Page 30 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Seventeen

KAMIRA

I was in the middle of sliding files into my briefcase as I double-checked the next day’s docket, when Marcus’s knock hit the frame.

“You heading out?” he asked, leaning casually in the doorframe, a tailored jacket tossed over one shoulder, looking every bit the part of a successful lawyer.

I snapped the clasp of my briefcase shut and smoothed the fabric of my blazer. “Yes. I have a menu tasting today,” I replied, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

His eyebrows raised slightly, revealing his interest. “Damn… the big day’s almost here, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied, my tone flat and almost automatic, revealing more than I intended.

I could sense his keen perception. Marcus had a knack for reading between the lines. He had the kind of lawyer’s eye that clocked what a person didn’t say. Still, he kept it light.

“Oh, by the way,” he continued, clearly eager to share. “I meant to tell you that I ran into Roman Hill the other morning."

My head jerked up in surprise, more reflexive than I had meant it to be.

“Really? So did I. It was just the other day at that little café near the corner.”

I let it hang there, carefully vague. It wasn’t a lie… but nowhere near the whole truth about where our relationship stood.

Marcus nodded. “I tried to convince him to think about coming back hom e ... for good. We could use someone like him at the firm.”

Roman? At the firm? He didn’t mention that to me.

I hid my surprise behind a small, polite smile.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, keeping my tone breezy. “What’d he say?”

“He mentioned he’d think it over. That could mean he’s already halfway on board, even if he doesn’t want to admit it just yet,” Marcus responded, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

I let out a light laugh, attempting to sound nonchalant. “We’ll see what happens.”

“So, are you coming back to work after or calling it a day?”

“Calling it a day," I answered, sliding my laptop into my bag with care. “My soon-to-be mother-in-law will be joining me for the tasting. Let’s just say… she and my sister don’t exactly see eye to eye, so I’ll be playing the role of peacemaker.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re billing hours in diplomacy, too. Must be nice being a partner—get to leave whenever you want.”

“It has its perks,” I admitted with a small smile, “but they also expect me to ‘balance my vacation with ongoing responsibilities.’ In other words, I’ll end up answering emails while lounging on the beach.

Unless I take a sabbatical, which let’s face it, they’d probably give me a hard time about.

You know how this place operates—it can’t seem to function without me. ”

Marcus nodded knowingly, his expression turning serious as he lowered his voice slightly.

“Between you and me? I think you’d do well with your own firm.”

I paused, then leaned closer, mirroring him. “Between you and me? I’ve been thinking about it.”

His eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise and excitement flickering across his face.

That was the truth.

I gently tapped his shoulder and lifted my bag. “But let’s keep that between us—no headlines just yet.”

Marcus grinned, looking as if he had just been entrusted with a thrilling secret.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep everyone waiting,” I said, making my way toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, still looking as if I had just dropped a grenade and walked away all too calmly.

Out in the hallway, I exhaled and pressed the elevator button, thoughts tumbling:

Roman? At my firm? God, that would complicate everything.

I was going to bring it up to Roman eventually, just… not right then. I had bigger fires to stomp out.

By the time I made it to the venue, Mariah, Danica, and Diane were all waiting in the lobby.

Danica had her tablet and an expression that said we’re working, and Diane came with a tote full of ideas nobody asked for.

They were already side-eyeing each other like rival aunties at Thanksgiving. I prayed we’d make it through the tasting without somebody “accidentally” flipping a table. The Lord knew I didn’t have the patience to play referee that day.

“Hello, everyone!” I sing-songed, sliding in like I wasn’t already exhausted. “I would say sorry for being late but it looks like I’m right on time.”

“You are,” Mariah smiled politely, then scanned the room. “Will the groom be joining us?”

Before I could answer, Diane cut in quick. “Yes, he should be here soon.”

Danica didn’t miss a beat. “Mariah, we can go ahead and proceed. The groom knew what time this was, and unfortunately…” She smiled sweetly, “…some of us aren’t on his clock.”

Diane was shooting daggers at Danica, and Danica was stood there like she had on bulletproof glass.

Mariah turned to me for final say — poor thing caught in the crossfire.

“She’s right,” I agreed smoothly. “His soon could be five minutes to an hour from now. He can catch up whenever he gets here.”

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Diane whip her head toward me like I had just betrayed the family.

