Page 45 of Before I Say I Don’t
I stood at the heavy double doors, veil trembling with the faintest draft and my bouquet gripped tighter than I meant to.
For a moment, everything on the other side was nothing but muffled whispers and the distant hum of the song waiting to rise.
My heart thudded against the lace bodice like it was trying to escape before I did.
Then the doors swung open.
Two hundred bodies held their breath at once—my partners from the firm in one block, Viangelo’s coworkers in another, and a lattice of aunties, uncles, cousins, play-cousins, and church folks stitched between.
Their eyes widened, their spines straightened, the collective silence pulling taut like a bowstring as I stood framed in the doorway.
My smile began to blossom even before the music graced the air.
The first gentle notes of Why I Love You floated upwards, soft and reassuring, wrapping the room in a comforting embrace.
As the melody filled the space, the surroundings transformed into a warm tunnel of familiar faces, each one flickering under the soft glow of slow camera flashes.
I took a step forward, and the exquisite dress held me the way I always imagined it would, walking down the aisle on my wedding day.
People likely assumed I was smiling because the song was sweet, or because I was about to marry the love of my life.
They had no idea.
I walked down the aisle with the grace of a woman who knew a few people in that room were about to choke on their own secrets.
On the left, my bridesmaids formed a stunning tableau of champagne tones and unwavering confidence.
Danica stood at the forefront, her chin held high, eyes bright and clear, and hands steady around her bouquet, as if she were gripping a carefully crafted plan that would guide us through the day.
Lena carried herself with effortless elegance that could hush a whole table.
Kendall was smooth as ever. Zaria looked sharp and sophisticated.
Whereas, Jayla, had a new fragility clinging to her edges.
Finally, Serena anchored the group at the end of the line, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she fought the impulse to unleash her playful spirit.
I should have been looking at my fiancé, but instead, my attention was drawn elsewhere.
My eyes were immediately captured by Roman, who was positioned perfectly in the line of groomsmen.
He embodied a striking image of discipline and poise—dressed in a cream tux that fit like a glove with intention, a satin lapel, the white pocket square folded sharp, and cufflinks catching the light.
Roman’s freshly cut hair framed his face, and his beard was trim and impeccably groomed, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw.
He looked… composed. And then his gaze caught mine, and I saw the thing only we knew—the previous night still humming under his ribs the way it was humming under mine.
I allowed myself a furtive glance at Viangelo.
His hands fidgeted restlessly, caught in the awkward dance of emotions, unsure of where to put them. The image might have drawn a few tears from me—might have—if I hadn’t already known about all the secrets he was hiding.
I exhaled through my nose and scoffed where only my ribs could hear it.
What a joke.
I shifted my gaze back to Roman, who stood among the crowd with an undeniable presence. He tipped me the slightest, boldest wink, as if sharing an intimate secret with me amidst the sea of onlookers. The smile on my face was genuine, even if the reason wasn’t what those people hoped for.
My steps slowed, then stopped altogether, silk pooling at my feet as I lifted my chin.
“Who gives their blessings to this marriage?” the officiant’s voice resonated, filling the room with an aura of anticipation.
My uncle rose from his seat at my right, his presence a solid pillar of support. “Her family and I do,” he declared, then retook his seat.
Tears came to my eyes, and my armor almost slipped. There is where the man people said I looked so much alike should have stood—my father.
As I approached the altar, I carefully placed my bouquet into Danica’s waiting hands.
Our eyes met for a brief instant—a silent exchange that conveyed a shared understanding: we were right on schedule, just as we had planned.
With a small nod, I steadied my breath and turned, allowing my gaze to slice through Jayla with a look she would feel in her bones later.
I took my place on the runner and lifted my eyes. Viangelo stood across from me, his posture nervous yet ready.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began, voice rich and measured, “we are gathered here today in the presence of God and those witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony—an honorable estate, instituted of God, signifying unto us the union between…”
The words floated, solemn and expected. He spoke of covenant and patience, of love that “bears all things, believes all things,” of the vows we were about to make being more than poetry—promises with weight. He asked for quiet, reverence, and truth. He smiled at me, then at Viangelo.
