marry him. I felt it now.

“He’s right, but I don’t give a fuck,” I admitted while grasping the over-the-top gown that our best man talked me into wearing. It was embellished with so many tiny sequins and beads, making the dress have some real weight to it.

“Of course, you don’t,” Dave sourly said, pursing his lips together and giving me a mean side-eye glance.

“It’ll be okay, I swear. You know, if I’m saying this, then it really will be. I believe that more than anything I’ve ever believed in.”

“Swear on the queens.”

“Really?”

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