Page 118 of Before I Say I Don't
“Deadserious,” she insisted. “You’ve got the face, the poise, and the whole country’s going to be searching your name before the cake’s even cut. I say we make sure they find exactly whatyouwant them to see.”
She took a step back, giving me a knowing look. “We both survived him. That makes ussisters in survival.If you everwanna get even—call me.Just think about it. Gorgeous wedding, by the way… shame about the groom.”
With that, Renee turned and walked off, heels clicking like exclamation points.
I turned back toward Roman, still holding the card in my hand like a trophy.
He tilted his head, looking me up and down like I was dessert. “We leaving or what, baby?”
I laughed, low and incredulously. “Leaving? Oh, hell no! I paidwaytoo much money for thisfake-ass fairy tale of a weddingto just walk out! I’m about to eat, drink, and dance all overyouuntil my feet hurt and your shirt’s sticking to your back!”
Roman smirked. “You’re not worried about what people might think? Not thatIgive a damn.”
“Nope! I’ve wasted too much of my life trying to please people who didn’t deserve it. From here on out, I’m livingexactlyhow I want, with who I want, and doing whatever the hell I want! And right now is to watch you stand there looking fine while I run this reception like it’s my coronation.”
Roman’s grin turned mannish. “Careful with that talk, baby. You keep telling me what you want, I’m liable to drag you into the coat closet and fuck you until you forget what song’s playing.”
“I guess I’d better pace myself then, huh?” I teased, sliding my arm through his.
“Guess you better,” he replied, leading me forward as though we just arrived to our own afterparty.
The two of us walked in the room together, ignoring the stares, the whispers, and the wreckage we’d left behind—ready to turn what was supposed to be a wedding into a celebration on our own terms.
Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
Two years later, I was holding my son in my arms with myhusbandat my side.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and baby lotion, and the sound of softcoosfilled the air. I was still sweaty, still riding the adrenaline wave with my arms wrapped around the tiny, perfect human I had just brought into the world. Roman sat next to me on the hospital bed, his arm draped protectively behind me, grinning like he had just won the lottery.
Across from us, Danica stood with tears streaking down her cheeks, fanning herself.
“Sis, he issohandsome,” she sniffled. “He’s got your greedy appetite and Roman’s little mean mug already.”
Roman chuckled low in his throat, pride practically radiating off him. “That’s my boy. He’s gonna be just like me… minus all the bullshit I had to learn the hard way.”
I glanced around the room, thinking about everything that had changed since the disaster of a wedding that should’ve broken me but instead built me up. Roman and I got married a year after that day, and I never once doubted my choice. He was my soulmate—steady, unapologetic, and consistent. He treatedme the same from day one, and I knew he’d never have to “grow into” the man I needed… because he already was.
Danica? Sis, blew up. After that wedding, her business went from booked-and-busy tobooked out for a year.People weren’t just hiring her for her eye for detail anymore—they wanted theDanica Experience: flawless décor, sharp wit, and the kind of crisis management skills that could turn a whole scandal into a standing ovation. Her name started getting mentioned in the same breath as the biggest planners in the country. And because she’s Danica—never one to leave well enough alone—she went and signed up for criminal justice classes. Said she needed to “make sure her sentencing skills were legally sound.” I told her she just wanted another reason to bang gavels and threaten folks with hard time. She laughed… but she didn’t deny it.
Renee—thewifefrom the wedding who never really was—stood near the window holding a bouquet of yellow tulips. If someone had told me two years ago she’d be one of the people in my close circle, I would’ve laughed them out of my house. But… life has a way of turning women into allies when money and purpose are involved. Renee had become one of my closest friends, business partner, and the person who reminded me that survival and success are best served with a side of petty when necessary.
Taryn and I never became ‘friends’—but we never became enemies either. We follow each other on social media, like each other’s posts, drop a “Happy Birthday” here and there, and every once in a while she’ll comment on an outfit—vice versa—or a picture of me with Roman. That’s about as far as our communication goes, and honestly? That’s enough. It would’ve been awkward to force a friendship with one of the mothers of Viangelo’s children. But there was no animosity between us, and that mattered more than anything.
As for Kendall? Taryn cut her off completely. She realized Kendall had been fake all along—never telling her about me, keeping Viangelo’s secrets, and how easily she threw Jayla under the bus at the wedding when everything came to light. That wasn’t loyalty or family; that was survival at anyone’s expense, and Taryn wanted no part of it. Whatever bond they had crumbled that day. Taryn told me once, indirectly through a comment, that she was done surrounding herself with “people” who couldn’t be trusted.
If nothing else, the whole ordeal taught me this: sometimes people get their wake-up call at the same time you get your closure.
Jayla… well, she got exactly what she signed up for. She’s a single mother now, working at Dollar General, from what I heard. She had a daughter too—spitting image of Viangelo, down to the eyes that never told the truth. Jayla never reached out to me again—not that I would’ve answered if she had. Still, every once in a while, I’d see her posts floating across social media. And the thing about social media? Even when people don’t say it out loud, you canfeeltheir regret. Jayla knew she had lost a real friend, and that kind of loss is heavier than most people admit. So she kept posting, kept smiling, kept pretending like she didn’t care. But deep down? Jayla knew she’d spend the rest of her life wishing she’d played her role better.
Surprisingly,Zaria and I still kept in contact. We didn’t communicate every day, not even every week—just every blue moon when life slowed down enough for us to check in. She had found her a man, one who actually treated her the way she deserved. The last time we talked, she told me she was expecting a baby soon. Despite everything that went down between us, I was genuinely happy for her.
Sometimes people grow apart, sometimes they circle back, but every now and then you just have to let the past sit where it was and be glad everyone made it out alive.
As for Viangelo… oh, that man’s fall from grace was chef’s-kiss perfect. He lost it all—the job, the money, the image. And then came the kicker. Two days after the ‘wedding’ he went to jail for a year and a half on fraud charges once the truth about his fake ID and shady dealings finally caught up with him. No high-priced suit or slick tongue could talk him out of that.
His sister and mama weren’t charged, though they both had to sit in the mess he created. Viangelo tried writing me letters, tried calling from the inside, even tried having people reach out on his behalf. I blocked him at every turn. The one time I had to show up at the jail? I made it clear—in no uncertain terms—that if he so much asmentionedmy name again, I’d make sure he caught more charges before he ever tasted freedom. Needless to say, I guess he learned how to keep my name out of his mouth.
