Page 61 of Before I Say I Don't
After spending two incredible days together, leaving felt like tearing myself away from a breath of fresh air. He cared for me in every essential way—his gentle touches, the thoughtful conversations that filled the spaces between us, and the way he truly listened to my worries and dreams. It was a kind of love and understanding that Viangelo hadn’t offered in months. If it wasn’t for Mother Nature pulling her little monthly stunt, I’d b flat-out sinful by that Sunday morning and the reason behind Roman’s devilish-smirk—and then some.
I slid my bag over my shoulder, trying not to let my eyes linger on the way he leaned in the doorway, watching me like he was memorizing every inch. Roman had that quiet, possessive thing about him—like he could lock the door and keep me there without raising his voice once.
“Yes,” I finally answered, chuckling lightly, though my chest felt heavier than I wanted to admit. “I need to get home before Angelo does. I don’t want to throw anything off.”
His jaw flexed. Roman clearly didn't like my response, but he chose not to press further.
I let out a long sigh, took a step forward, and wrapped my arms around him, hoping to offer some reassurance.
“I know what you’re thinking… that I used you as emotional support just to run back to him. I promise you, that's not the case. These past two days, being with you, has brought me more joy and comfort than I’ve felt in the last twomonthswith Angelo… and that’s the truth.”
His expression softened.
“I have a plan brewing," I continued, my determination growing. "Once I discuss it with my sister, I’ll fill you in on all the details.”
Roman nodded slowly, like he was giving me permission to handle it my way for the time being. Then he bent down, brushed his lips against mine—not deep, just enough to taste—and murmured something dark, freaky, and possessive against my mouth.
“Next time you come over… you’re not leaving ‘til I’m done with you. And when I am, you won’t just not wanna go—you won’t even remember why you thought about leaving in the first place. You’ll be too weak in the knees to find the door.”
It made my pulse trip over itself. For a second, I thought about saying fuck the plan, Viangelo, and everything—and just staying right here.
But I didn’t.
I promised to call him later, and I meant it.
By the time I hit the elevator, my mind was already made up.
There would be a wedding, sure… but not the one everybody was expecting.
When I finally turned my phone back on, the screen lit up like a damn slot machine—fifteen missed calls from Viangelo, four voicemails, and a string of texts that ran the full circus.
Viangelo: Call me NOW.
Viangelo: You trippin, Kam. Answer the phone!
Viangelo: Stop acting childish; you know I love you!
Viangelo: You really gon’ ignore me all weekend? Bet! Don’t say shit when I get home!
I just stared at the screen, but never pressed play on the voicemails. My chest tightened, but not out of guilt—out of exhaustion.
That weekend, I powered off my personal phone. I only kept my work phone on—strictly for emergencies. Aside from coworkers, Danica was the only other person who had that number. Everyone else? They could wait until I decided I had the energy to deal with them.
What pissed me off the most wasn’t the begging, the guilt trips, or even the threats disguised as ultimatums. It was that Viangelo never once shared his location or called to say he’d made it safe Friday night. Not even a single “I’m here” text.Nothing.So yeah, I turned my phone off that Saturday morning.
What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?
He felt like it was okay for him to vanish into the night with his groomsmen—no updates, no check-ins, no consideration. So I decided to return the favor and let him know what silence felt like. The only difference was that my silence wasn’t careless like his; it was intentional. And if he thought I was gonna sit by the phone all weekend waiting on crumbs of communication like some desperate fiancée he had me twisted.
I texted Danica before I pulled out of the complex garage.
Me: Good morning, sis! Did you go to church this morning?
Danica: Good morning, baby sis. But not today. I had a long night. What’s up? You still at Roman’s.
Instead of texting back, I called her.
“Well, you didn’t send me a peach, so I take it that you’re good,” Danica chuckled.