I didn’t care. If I was being real, she was starting to work my nerves… just like the man she raised.

“Okaaaaay,” Mariah said brightly, clapping her hands once. “Right this way!”

And just like that, we walked deeper into the venue, pretending it was about food, when really, it was a three-course meal of shade.

After we concluded the extensive walkthrough, Mariah guided us into the elegantly appointed tasting room.

The ambiance was delightful; crisp white linens adorned the tables, water glasses were beaded with condensation, and place cards, each inscribed with our names in graceful script, added a personal touch.

A stunning tray of amuse-bouches awaited us, each delicately arranged like tiny art pieces—spoons filled with a vibrant citrus-cured salmon topped with micro herbs that looked almost like miniature apology letters.

Ten minutes after the designated start time, the heavy oak doors swung open.

Viangelo strolled in, exuding an effortless charm.

“My bad,” he announced casually, slipping into the room as though his presence was the main event. “Work got busy, but I’m here.”

A little snigger slipped out of me before I could catch it.

What I wanted to say was you should’ve taken the day off if you figured you’d be late. Instead, I simply nodded once in acknowledgment.

“We started,” I replied, maintaining my composure.

The chef, a woman with sleeve tattoos and a no-nonsense face, stepped forward to introduce the exquisite menu.

“We’ll begin with the appetizers: mini crab cakes accompanied by a zesty lemon caper remoulade, jerk shrimp skewers glazed with a tropical pineapple infusion, truffle-infused arancini topped with parmesan, and a playful caprese pipette featuring creamy mozzarella, vibrant basil, and a balsamic reduction for dipping. ”

“Already feeling good about this,” Danica chimed in, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

We sampled the dishes, and I diligently took notes.

“Crab cake,” I noted, pointing my pen at the golden-brown morsel. “The crust has a satisfying crunch, but I think we could benefit from more lump crab meat and less filler in the mix.”

“Agreed,” Danica said. “And let's bump the acidity of the remoulade; it needs more punch.”

“The spice on the shrimp is spot-on,” I remarked, savoring the flavors. “Don’t hold back—our guests will definitely be enjoying drinks alongside their food."

We all shared a laugh—Well, everyone except Negative Diane.

“Way too spicy for my liking,” Diane objected, frowning slightly. “We have elderly guests to consider.”

“In that case, they can stick to the caprese,” Danica commented with a cheeky grin that revealed all her teeth.

Viangelo chuckled, but the humor quickly faded when he caught his mother’s disapproving glance.

The chef poured two signature cocktails into tiny glasses.

“First up, we have The Closing Argument—an elegant concoction of rich bourbon, aromatic orange bitters, and a hint of brown sugar, topped off with an expertly expressed orange twist. For the second option, behold The Midnight Garden—a refreshing blend of crisp gin, floral elderflower liqueur, cool cucumber slices, and a subtle kiss of lime for balance.”

I took a thoughtful sip of each of the cocktails, savoring their complex flavors.

“I’ll go with The Closing Argument for the groom’s drink,” I suggested, casting a quick glance at Viangelo, a sly smile playing on my lips. “And the Midnight Garden is definitely my pick. Also, a spicy margarita as the late-night option at the after-party wouldn’t hurt.”

“Honestly, we don’t need so many spicy options,” Diane remarked, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Some of us appreciate a touch of elegance on the menu, rather than feeling like we’ve stepped into a cookout. Not everyone is looking to scorch their taste buds just to say they enjoyed the food.”

I shook my head, fully aware that ongoing debate would not end well for Diane.

Danica leaned forward, chin in hand. “We do. Trust me, a little spice never killed anybody. But bland food? That’s a homicide on tastebuds and that'll murder a reception quick . And honestly, Mrs. Diane, this ain’t Sunday dinner.

We’re not here to protect your bridge club; we’re here to make sure people don’t sneak out to Popeyes after the vows and fall asleep during the reception.

” Danica tilted her head, all polite. “I mean, elegance is cute, but nobody remembers a salad; they remember shrimp with heat. ”

The chef coughed to hide her laugh… so did I.

Viangelo leaned toward me, voice low, irritation in it. “You gon’ let her talk to my mama like that?”

I set my glass down and faced him with a calm smile.

“She’s my sister. The fuck? Besides, your mama came at her first,” I muttered, pointing out.

His jaw worked, trying to decide if he wanted to keep poking the bear.