Page 77 of Before I Say I Don't
“You think she’d cheat on me? I’m just asking because you know her.”
“Knew,” I corrected. “See, the Kam I knew back then? Different woman. The Kam you’re with now? That’s a new breed. And if you think she ain’t smart enough to see through you eventually… that’s your mistake number two.”
Truth was, Ididknow Kamira—the new her. I knew she deserved better. I knew she didn’t give a fuck about him the way he wanted to believe, and that she was already leaning my way, although neither of us had expressed it aloud.
Viangelo finally picked up his glass and took a long sip, covering silence with liquor.
“Well, I appreciate the advice,” he said at last, forcing a laugh. “Don’t mean I’m gonna take it, but… I hear you.”
I smiled, slow.“Good. Just remember, you can ignore advice, but you can’t ignore consequences. And trust me… consequences don’t whisper. Cheers to truth… and to the people strong enough to face it.”
I tilted my glass toward him. Viangelo clinked his against mine, smirk shaky but present, and downed it like liquor could drown what I’d just put in his head.
In my thoughts, though, I was already a mile ahead of him.
Toast all you want, nigga. You think this is a drink? Nah. This is a countdown. And whenKamira finally confronts yo’ass, don’t worry; she won’t be left empty-handed… she’ll have me.
Chapter Twenty
KAMIRA
If anyone didn’t know me well, they’d swear I was the happiest bride-to-be alive. The dazzling smile on my face was perfectly camera-ready, my laughter rang out at just the right pitch—a melodic blend of joy and excitement. My heartfelt thank-yous flowed effortlessly, genuine yet tempered enough to avoid feeling over the top. But on the inside? I was coasting—sliding through pleasantries, through conversations, and through the entire idea of celebrating something I wasn’t even sure I wanted anymore.
It was the evening of my bridal shower, and I’d gone with a champagne silk midi dress that clung just enough to hint at curves without screaminglook at me.My hair was swept into a sleek, low bun with two tendrils framing my face, and my makeup was soft but structured—nude lip, warm blush, sharp wing. I looked like a woman fully invested in her future, even if my thoughts were anything but.
Since the shower would just consist of my bridesmaids, my matron of honor, and, of course, Diane—because Lord knows she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to inspect and critique—I decided to keep it at my house, on the patio.
Originally, the bridal shower was supposed to be a big event—balloons, banners, rented venue, the whole shebang. But after everything I’d uncovered, the thought of people spending money on customized gifts with his name printed beside mine made my stomach churn. Items that would never see a second use didn’t deserve their wallets. So, I crafted a lie—one I hoped would deflect scrutiny. I told the extended guest list that there was a last-minute issue with the venue, suggesting it was unavoidable and that the shower would be rescheduled for after the wedding. It was a convenient excuse, a well-rehearsed story to throw them off my scent. The bridesmaids and Diane still pressed me about the switch-up. I offered them the line about wanting something moreintimate,hoping that would satisfy their curiosity. Yet, the side-eyes exchanged among them told me they weren’t entirely convinced, but they didn’t push the issue.
Truth? I could’ve easily done away with the shower altogether. But outright canceling it would have raised more red flags than I was prepared to explain to everyone.
The patio looked nice enough to shut everybody up. Round tables were elegantly draped in ivory linen, and tea-light candles flickered inside glass holders. Above us, string lights crisscrossed, emitting a soft, warm glow that added to the cozy yet polished ambiance. It was the kind of setup I would've scrolled past online and double-tapped without knowing the bride was planning to torch the wedding the moment vows were supposed to lock her down.
The mimosa bar was the hit of the evening—flutes lined up beside a spread of pastries, sugared fruit, and delicate little finger sandwiches cut into perfect halves. If anyone was suspicious, the champagne and sugar rush would keep them too busy to say it out loud.
One by one, the women arrived with their gifts—each wrapped in their own style, each telling me something about the person handing it over.
Serena was first to shove a gift bag into my hands—a large white-and-gold tote stuffed with tissue paper. Inside, there was a pair of silk pajamas embroidered withMrs. Granton the pocket, along with a matching robe and a ridiculously soft throw blanket.
I cringed at the stitched name, my smile glued in place, even though my insides hissed. I hated even more that her money went to waste, because it was going straight to the dumpster as soon as the bridal shower wrapped up.
“You’re gonna need this blanket for those cold feet, sis,” Serena teased, grinning widely.
“Cold feet? I don’t get cold feet,” I shot back, sipping my mimosa with a sweet smile.
Now, cold shoulders? Different story.
Lena was next—her gift came in a blush-colored box tied with satin ribbon. I carefully untied the bow and opened the box to reveal a stunning crystal set: delicately etched champagne flutes, elegant wine glasses, and a decanter that sparkled like a star, all engraved with “The Grants.”
I rolled my eyes internally.
Another one? Goodness, how many engraved reminders of this man do y’all expect me to keep?
“This way, even your alcohol gets dressed up,” Lena explained sweetly, clearly proud of her choice.
I nodded with practiced gratitude, but in my head I was like,Girl, this whole set is about to be drunk once, then join his ass in the trash… sparkle and all.
Kendall’s gift was playful—like her. She rolled in with an oversized basket filled with “first-year survival” items: A bottle of my favorite red wine, a mini charcuterie board with knives, ajar of lavender bath salts labeledBoss Energy.There was also a candle titled “Booked & Busy,” its scent a warm blend of vanilla and sandalwood. And to top it off, she included two pairs of fuzzy socks—one stitched with the words “Do Not Disturb—Case Closed,” while the other read, “If you can read this, bring me wine.”