I kept my smile.
Viangelo looked like the scum of the fucking earth in a tux, and I couldn’t even be mad at the tailoring.
The officiant’s voice softened. “If anyone could show just cause why those two might not lawfully be joined together, let them speak then, or forever hold their peace.”
The room held its breath.
I didn’t — I breathed.
“We will now proceed to the exchange of vows. The groom will go first,” the officiant announced.
Viangelo hands trembled a little around the paper he said he “didn’t need” but brought along anyway.
“Kam,” he began, voice rough with emotion, “from the first day I saw you, I knew you were everything I needed and more than I deserved. You are the calm in every storm I create and the grace that meets me where I am and pulls me higher.”
His throat worked hard around a swallow while a sniffle cracked the silence from somewhere in the crowd that they probably had saved for that moment all week.
“You helped me grow when I didn’t even know I needed to,” he continued.
“You taught me what partnership looks like—sacrifice, late nights, showing up when it wasn’t easy.
You held me down. You held me up. This day, I vow to spend the rest of my life holding you the same.
I vow to be honest, to be present, and to be home.
I vow to love you like you love me—loudly, softly and always.
I promised to choose you, Kamira… every day. ”
A murmur of awws swept through the room. My section of coworkers—who had rarely seen him show up on time to anything—dabbed at more tears. I felt a dozen eyes on my cheekbones; on the way, I was supposed to glow.
Viangelo looked at me like a boy who had seen an ocean for the first time and was promising to learn to swim. If I hadn’t known the undertow, I might have drowned in it too.
“And now, the bride,” the officiant said gently.
I took the mic then shifted my gaze to the room filled with familiar faces.
When I spoke, I heard my mother in my cadence, my sister in my steel, and myself in the center.
"First, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to all of you for being here today.
Thank you for the flights you took to join us and for your prayers that have woven the fabric of this moment.
I truly appreciate every bit of it." I turned to Viangelo and met his eyes.
“I wrote emotional vows,” I scoffed, a small laugh bubbling up from my throat.
"I really did. And I would have recited them in front of everyone today.
But before I made any promises, I felt it was crucial to share some truths—truths I owe to myself, to the remarkable woman who raised me, and to everyone gathered here. "
As I spoke, I could sense Danica standing behind me, her smile radiant and proud, almost as if she were leaning in to offer a reassuring pat on my back.
My smile transformed into something more honest. “So I decided to do my vows a little… different.”
The whispers that moved across two hundred people were soft as a breeze and loud as thunder as I pulled out my phone.
“Kam, what the hell are you doing?!” Viangelo muttered, his voice a mixture of confusion and anger.
I raised my hand to silence him and steadied my breath as I prepared to read my revised vows; the words, now more poignant than ever.
“ To Viang e lo, the boy in a suit, parading as a man who wanted to make me a bride but never a priority…
To Jayla, the best friend who smiled sweetly in my face while betraying our bond and sleeping with him behind my back…
To Kendall, the fake ‘sister in law’ who couldn’t even uphold the pretense and play her role right…
To Zaria, the bridesmaid who stood at my side, all while knowing she had crossed lines with the groom she was supposed to be supporting me in celebrating…
And last but not least, to Dian e , the mother-in-law whose dreams of a grand wedding outweighed any genuine desire for a relationship with me…
This day is yours, but the mic is undeniably mine .”
When I finished my declaration, the room fell into a heavy silence, so profound that one could have heard an eyelash flutter to the polished wooden floor.
Viangelo’s gaze bore into me, his expression was a volatile mix of rage and deep-seated guilt, as if he was grappling with the consequences of my words.
“Kam, baby, we can talk about?—”
“Stop calling me baby,” I interjected, my tone slicing through his plea. “Save it for your Tuesday nights. ”
Terrence coughed into his fist, trying—and failing—not to look like that was a confession.
Viangelo’s head jerked toward Terrence, stare narrow and venomous, as if the man had ripped the lid off his lies and handed them to the crowd on a platter.
But I knew the truth. Terrence wasn’t the informant; it was Roman who had told me every last detail.