Page 14 of Before I Say I Don’t

“Fair?” I let out an incredulous scoff. "What’s truly fair is that I shouldn’t have to juggle both roles in this relationship—being the steadfast provider and the doting bride.

What’s fair is me not waking up every morning wondering if the man I’m about to marry is actually going to show up for me, or if I’m just signing up to be disappointed for the rest of my life.

What’s fair is the peace of mind that comes from knowing I can trust you with even the smallest commitments and that you won’t let me down! ”

“I messed up, Kam! Damn! But you acting like twenty grand is gonna break you! You got money! Yo’ ass is rich as hell! Didn’t you just win that big verdict?”

I blinked erratically, heat spiking in my chest.

“See, that’s the problem; you don’t even know how this whole legal process operates.

A verdict handed down in court doesn’t simply mean a check is magically waiting for me at the courthouse doorstep the very next morning.

The defendant has a substantial thirty days to file any post-trial motions, and only after that does the window for an appeal open.

Do you have any idea of the time it can take for any form of monetary compensation to actually reach me ?

We’re talking about a span that can stretch from several months to even years!

During that time, these bills, the numerous cases I’m juggling, and the chaos of my life refuses to pause.

.. including this damn wedding! Everything is in a holding pattern, and time is ticking away! ”

Viangelo opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“So don’t stand there and act like I’m sitting on a money tree just because I win cases! That’s not cash in hand; it’s promises on paper. And even if it wasn’t? That’s not the point, Angelo.”

I jabbed my finger against his chest.

“You were supposed to handle this! You had six months! The biggest take from this is I’m your fiancée !

You couldn’t tell me if you came into a financial bind?

You couldn’t say, “Baby, I’m tight right now, can you cover me?

” We’re supposed to be a team! But instead, you kept me in the dark so I can look like a damn fool when the venue calls me chasing you ! ”

My voice cracked, hot with anger. “So no , it’s never about the money, Angelo! It’s your procrastination! It’s your failure to keep me in the loop! It’s me being blindsided in my own wedding planning like some side chick who doesn’t deserve the truth!”

I shook my head, heat burning in my chest. “A woman’s wedding day is supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life!

It’s a day I’ve worked for, prayed for, and dreamed about since I was a little girl walking around in Mama’s heels!

And instead of feeling joy, I’m sitting here angry, humiliated, and carrying everything on my back while you walk around like it’s nothing! ”

The room went quiet, thick as smoke.

“You know what?” I whispered, my anger finally cracking into something colder. “Just forget it. It seems like that’s the one thing you’re good at.”

I pivoted and walked toward the bedroom, shutting the door behind me before the tears could spill.

Once inside the bathroom, I turned the lock with a quiet yet resolute click, seeking refuge from the world outside.

I leaned over the sink, gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white from the pressure.

Looking in the mirror, I hardly recognized the reflection staring back at me.

My eyes were puffy and red, while my makeup, once carefully applied, now smeared dramatically across my cheeks like war paint from a battle.

That face—marred and sorrowful—bore no resemblance to the image of a radiant bride prepared to walk down the aisle in just a few weeks.

Before I could overthink it, I grabbed my phone and typed:

Me: Hey… are you free to talk? I need a friend.

The typing bubbles popped up almost instantly.

Roman: For you… yes. What’s wrong?

I swallowed hard. My thumbs hovered before I wrote back:

Me: I just need to get out of here tonight. I can’t be in this house… with him.

There was a pause, then his reply:

Roman: I’ll book you a room somewhere… somewhere quiet.

That simple offer had my chest fluttering in a way I didn’t want to analyze. Viangelo couldn’t even remember to pay for our wedding venue, but here was this man, no hesitation or excuses, just action.

Me: Roman, you don’t have to.

Roman: I want to. I got you.

A few minutes later, he sent me a hotel confirmation with my name on it, along with the address.

Roman: Text me when you’re settled. I’ll come to you.

I looked at myself again in the mirror. My soft lounge pants and faded tee didn’t fit the mission. I peeled them off and swapped them for a pair of fitted jeans and a black top. That night, I needed armor, not comfort.

When I made it downstairs, Viangelo was still in the kitchen, seemingly absorbed in his phone screen, carelessly scrolling through social media as if we hadn’t just exchanged heated words about the most important day of our lives.

“I’m going to Danica’s for the night,” I lied flatly.

He looked up. “For what?”

“Space.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. But I need it,” I said, grabbing my purse and keys before he could say anything else.

“Kam—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I finalized, already at the door.

I drove across town and checked into a quiet hotel, the kind where the hallways swallowed sound and the walls felt like they kept secrets. After setting my bags down, I pulled out my phone and texted Roman.

