Page 102 of Before I Say I Don't
On the left, my bridesmaids formed a stunning tableau of champagne tones and unwavering confidence. Danica stood at the forefront, her chin held high, eyes bright and clear, and hands steady around her bouquet, as if she were gripping a carefully crafted plan that would guide us through the day. Lena carried herself with effortless elegance that could hush a whole table. Kendall was smooth as ever. Zaria looked sharp and sophisticated. Whereas, Jayla, had a new fragility clinging to heredges. Finally, Serena anchored the group at the end of the line, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she fought the impulse to unleash her playful spirit.
I should have been looking at my fiancé, but instead, my attention was drawn elsewhere. My eyes were immediately captured by Roman, who was positioned perfectly in the line of groomsmen. He embodied a striking image of discipline and poise—dressed in a cream tux that fit like a glove with intention, a satin lapel, the white pocket square folded sharp, and cufflinks catching the light. Roman’s freshly cut hair framed his face, and his beard was trim and impeccably groomed, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw. He looked… composed. And then his gaze caught mine, and I saw the thing only we knew—the previous night still humming under his ribs the way it was humming under mine.
I allowed myself a furtive glance at Viangelo.
His hands fidgeted restlessly, caught in the awkward dance of emotions, unsure of where to put them. The image might have drawn a few tears from me—might have—if I hadn’t already known about all the secrets he was hiding.
I exhaled through my nose and scoffed where only my ribs could hear it.
What a joke.
I shifted my gaze back to Roman, who stood among the crowd with an undeniable presence. He tipped me the slightest, boldest wink, as if sharing an intimate secret with me amidst the sea of onlookers. The smile on my face was genuine, even if the reason wasn’t what those people hoped for.
My steps slowed, then stopped altogether, silk pooling at my feet as I lifted my chin.
“Who gives their blessings to this marriage?” the officiant’s voice resonated, filling the room with an aura of anticipation.
My uncle rose from his seat at my right, his presence a solid pillar of support. “Her family and I do,” he declared, then retook his seat.
Tears came to my eyes, and my armor almost slipped. There is where the man people said I looked so much alike should have stood—my father.
As I approached the altar, I carefully placed my bouquet into Danica’s waiting hands. Our eyes met for a brief instant—a silent exchange that conveyed a shared understanding: we were right on schedule, just as we had planned. With a small nod, I steadied my breath and turned, allowing my gaze to slice through Jayla with a look she would feel in her bones later.
I took my place on the runner and lifted my eyes. Viangelo stood across from me, his posture nervous yet ready.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began, voice rich and measured, “we are gathered here today in the presence of God and those witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony—an honorable estate, instituted of God, signifying unto us the union between…”
The words floated, solemn and expected. He spoke of covenant and patience, of love that “bears all things, believes all things,” of the vows we were about to make being more than poetry—promises with weight. He asked for quiet, reverence, and truth. He smiled at me, then at Viangelo.
I kept my smile.
Viangelo looked like the scum of the fucking earth in a tux, and I couldn’t even be mad at the tailoring.
The officiant’s voice softened. “If anyone could show just cause why those two might not lawfully be joined together, let them speak then, or forever hold their peace.”
The room held its breath.
I didn’t—I breathed.
“We will now proceed to the exchange of vows. The groom will go first,” the officiant announced.
Viangelo hands trembled a little around the paper he said he “didn’t need” but brought along anyway.
“Kam,” he began, voice rough with emotion, “from the first day I saw you, I knew you were everything I needed and more than I deserved. You are the calm in every storm I create and the grace that meets me where I am and pulls me higher.”
His throat worked hard around a swallow while a sniffle cracked the silence from somewhere in the crowd that they probably had saved for that moment all week.
“You helped me grow when I didn’t even know I needed to,” he continued. “You taught me what partnership looks like—sacrifice, late nights, showing up when it wasn’t easy. You held me down. You held me up. This day, I vow to spend the rest of my life holding you the same. I vow to be honest, to be present, and to be home. I vow to love you like you love me—loudly, softly and always. I promised to choose you, Kamira… every day.”
A murmur ofawwsswept through the room. My section of coworkers—who had rarely seen him show up on time to anything—dabbed at more tears. I felt a dozen eyes on my cheekbones; on the way, I was supposed to glow.
Viangelo looked at me like a boy who had seen an ocean for the first time and was promising to learn to swim. If I hadn’t known the undertow, I might have drowned in it too.
“And now, the bride,” the officiant said gently.
I took the mic then shifted my gaze to the room filled with familiar faces.
When I spoke, I heard my mother in my cadence, my sister in my steel, and myself in the center.
