Page 56 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

“You married?my daughter in Sin City? Never mind the fact?that?she’s an only child, an only niece, and an only grandchild. You didn’t think, ‘Hey. Maybe Celeste would like to attend our wedding.’” She groaned and sobbed uncontrollably.

“Mother, I’m not a child. Yes, I married Chadwick in Las Vegas last month,” I said, redirecting attention to me. I walked over and stood next to Chadwick. I’d had enough of her treating me like a young girl inconsequential to any adult conversation. I didn’t need her permission. Her approval was different. I needed that.

“Are you . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the question was clear as day when her eyes shifted to my flat belly. She thought he married me because I was pregnant. Great.

“No. We waited until our wedding night.” For once, I willingly offered private details of my sexual life. I prayed for the day when my virginity would no longer be a topic for open discussion.

“Hmph. I’m sure you loved that,” she sneered at Chadwick. “I’m going home. Fuck this.” She started to walk away but quickly turned back and pointed a finger at Chadwick. “I know you. My daughter isn’t a Kleenex, and you will not use and discard her like the throngs of women who have come in and out of here. If you harm a hair on her head, I will blow your dick off with my daddy’s shotgun. Mark me on this.” She jabbed a finger to his chest for emphasis.

Chadwick’s eyes widened, and for the first time, he was speechless. He couldn’t use natural charm to defuse my mother’s anger. In fact, he knew it would only make her angrier. He stayed quiet and accepted her rage.

In a show of support, I moved between the two with my back against Chadwick’s chest.

“Mother. You are making a scene. That’s enough,” I said. My words were eerily calm and quiet and had an uncharacteristic bit of firmness.

Daggers shot from her eyes and without another word,?she turned on her heels and stomped away.

Auntie Marie walked over and hugged me. She then turned to Chadwick and hugged him, then whispered something in his ear. He nodded in response.

“Marie! Let’s go!” Mama yelled back.

“Coming.” Marie-Therese turned to follow my mother, but not before she smiled at us, making a circling gesture at her temple.

We watched as the two of the closest people in my life burst through a crowd of gawking onlookers. My eyes darted around at the throng of people spectating one of the most important moments of my life. I was happy the secret was out. We’d no longer need to hide or shirk around corners, but the public nature of the reveal was an embarrassment.

Chadwick stood behind me. His chin rested on my shoulder as his arms wound around my waist. He held me against his solid muscles, and I sank into the warmth of his touch. In his arms, I was safe and secure.

“Let’s go. We better tell Genevieve.” We entered the elevator to make our way to the parking garage. Once inside, I whispered, “What did Auntie say to you?”

“’Welcome to the family,’” he responded with a chuckle. “Once we tell my mother and your grandparents, we can stop hiding.”

Genevieve St. Clair took the news a little better than my mother. Chadwick and I walked hand-in-hand into the St. Clair family home. She was in silk pajamas and had removed her makeup. For a second, she stared at the two of us in confusion. My heart raced until realization hit her that Chadwick and I were a couple. I stood stiffly until she took me by the hand and led us to the kitchen banquette.

We sat at the table, and in a rush, Chadwick explained that we married three weeks ago. He told her about the wedding and the article in the blog. He explained our decision to marry in secret.

Tears formed in her eyes and she stood to hug us. She also cried when she saw I wore Mother St. Clair’s ring. I laughed when she asked about a layette and sighed dramatically before falling into her seat when we said that we were not expecting a baby.

By the time we left the house, she had text messaged her event planner and florist. She now had a project—planning our wedding reception.

At that point, we were both free to break the news to our friends. It was no surprise that we were married, but they were all very surprised that we had eloped.

I was happy and relieved that our friends and the St. Clairs welcomed us into the family with open arms. But there was still the matter of my family. Any time my mother cried uncontrollably, I shifted back to the mindset of a ten-year-old child, giving in to her demands to ornament my hair in barrettes and ribbons. It was important that my mother respect me as an adult, capable of making her own decisions. I knew I needed to work with her. Besides, I wanted Goody and Pop-Pop to hear the news from me rather than someone else.

The next morning, I text messaged Mom and Auntie, inviting them to join us for Sunday dinner at our place and asking them to bring my grandparents. Auntie Marie was the first and only person to respond. She’d vowed to make sure that the immediate family would attend.

I spent the following Sunday preparing an Italian meal with homemade ice cream for dessert. My husband had cleaned the loft until it was spic and span. We also opted to leave alcohol off the menu, substituting with fresh-squeezed lemonade. Alcohol would only heighten emotions, which was the last thing we needed.

At precisely five thirty, the security system had alerted us of our guests’ arrival, and I sent the elevator down to the lobby. My heart beat loudly in my chest, and my palms were sweaty. I stood at the threshold to the loft with a smile glued to my face. It was as phony as a fifteen-dollar bill. Behind me, my husband stared at me wearily.

We hadn’t really discussed the importance of my family’s approval and support and my fear that they wouldn’t. For the past two nights, I’d cried softly in bed. I hadn’t thought he would hear me, but he’d wrapped me in his arms and kissed my tears away.

The elevator chimed before the doors opened. In walked my grandparents, mother, auntie, and . . . my father? I hadn’t seen him since my winter break.

The tall, brown-skinned man with graying temples walked into the room. Instead of the typical suit and tie, he was dressed in khaki chinos and a navy blue polo shirt . I realized that my father was in New Orleans for leisure and not business.

“Frank, ahem, Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Your mother called to catch me up on this wedding business. I want to meet your husband.”

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