Me: I’m here.

Roman: On the way.

I sat anxiously on the edge of my neatly made bed, my heart pounding with a mix of dread, guilt, and something else I wasn’t ready to name.

That night, I was stripped of all my identities—no longer Kamira, the bride-to-be, nor Kamira, the ambitious lawyer with a thriving career and accolades lining my office walls.

Instead, I was just a weary woman caught in the throes of uncertainty, craving an ear that understood without judgment—and Roman had always been good at that.

When the knock came at the door, my heart jumped, even though I knew it was him—or maybe that’s why it did.

When I opened it, Roman stood there in a black crew-neck tee that hugged his chest and shoulders, the kind of shirt that looked simple until it was on the right body.

His dark jeans were crisp, cuffed just enough to show off clean white sneakers that made the whole look feel effortless.

His skin carried that late-summer bronze, his fade was still sharp enough to look fresh out the chair, and a fine shadow of stubble cut along his jaw.

He smelled faintly of cedar and spice, layered under the takeout bag in his hand—garlic, warm bread, something buttery and indulgent.

Roman didn’t grin wide; just the corner of his mouth curled like he knew exactly what kind of picture he was making, and he wasn’t about to rush me through admiring it.

“You didn’t eat, did you?” he asked, stepping inside.

I smiled. “Actually, I did. But I’ll save it for later in case I get hungry. Thank you.”

Roman set the bag on the table, then looked at me—really looked at me—like he was reading every unspoken thought.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“First, I think Angelo’s cheating,” I revealed.

Roman didn’t look shocked. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he replied.

That stung, even though I wasn’t defending Viangelo. “Why do you say that?”

Roman leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms. “I’ve known the nigga a long time.

Back in the day, he was always… moving grimy.

Always had a main chick and multiple side pieces.

I thought maybe getting engaged meant he finally grew up, but—” he shrugged, “some niggas don’t change; they just get better at hiding it.

I ain’t saying he is cheating, but again, it wouldn’t surprise. ”

I stared at him, searching for any sign he might’ve said that out of jealousy instead of truth.

“When I told you I was marrying him… what did you really think?”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “Honestly? It didn’t sit right with me. Not just because of who he is… but because of who you are. You’ve always deserved the best… even back in school, I knew that.”

I laughed softly, trying to lighten the air. “We barely even talked like that in school.”

“Yeah,” he said, scooting closer, “but I noticed you… more than you probably realized.”

“You… you liked me in college?” Though deep down I already knew the answer, I just wanted to hear it from his mouth.

Roman’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Kam, you can quit with the good girl act—we’re grown as hell.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked, feigning innocence in my best faux Southern drawl.

He chuckled, low. “You really gon’ sit here and act like you weren’t feeling a nigga back then?”

A mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. “Well… I didn’t actually say that .”

Roman tilted his head slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“But you didn’t say you weren’t either.”

With each passing moment, the space between us narrowed, thickening the air with anticipation.

“Roman…” I breathed, almost as if saying his name could ground me.

He leaned down, moving in closer, and brushed his lips against mine—a fleeting, feather-light kiss that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through me.

I froze, then kissed him back without thinking, my hands curling in his shirt before I caught myself and pulled away, a gasp escaping my lips.

“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, laced with a mix of longing and conviction.

“I know,” he said quietly, but didn’t move away. “Kam, I’m not here to complicate your life. But I’m also not gonna promise I’ll stay in my lane if that nigga keeps leaving the door cracked. I care about you… always have,” he confessed, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

Something in my chest cracked open at those words.

“Will you… stay? Just for tonight. Not like that,” I added quickly. “I just… don’t want to be alone.”

Roman studied me for a long moment, then he nodded once, decisive.

“Yeah. I’ll stay… as long as we both keep all hands, feet, and any other dangerous body parts exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “And where’s that?”

His gaze dropped to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “That’s the part I’m still negotiating.”

I turned my phone off and set it on the nightstand like it didn’t exist. As we sank into the softness of the sheets, we laid side by side, his strong arm instinctively wrapping around me.

I nestled my cheek against his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic thump of his heart.

There were no words to break the tranquility and no judgments weighing us down—just the comforting warmth of his embrace.

For the first time in weeks, I slept free from the relentless thoughts of the wedding that had haunted my nights.

The troubles of my life—the chaotic wedding preparations, the heated argument, Viangelo— all faded into the background.

I lost myself in the simple beauty of the moment, surrounded by the soothing hum of the air conditioning and the cocoon of safety wrapped around me, grateful for this quiet interlude.