Page 34 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Twenty

KAMIRA

I f 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 screaming look 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 more intimate, 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 with Mrs. Grant on 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, a jar of lavender bath salts labeled Boss Energy.

There was also a candle titled “Booked she practically slid it across the table as if it were unwanted change being pushed towards a rude customer.

Her present consisted of a small, pastel-colored bag that seemed to scream ‘cute’ with a single oversized mug nestled inside, emblazoned with the phrase "Wifey Energy" in bold, playful letters.

It was certainly not the kind of gift meant for someone feeling ambivalent about marriage, but perhaps that was exactly Jayla's point.

I know you fuckin’ lying, I thought, but didn’t let it reach my lips.

Danica and I locked eyes for half a second—the kind of knowing sister glance that said everything without saying anything.

“Money’s been tight,” Jayla added quickly, before anybody could ask. “I’ma get you more soon.”

“Girl, it’s fin e !” I waved off, though my eyes couldn’t help catching how she was already back at the spread, refilling her plate for the third time.

Funny how your wallet doesn’t work for gifts, but it clocked in for extra quiches, I mused, sipping my mimosa to keep from laughing.

Diane made her grand entrance halfway through the opening, presenting herself before I even saw her.

“Sorry, I’m late! I had to pick this special order up,” she announced proudly, handing over a large, gleaming silver box like it was a treasure.

I rolled my eyes the second I caught sight of her.

Because truth be told, just like with Kendall, I didn’t know how much Diane knew about her son’s child—or what she was willing to cover for him.

As close as those two were, I couldn’t put it past her to keep his secrets tucked neatly behind that polished smile.

In that moment, everyone felt suspect. The lies had stacked so high, I couldn’t put blind trust in anybody connected to him.

Inside the box was a state-of-the-art espresso machine complete with a selection of imported coffee pods.

“I figured you’d need the caffeine for all those late nights together,” Diane hinted, beaming like she’d just gifted me gold.

I gave her a polite smile. Inside though? My thoughts were running laps.

Late nights together? Lady, the only late nights I’ve been pulling are dodging your son’s lies like potholes.

If this coffee came with a side of truth serum, then we’d be talking.

She’s over here thinking I’m staying up whispering sweet nothings with Angelo, when really the only thing I want to whisper is, ‘Alexa, play “Irreplaceable.”

As Diane finished basking in the glow of her espresso machine reveal, Danica sat elegantly on the edge of a plush armchair and swirled the last sip of champagne in her crystal glass.

With a smile so kind but verged on venomous, she drawled, “Cute. You done?”

With that, Danica gracefully rose from her seat and glided toward the living room, returning moments later to reveal not one, but four towering stacks of gifts, each precariously balanced on metal carts.

The room fell into an awed silence, the atmosphere thickening with an unspoken challenge.

“Oh, I didn’t know this was a competition,” Diane muttered.

“It’s not,” Danica quipped sweetly. “But if it were… you’d lose.”

One by one, Danica started unveiling her lineup, like she was hosting a private auction.

Danica plopped the bedazzled designer weekender bag on the table like she was dropping evidence in court.