Page 64 of Before I Say I Don't
Danica reclined in her chair, an amused grin spreading across her face, her dark curls framing her features like a halo.
“Alright. Picture this scene,” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The music abruptly cuts off, plunging the room into a heavy silence as everyone holds their breath. He turns to you, eyes wide and innocent, draped in those pitiful, faux puppydog expressions he thinks are so charming. You look back at him, and in that moment, you recite my lines like a mantra…"
Pausing for dramatic effect, Danica cleared her throat, dramatically lowering her voice to mimic my tone, as if she were summoning my very essence:
“Viangelo… I can’t marry a man who forgot the venue, forgot the bills, and oh yeah… neglected to mentionhisotherfamily. Amen.”
I snorted wine through my nose. “Danica!”
She grinned wickedly. “No, listen! That’s just the opener! Then you pause, sip some water, let the room gasp like they in a telenovela. And then you go for the jugular.”
Danica sat taller, mimicking my calm.
“See, I didn’t just bring vows today… I brought receipts. While you were out having your fun, I was gathering evidence. And now? The jury of our families is in session.” Then you turn to Diane’s wanna-be- bougie ass and say, “And to my future mother-in-law—you always said your son was a ‘good man.’ Well, congratulations, he’s also a good liar, a good cheater, and a good waste of my time. Hallelujah.”
I doubled over in laughter.
“Listen, sis, this isn’t a wedding anymore; it’s a trial. And you? You’re the judge, jury, and bailiff. You get to slam the gavel and walk out with your dignity intact!”
I shook my head, tears of laughter rolling down my face. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re brilliant,” she shot back. “You’re about to turn your biggest heartbreak into a standing ovation. Netflix gon’ call you for the rights, sis! All jokes aside, you need to make sure you have some receipts on deck,” Danica included, eyes keen. “Because men like him will call you a liar while standing in a puddle.”
“I have the recording, remember? So it’s not a rumor; it’s his own confession.”
Danica whistled low. “See, I take back every time I called that man a distraction. He’s not a distraction; he’s a damn deliverance. And you? You’re about to deliver a sermon the whole city gon’ be talking about!”
I chuckled.
We slid into the plan like we’d rehearsed it in another life.
“Now, if you’re gonna pull this off, you’ve got to move like nothing’s wrong. I mean, perfect fiancée, but nottooperfect. If you suddenly start baking him breakfast and rubbing his feet every night, he’s gonna smell it.”
I nodded. “So, just enough sweetness to keep him thinking he’s safe?”
“Exactly. Don’t start arguments. Don’t act distant, but don’t be clingy either. You’ve got to hit that middle ground so good he won’t see you coming.”
I sipped my drink. “Calculated normal.”
“That’s the word,” she said. “Smile at him. Let him kiss you. Ask about his day. Keep the routine. And when you’re around people—especially Diane—keep the picture-perfect act going. We need everyone thinking you’re hopelessly in love right up until the moment you burn it all down.”
I laughed, low. “You’re dangerous.”
Danica grinned. “I’m your sister… it’s genetic.”
She pushed her chair back and grabbed her phone.
“Alright, I’ll let you breathe, but don’t forget about the menu tasting. Noon!”
I raised my glass. “I’ll beat you there,” I said, although I knew she’d be the first to arrive.
When she was gone, I stood there a second, rolling her words in my head.
Perfect, but not too perfect.The kind of calm that makes a man believe he’s in control… right before you show him he never was.
Around one o'clock in the afternoon, I had my iPad propped on a soft throw pillow while immersing myself in the pages of a juicy book. The aroma of my Popeyes feast wafted through the air—spicy two-piece, Cajun fries, and biscuit drowning in honey.
The tranquility was suddenly interrupted as the front door creaked open. The familiar sound of jingling keys echoed, followed by the heavy thud of a duffel bag being dropped onto the floor, and a distinctive cologne filled the space. Under it, something else—hotel soap and a whisper of somebody’s too-sweet body spray that didn’t live in my house.
