Page 41 of Before I Say I Don’t

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for nothing .”

Roman’s tone was easy, casual on the surface—but his eyes told another story. They lingered on me a second too long, heavy enough to make my pulse skip. Then, like a gentleman, he broke eye contact first, smoothing it over with words.

“The way it’s looking, it will be one for the books.”

“Yes, indeed,” I agreed, sporting a mischievous grin, one I didn’t bother hiding.

Roman and Viangelo chatted for a few minutes, then, almost as quickly, Viangelo hooked an arm around my elbow and tugged me into a corner, his smile stiff.

“How cool were y’all back then?” he asked, with raised brows.

“Excuse me?” My eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating that we’ve messed around or dated?”

“Nah, nah,” he backpedaled instantly, palms lifting in surrender. “I’m trippin’. That’s my boy. He’d tell me. Shit, you’d tell me.”

“Exactly!” I pivoted on my heel, walked the fuck off, and slid into my seat with him plopping down next to me a few breaths later, looking stupid as hell.

Honestly? He wasn’t wrong about his suspicions. If Viangelo knew the kind of dick I’d been getting since the day of my bridal shower.—the kind of relief Roman had been giving me, the way he handled me without hesitation—he’d choke on that fake smile he was forcing in front of everybody.

I pressed my lips to my glass, letting the rim hide the smirk threatening to break free.

Some truths were too good and dangerous to say out loud.

At the head of the room, Diane tapped a glass. “A toast—to love, to family, to my son who?—”

“—Keep it short,” Danica politely inserted. “Some people want to eat and leave.”

A few chuckles bubbled down the table.

Diane pursed her lips, pausing long enough to remind everyone she hated being interrupted, before pressing on.

“To my son, who has always been… spirited. And to Kamira, who will… balance him,” Diane finished, her smile stiff as the bubbles in her flute.

Danica leaned in close enough for only me to hear. “Balance? Like a checkbook you already overdrew?”

I giggled lightly and nudged her.

Jayla stood next, her smile glowing and voice pitched with best-friend pride.

“To my best friend—may tomorrow be everything you dreamed. Kamira, you’ve worked so hard for this moment, and no one deserves it more than you.

I’ve watched you chase after everything with that unstoppable drive of yours, and I’m just happy to see you finally get the fairytale you’ve been waiting on.

You’re proof that persistence pays off.”

The table hummed with warm murmurs of agreement; some clapping softly as she lifted her glass higher. To everyone else, Jayla looked like the picture of support. To me? She looked like a snake in high-waist jeans, toasting me with one hand while hiding betrayal in the other.

And maybe that’s what stung the most—not the betrayal itself, but how easily she wore the mask. How easily she played “best friend” in public, knowing damn well she’d already crossed the line in private.

I lifted my glass too, my smile perfectly in place. “Thank you, Jayla. And I’m sure it will be.”

Fake ass bitch.

Jayla sat down to polite applause with her glass still raised. Before the silence could stretch too long, Roman stood, slow and confident, champagne flute in hand.

“I’d like to say something too.” His voice was level, the kind that silenced chatter without demanding it.

He glanced at me first—unhurried—then shifted to Angelo.

“Me and Angelo go back… way back, actually. He’s always been the type to make noise, keep the spotlight, and…

you know, find his way into a room.” Roman’s smile was civil, but brief. “That’s Angelo.”

Viangelo chuckled, nodding proudly like it was the best compliment in the world.

Roman shifted, focusing on me.

“As for Kamira, or Kam … I’ve known her since college,” he began, tone softening.

“And one thing I can say about her is she’s…

relentless. Once she sets her mind on something, she doesn’t let go.

Whether it’s her career, her friendships, or her happiness—she chases it down until it’s hers.

That kind of persistence?” He smiled faintly. “That’s rare.”

I blushed, soaking in the compliment.

Roman’s gaze didn’t leave me. “And it means whoever stands beside her has to be just as relentless. Because she deserves someone who matches her stride, who doesn’t fumble when it counts, who values her time…

and her trust. So here’s to Kamira, who I know will always rise.

And to Angelo—may you always be able to keep up. ”

The table clinked their glasses together, polite and oblivious. I raised my glass with the rest, my smile calm, but inside I was blazing.

That man.

Angelo stood, grinning widely, clapping Roman on the back like he’d just been honored.

My pulse quickened, because I heard exactly what Roman had just done. He hadn’t toasted our union; he toasted me , sliding the knife so smooth that Viangelo didn’t even know he’d been cut.

Serena and Lena side-eyed me knowingly.

The pre-wedding toasts moved along. Jax told a story that ran too long, Terrance laughed louder at his own jokes than anyone else did, and Viangelo kept sneaking looks at his phone, thumbs flying like he was already drafting apologies that I wasn’t hearing it.

Then Serena grabbed the mic uninvited, her voice bouncing through the room.

“If anybody got beef with the seating chart, take it up with God because Danica is not accepting requests!”

The room erupted in laughter. Danica curtsied dramatically.

I let my grin curl slyly as I turned toward Kendall. “Actually… Kendall, didn’t you say something about your friends wanting a closer seat?” I asked sweetly, voice carrying just enough to hush the table.

The laughter died instantly, and silence pressed in. The only sound was the faint clink of a fork against china.

Danica was the only one who knew exactly where I was going with that question.

Kendall froze for a second too long before fumbling, “Uh… yeah. But for the reception.”

“Well, Danica and I made some last-minute changes to the seating. So now, your friends can 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 asking her to stand beside you was smart. That girl is his ex ,” 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.

“Good to know,” I said finally, shaking myself out of the trance. “Just something to add to my ‘to say list’ tomorrow.”

Roman caught the shift instantly. His tone softened, steady but careful. “You good?”

“Yup!” I chirped, too chipper, but I doubled down with a grin.

It wasn’t heartbreak—not that time. It was insult on top of insult, stacked until it became rage. Every revelation felt like I was peeling back another layer of Viangelo’s bullshit, and underneath it was nothing but rot. Each new secret proved what I already knew—he wasn’t shit.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be saying—Angelo who?!” I added.

We both laughed.