Page 4 of My Only (My First, My Last)

“So, when Hassani come to me, talkin’ ‘bout askin’ you out, mi say, ‘Wait now bwoy … jus ’ wait.’”

Laughter erupted again.

“My hesitation wasn’t because Hassani was a bad guy.” Mr. Franklin held up a finger. “I just knew he’d have to grow into the kind of man he needed to be — to love the woman you were becoming.”

“ Mmm-hmm .” Hassani nodded. “True, true.”

“Today only makes things official on paper,” Mr. Franklin continued. “But Ayla, from the moment your father left this earthly plane — and again, when Hassani told us you were together — you became my daughter too.”

I smiled, feeling Hassani’s arm tighten around me.

“It’s set in stone now, my love,” Mr. Franklin affirmed. “You two are married. And like Reverend Harte said, we are your village. Everyone here tonight is part of your support system. And as you both know, I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

Hassani and I laughed.

“Hassani.” Mr. Franklin turned to his son. “A good husband knows when to speak, when to listen, and when to act. Don’t wait too long to fix what’s broken—whether it’s your wife’s heart, a promise you made, or even the leaky faucet in the kitchen.”

Laughter erupted from our guests.

“Show up—and always make it right. Always.” He exhaled, emotion thick in his voice. “I love you both so much,” he said, his eyes misting. “And I love you even more… together .”

He pointed at us next.

“This just feels so complete right now. I pray nothing but blessings and joy over what you’ve allowed the Most High to fuse together. You’ve made me the happiest man in this world. God bless this union, and cheers to you both.”

Mr. Franklin lifted his glass of champagne high, then passed the microphone to Mrs. Franklin.

“Ayla and Hassani, woi !” She brimmed with pride. “ Mi heart full, man. Everything just feel right today.”

Laughter, claps, and cheers erupted from our guests.

“I still can’t believe I’m not dreaming,” Mrs. Franklin said, dabbing at her eyes. “But now, time fi di baby, eh ?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hassani said, making me giggle. “Ma, easy now.”

Children hadn’t been a serious topic of conversation just yet, though we knew they would be part of our future. But for now? Mama Franklin really needed to slow down.

Mrs. Franklin smiled. “My sweet boy, Hassani, and my beautiful girl, Ayla.” She turned to me with a warm smile. “Ayla, I knew from the moment I met you in your parents’ kitchen, you and Hassani were gonna be more than friends. You know that, right?!”

I snickered as laughter broke out around us.

I glanced over at Hassani, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to my lips before whispering, “I knew it, too.”

I blushed, staring into his eyes.

“Ayla,” Mrs. Franklin continued, drawing my attention back to her. “I want to share something my own mother told me on the day I got married.”

She softened, voice warm as she spoke.

“She said, ‘Love is not about never falling… it’s about always reaching for each other, even when the ground feels unsteady.’”

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling those words settle deep in a place I knew they’d never leave.

Mrs. Franklin held up a finger. “Marriage will bring you moments of joy so bright they’ll take your breath away, but it will also test you like no other.”

Her gaze bounced between Hassani and me.

“And in those times, remember this, you two: You are stronger together than you could ever be alone. Keep reaching for each other, no matter what. That’s how you’ll build a love that lasts a lifetime.”

Then, with a knowing smile, she turned to Hassani.

“And Hassani, don’t forget… sometimes reaching means doing the dishes without being asked, bwoy .”

Laughter erupted once more as Mrs. Franklin raised her champagne glass higher. We all followed suit.

“Ayla and Hassani, I want you to do three things,” she said, glass still lifted. “One, soak up today, the honeymoon, and all the good times you create together—because those are the moments you’ll hold onto when storms pass through. Two, make me a grandbaby on your honeymoon in Saint Lucia…”

“Ma, come on with this!” Hassani groaned, running a hand down his face, which only made me—and everyone else—laugh even harder.

“And three,” she added through her own laughter, “ never go to bed angry at each other.”

Hassani pulled me closer in response, his arm firm around my waist.

“To Ayla and Hassani, may your love always find its way home.”

Another hour passed with speeches, eating, cutting cake, and taking pictures before the dance floor—or the stretch of beach we had cleared for dancing—was finally open.

“Favorite Girl,” Aunt Laurie called as soon as the music started.

She pulled me into a tight hug, one so full of warmth I closed my eyes to soak it in.

Then she stepped back, cupping my face with both hands.

“Best wedding on the planet for the best girl on earth,” she whispered.

I smiled, emotion heavy in my throat.

