Page 44 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Twenty-Three

KAMIRA

T oday wasn’t just any day; it was ‘the’ day we had all been eagerly counting down to for months.

I stood in front of the mirror, studying the flawless work of the makeup artist. My face looked like it belonged on the cover of a bridal magazine—smooth skin, soft glow, lashes fanned just right.

But in my chest? It wasn’t joy. I wished all that perfection was for a different occasion, one that didn’t feel like I was walking into war instead of love.

My phone buzzed against the counter. I grabbed it, and Roman’s name lit up the screen.

Roman: Last night still on your mind? ’Cause it’s sure as hell on mine. That lil’ sexy ass moan you let slip? Yeah, baby… that shit’s stuck on replay. My favorite song—and only I get to play it.

Heat curled low in my belly before I could roll my eyes at him.

L e av e it up to Roman to be freaky when I’m an hour from chaos.

Before I could even type back, another message came.

Roman: But I know you, Kam. You’re probably pacing in heels or biting your lip right now, running a thousand scenarios in your head. Breathe, baby. You’re stronger than anything in that room. You been winning cases since college—you’ll win this one too.

I exhaled slowly, his words hitting deeper than the makeup brush had earlier.

Me: You always know what to say. And yeah… I’m nervous. But I’m ready.

Roman: That’s my girl. And for the record, I wanted to see you before all this—just for a minute. But nah… I’ll play my position. For now. So do me a favor—send me a pic of that pretty face before I lose my patience.

I hesitated only a second before lifting the phone, snapping a selfie. The reflection staring back looked unshakable, even if my stomach told a different story.

I sent it. Three dots appeared instantly.

Roman: Damn. That ain’t makeup; that’s intimidation.

You look dangerous, baby. Like you about to ruin him and look good doing it.

And just so you know—when this circus is over, that face, that body, that smile?

All mine. Don’t get it twisted. I don’t care how many eyes are on you today.

I’ll be the only one you’re walking out with.

My chest tightened—half nerves, half fire.

Me: Roman… stop. Lol.

Roman: Stop? Nah, baby. I’ll stop when you’re on my last name, in my bed, and moaning loud enough for the whole block to know who you belong to. But you look beautiful, baby. I don’t care what happens today; just know I’m proud of you and I’ll be right there, standing tall when you need me.

My throat tightened, my thumbs moved slower on the keys.

Me: Thank you, my love. For everything.

Roman: Always. Now go let them finish making you even more beautiful—if that’s even possible. I’ll see you at the aisle.

I smiled, phone warm in my palm. The nerves didn’t leave, but they weren’t as loud anymore. Because Roman was right… I’d already won.

Initially, I had reserved a lavish suite at a grand hotel downtown, a place where all of us girls could gather for hair and makeup together, but the closer we got to that day, the less I wanted to be surrounded by fake smiles and “bestie” energy.

So I made a last-minute decision and traded the chaos for my own intimate room…

and the only person I truly wanted by my side in that space was Danica.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through her phone when I stepped out of the bathroom in my silk robe, hair pinned up, and a cloud of setting spray still hanging in the air. Danica smirked at me over the screen.

“Girl,” she said, shaking her head with a grin, “we might have to play two songs for you to walk down the aisle. You gon’ be moving slow after last night.”

My mind flickered back, uninvited—Roman’s hands pinning me to the mattress and his mouth tracing every inch of me.

The way he took his time at first—patient, passionate—before flipping me over and reminding me exactly why my body had no business with any other man.

His voice in my ear, that low growl telling me I was his.

The hours blurred—slow burn, then wildfire, then nothing but tangled sheets and me begging him not to stop.

I rolled my eyes, laughing, pushing the memory down before my face gave me away.

“Shut up. I can walk just fine .”

“Mm-hmm.” She sipped her coffee, side-eyeing. “That man must’ve put his whole foot in it, ‘cause you glowing like a bitch with a trust fund!”

“Danica!” I laughed harder, tossing a throw pillow at her.

Before she could roast me more, a knock came at the door. We both groaned in unison.

“I swear, if it’s one of them fake ass bridesmaids trying to ‘check on me’…” I muttered.

Danica got up and cracked the door.

“Oh," she exhaled, her voice flat and tinged with annoyance, as she stepped aside.

