Page 28 of Before I Say I Don't
Later, in bed, Viangelo was snoring. After we ate, he fell asleep fast—like he always did. Needless to say, all that biting, sucking, licking, and fucking he swore was on the menu? Yeah… that plate never even made it out the kitchen. Nigga talked like a five-star chef and served me leftovers—sleep and snores.
The clock hummed, and the AC kicked on with a sound like a sigh.
I laid there, staring at the textured ceiling above, allowing the events of the day to play out in my mind against the dull white of the drywall. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, unlocked the screen, and scrolled to the contact labeledRoman Hill.
My thumb hovered over his name, which glowed like it was waiting for me to choose a road I had no business walking.
Just in case you need a friend.The thought echoed in my mind, a siren call.
I flipped the phone back down onto my chest and shut my eyes tight, whispering, “Not tonight,” to the ceiling above, my words a plea for strength. “Not like this.”
Carefully, I slid the phone onto the nightstand, still screen-side down. I turned to face the shadowy silhouette of the man I had promised my heart to, mere weeks away from a lifetime commitment. The ring on my finger caught a slice of moonlight and made a small bar of brightness on the sheet.
It didn’t feel like a promise; it felt like a question.
Danica would’ve warned me against that internal conflict, Lena would’ve encouraged me to find my breath, while Serena would’ve likely suggested a drink to ease my troubled mind. Yet, all I could do was clasp my hands together beneath my cheek and pray for the elusive escape of sleep.
Sleep came slow, like a train whistling from counties away—loud enough to haunt and too far to reach. By the time it pulled in, I was already dreaming of doors I shouldn’t open.The next morning, the candle was a pool of hardened wax on the table, and my phone sat quiet where I left it, keeping a number I wasn’t ready to use.
Chapter Five
KAMIRA
Ihad taken that Monday off with the intention of truly unwinding. It was meant to be my special day—just me engulfed in soft, plush robes, indulging in the calming scent of lavender oil, far away from any wedding chaos.
After surrendering myself to three blissful hours at the spa—starting with a fresh mani and pedi, then moving on to a rejuvenating facial, a soothing massage, and ample time in the steam room that made me forget I even had a fiancé—I felt like a completely new person. The world felt quieter when I wasn’t thinking about timelines or bridesmaid attitudes, like silence was a gift I’d forgotten I needed.
The nail tech had even given me a little glass of champagne while I got my pedicure, so I was floating, light and easy, when I pulled up to my house. But then, my heart sank.
A black Lexus, parked carelessly at a diagonal, almost as if it were claiming my driveway as her own.
Diane.
I sat in my car for a good thirty seconds, forehead against the steering wheel, praying for strength.
Lord, please don’t let her ruin my spa day high.
With a reluctant sigh, I gathered my belongings and fashioned a "be civil" smile across my face, bracing myself as I approached the house. Sure enough, there she was, poised on my porch with her legs elegantly crossed, exuding an air of entitlement.
“Kamira,” she greeted me, her tone oozing with the disingenuous warmth she reserved for public occasions. “I happened to be in the area, so I thought I’d pop by and share some ideas for the wedding décor.”
Translation: she was there to dissect and critique every little detail I’d already chosen.
I returned her smile, polite and practiced. “Of course. Always good to hear new ideas.”
Her expression brightened. “Wonderful!” .
We stepped inside, and I found myself internally counting to ten, trying to keep my composure as she pulled out her little binder full of swatches and magazine clippings.
“You definitely have better taste than the last one,” she said.
My body froze mid-nod, a quizzical expression creeping onto my face. “The last one?”
For a brief moment, I caught her eyes darting away—an involuntary reaction that spoke volumes.
“Oh, just… the last event I assisted with… my cousin’s daughter's wedding.”
Mm-hmm.Quick save… a little too quick.