Aunt Laurie took my hand in hers. “And now that the mushy stuff is over…”

I laughed.

“Let’s go dance!” she shouted, dragging me toward the dance floor.

The resort had provided us with a live wedding singer and a steel drum band. They performed reggae renditions of everything—from Jagged Edge’s Let’s Get Married to other R&B classics.

But when the band transitioned into reggae staples like Bob Marley and the Wailers’ “Turn Your Lights Down Low” and Dennis Brown’s “Here I Come ,” Hassani unapologetically stole me away from Aunt Laurie.

“I’ma be needing my wife now,” he said, spinning me around before pulling me into his arms.

“ Aht !” Aunt Laurie hollered, laughing. “I know that’s right!”

Beneath a bright moon and an open sky, with the warm ocean breeze on our skin, Hassani rolled his waist to the rhythm of the steel drums—effortless, fluid, completely intoxicating.

He danced to reggae so damn well.

His waist moved, slow and controlled. His body swayed, pulling me in, making it impossible to focus on anything else but him.

The heat of the night had nothing on this.

He was such a great dancer, and I couldn’t keep up.

I leaned back, laughter spilling out of me as he ground his hips against me. His arms wrapped tight around my waist, reminding me that he was just as skilled on the dance floor as he was in bed.

“You better stop,” I whispered against his ear, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. “I am not above starting on that baby, your mother wants, in front of everybody.”

Hassani’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh word?!”

Before I could react, he grabbed me by my thighs and lifted me off the ground.

I screamed, clinging to him as I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, breathless with laughter.

I pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I mean…” My best friend Sunni’s voice rang out behind me. “Should we leave now? Should we go?!”

Hassani and I laughed against each other’s lips.

“Right?!” One of Hassani’s friends, Raphael, chimed in. “Save that for Saint Lucia.”

Hassani smirked. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

“Neither can I.” I winked. “So, let’s go.”

* * *

I lay on my stomach, camera in hand, the LCD screen raised to eye level as I focused my lens on the villa in front of me.

I clicked the shutter button, listening to the soft whirr of the shutter curtain opening and closing—allowing light to hit the sensor, capturing yet another breathtaking piece of this paradise.

It was the last day of our honeymoon in Saint Lucia.

And a week on this island wasn’t enough.

Our private villa sat tucked away on the lush, tropical island, spaced out from the neighboring villas and facing the ocean. Turquoise water stretched as far as the eye could see, while palm trees and thick greenery framed the horizon.

The sun shined differently out here. Not harsh, not overbearing, but warm and golden. The kind of sunlight that kissed your skin rather than burned it.

I loved the way my skin glowed after spending my days under the open sky, the sun’s rays blessing me at every angle.

According to Hassani, the villa’s open space I immediately fell in love with was an open-concept design.

To me?

It was simply a luxurious, temporary paradise—floor-to-ceiling windows, a private infinity pool that seemed to spill effortlessly into the ocean, and the kind of view that made you want to stay lost in the moment forever.

I turned onto my back on the chaise lounge, shifting my gaze toward the ocean, only to catch Hassani watching me.

His golden eyes flickered between me and his sketchbook, pencil moving effortlessly along the white page.

Him and that sketchbook.

They were as inseparable as umbrellas and tropical drinks.

No matter where we were, Hassani was sketching something. His mind was always at work, bombarded with architectural inspiration—even here, on our honeymoon.

“Why am I not surprised that the little black book is here with us?” I teased, pulling another bikini from my suitcase. “I swear that sketchbook’s cover never gets cold the way you always have it in your grip.”

“Ha, ha,” he said in a deadpan tone, pulling open the drawer of a bedside table in our villa’s bedroom. “Always with the jokes.”

We had just arrived in the villa, still unpacking before heading out to explore.

I was still riding high from the wedding—the only thing that could possibly compete with it was our wedding night. And now, a day later, we were on our honeymoon, hoping to keep the high going.

I lifted my gaze to the ceiling, mesmerized by how stunning every detail of the villa was.

“Yeah, you see it,” Hassani noted quietly.

I glanced at him, catching the smirk tugging at his lips.

“This place is inspiring,” he added, eyes sweeping across the space. He nodded. “And I’m gonna soak it all in… my way.”

That’s exactly what he had done and so had I.

Our days had been filled with snorkeling in crystal-clear water, lounging on the beach, exploring the island. Our nights were spent skinny-dipping in the infinity pool beneath a blanket of stars.

And the lovemaking.

God .

Lots and lots of lovemaking.