In walked Diane, looking like a walking Hallmark card in that silver dress—pearls, diamonds, and enough sparkle to blind the first three rows. All she was missing was a “Congratulations!” banner and theme music.

Danica and I exchanged a discreet eye-roll.

“Here comes Sister Sparkle,” Danica muttered, just low enough for me to hear.

“Oh, Kamira!” Diane gushed, her tone oozing that insincere mother-in-law warmth that made my skin crawl. “Your makeup looks absolutely stunning! I can’t wait to see you and Angelo say, ‘I do.’ This is such a beautiful day! I’m just so thrilled to have you as part of the family!”

Her smile was wide, yet it felt like it was stretched too tight, as if she were more focused on her own image than on mine.

I offered a polite smile. “Thank you, Diane. I appreciate that.”

Diane carried on for another minute or so about how everything looked perfect and how she was just so proud. Danica sat in the corner, unusually quiet, sipping her coffee and keeping her eyes on her phone. We both knew the real show was coming later, and nothing Diane said right then mattered.

Finally, Diane patted my arm, told me she’d see me in a bit, and left. The door clicked shut, and it was like the air shifted.

“I thought she’d never leave!” Danica exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and excitement as she clapped her hands together with a flourish. “Now let’s get you in this dress!”

Fifteen minutes later, I stood before the full-length mirror, the fabric swirling around my legs like a gentle breeze. The dress hugged my waist and flared out elegantly at the bottom, sparkling subtly under the soft glow of the overhead lights.

Danica stepped back slowly, one hand pressed to her chest, her expression shifting from eagerness to sheer awe.

Her mouth dropped open slightly, eyes softening in a surprising way that made me do a double take. That was uncharacteristic for Danica; she typically wore her emotions like armor, rarely letting anyone see past her playful banter.

“Sisssssssss,” she whispered, circling me like I was a masterpiece on display. “You look… I don’t even have the words. You don’t look like a bride; you look like the definition of redemption walking down the aisle.”

I smirked nervously, smoothing the front of the gown. “You think so?”

Danica’s lip lifted, a sad little smile tugging at the edge.

“Think so? Girl, I know so. Honestly…” she shook her head, blinking away whatever had her misty for a second.

“I wish you could’ve saved this look for when you and Roman get married.

Because this right here?” She gestured up and down, voice catching slightly.

“This right here is how a woman’s supposed to look when she’s standing next to a man who actually deserves her. Angelo isn’t worthy of this glow-up.”

“Not at all, sis,” I agreed softly. “I wish Mom was here.”

My chest tightened, the weight of it dragging my smile down. Then I exhaled, bitter honesty cutting through.

“But then again… I don’t. Because nothing about this wedding is real.”

“Facts!” Danica said. “And you know if Mama was still here, she wouldn’t have let you even get close to that aisle.

She’d have grabbed you by the arm, cussed Angelo out in front of both sides of the family and marched you straight out the door.

Hell, she probably would’ve ripped the ring off your finger herself and sent his mama the bill for her time and gas money.

Yeah, she’d never let us play dress-up in a lie… not her daughters.”

I laughed, but it wobbled at the edges. Because it was true. Mama would’ve never let me doubt myself this long. She had that way of protecting me—even from myself—and somehow making it funny while she did it.

Before I could stop it, tears slipped free, tracking down my cheeks.

Danica’s smirk softened into something warmer. Then she reached up and brushed my tears away before they could ruin the makeup.

“So I’m here. And I’ll be Mama and me rolled in one today if I have to. I got you, sis. You ready for this?” she asked, her voice laced with an undercurrent of anticipation.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my nerves, then nodded firmly. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Danica reached for my hand, her grip strong and reassuring, grounding me in the moment without needing to say another word.

We bowed our heads together, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as we prepared to embrace what lay ahead.

She began to pray, her voice ringing out with conviction, a melody of hope and strength.

My voice joined hers, shaky at first like the flutter of a new leaf in the wind, but as she spoke life and power into me, I felt my own conviction rise, my words growing clearer and more resolute as we poured our hearts into the moment.

When we said Amen together, she squeezed my hand and grinned.

“Alright, baby sis… it’s showtime.”

And just like that, I knew whatever happened that day, I wasn’t walking into it alone.