Page 94 of Before I Say I Don't
“Well, Danica and I made some last-minute changes to the seating. So now, yourfriendscan get a much closer view at the actual ceremony.”
A few whispers scattered around the table.
“R-really?”
My head tilted, slow, savoring the discomfort like it was dessert.
“Yup! Front row… right beside the bride… and the groom. It will be the best view in the room.”
I glowered at Viangelo, letting the words hang heavy.
Danica coughed into her napkin to disguise the laugh threatening to burst out. A few people chuckled nervously, their eyes skimming between us, not quite catching the punchline but sensing the sharpness buried inside it.
And Viangelo? He shifted in his seat, shoulders easing back like he was trying to look relaxed, but his jaw tightened. His fingers drummed once against his glass, then stilled. He leaned back, studying me—too long, too hard, like he was deciding if I knew more than I should.
The room buzzed again, conversation forcing itself back into motion, but under the tablecloth, tension hummed like an unplayed note.
Moments later, I found myself alone by the terrace doors for exactly thirty seconds.
Suddenly, Roman slid into that intimate space like he’d been invited—he was.
“Two rules,” he murmured, eyes on the skyline, not me. “One, I don’t touch you unless you say so. Two, if you say so, I don’t stop until you smile for real.”
I turned to meet his gaze, feeling a thrill zip through me. “I’m saying so.”
Roman turned me into the shadow just inside the drapes and boldly kissed me—slow and ruinous. When he finally pulled back, his forehead lingered just inches from mine, and instead of stepping away, he stayed close, his piercing gaze locked onto me.
“I hate seeing that nigga’s hand on you. He doesn’t deserve a jewel as precious as you.”
“Be patient,” I whispered, breath skimming his jaw, then pulled away. “After tomorrow, I’m all yours.”
His exhale was almost a laugh. “Damn right.”
But then Roman’s gaze flicked over my shoulder, his jaw tipping, eyes narrowing.
“I meant to ask… what the hell is she doing here?”
“Who?” I followed his line of sight.
“Zaria,” he replied, quiet but edged. “You cool with her being in your wedding?”
I shrugged. “She’s Angelo’s friend.”
Roman scoffed, half-smile, no humor. “This nigga.” He cut his eyes back to Zaria.” Baby, I don’t know why he thought askingherto stand beside you was smart. That girl is hisex,” he revealed with a hint of disbelief.
Ex????
The word hit me like a slap. I was completely taken aback. My mind raced as I tried to process the implications of his words; one thought crashing into the next.
How long? How serious? Why didn’t he tell me? Who else knows?
“Are you… are you serious?!” I hissed, my voice louder than I meant, trembling at the edges.
“You know I wouldn’t lie to you. They were on and off back in the day. If you confront him and he says different, he’s lying.”
Inside, my blood boiled so hot that I could almost hear it rushing in my ears. I wasn’t mad at Zaria… not even at Roman for spilling the tea. My anger was directed at Viangelo and the endless secrets he piled up like a deck of cards, just waiting for me to knock them down.
In that moment, I thought about every glance, every inside joke, and every unexplained moment I’d ignored between them.
