Page 26 of Before I Say I Don't
We ate in silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft clink of forks and the low hum of the fridge… even the candle seemed to flicker like it was nervous, too.
And yet, all that mattered was he was there—fully present. Not scrolling through his phone, not rushing to be somewhere else, not feeding me crumbs of stories with holes big enough to fall through. Just here… With me.
That was how my life was supposed to feel, I told myself. That is what the ‘plan’looked like when it was behaving.
“How was the meeting?” Viangelo asked between bites, breaking the silence.
“Efficient,” I simply answered, knowing it implied that Danica had led the meeting with an iron fist and a touch of fiery passion.
“Danica got on my mama?” His eyes narrowed slightly with a mix of concern and amusement.
“Yourmamagot on Danica,” I corrected playfully, and we both chuckled, fully aware that those two could ignite a flame war even in a completely empty room.
“I’ll have a talk with Ma,” he said, his tone serious yet lighthearted. “Just to make sure she knows how to stay in her lane.”
I made a noncommittal sound becauselaneswere just a suggestion to Diane.
“What else did y’all discuss?” he further inquired.
“Hair and makeup start times, arrival schedule, bouquets, and seating. Your sister tried to add two people to the guest listafterthe deadline, by the way.”
He smirked. “Of course she did. Everybody else was on good behavior?”
“For the most part. Serena suggested a champagne tower for the vibes.”
He groaned. “Serena loves a vibe.”
“Right,” I said, swallowing a laugh and bumping the edge of my plate an inch. “Your mom brought peach preserves as favors with a sticker that said, ‘spread the love.’”
Viangelo winced as if he could feel Danica’s reaction from across the city.
“I know Danica buried that.”
“With dignity,” I chuckled. “We’re doing the truffles.”
He nodded. “I fucks with it.”
“And Jayla…” I started, then paused because what I had wasn’t a thing to share; it was a feeling in a dress. “Jayla got sick.”
His fry paused at his mouth, his expression shifting to one of concern. “Like… sick, sick?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “She threw up. She mentioned that she thought it might have been from the salad she had earlier.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, nonchalantly returning to his meal. “You okay, though? It seems like it was a lot."
“I’m fine.” I twirled a piece of chicken drumstick. “It was just a lot of energy packed into a small space. Danica was on one, and your mom was on two.”
Viangelo smiled, then reached for his glass. He took a sip, checked his phone, then put it face down. The casualness of it made something small and sharp prickle under my skin. I blew it off—he was there, the chicken was seasoned and cooked to perfection, and I just wanted a night without suspicion.
I watched him for a second longer, then put my napkin down.
“Can I ask you something?” I inquired, my voice almost tentative.
“Anything, baby.”
“When we get married…” I steered the conversation with caution, attempting to keep my tone light and breezy. “Are you going to want to try for a baby?”
He blinked at me, not caught off guard, but rather momentarily halted, contemplating.
