Page 3 of The Bell’s Toll (Wanderlust Emporium Presents, Season One)

Chapter one

Nasiah

Present Day…

S tanding in front of the full-length mirror, I admire all the work that went into my appearance.

My makeup is flawless. My natural curls have been straightened and molded into an elegant updo.

The white custom-made mermaid-style dress fits my plus-size body like a glove.

I felt beautiful. If only I could fight off these jitters.

Today was my wedding day, and despite everyone trying to make my day about them, it was turning out to be a good day. However, the feeling in the pit of stomach would not ease.

I love Jamieson. I met him three years ago while out at a bar.

He was tall, with caramel skin and deep waves.

We talked for hours that first night. Three months later we made it official, and it has been nothing but good since then.

I’ve never questioned whether he loved me or if I loved him.

However, something felt off. It’s been that way since the day he asked me to marry him.

It’s as if I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do. Which sounds crazy.

My phone chimes behind me. I go over to the small makeshift makeup table and pick it up.

Jamieson: I can’t wait to see you walk down that aisle to me. I love you.

A smile immediately spreads over my face.

See, this is why that gut feeling is insane. Admittedly, love hasn’t always come easy for me. Growing up as the outside child in a toxic threesome gives you trust issues when it comes to love and relationships. All my life I’ve known that I was not my parents’ first priority.

In their great love story, they are the stars of the show, and there are no side characters. For nearly thirty years my mother has been content being my father’s sidepiece. She has made it her life’s goal to keep him happy and coming back to her.

When he was away with his wife and daughter, she constantly worried about what he was doing and if he would come back. She’d drive herself crazy and end up spending days depressed in bed.

When she wasn’t in bed, she was cleaning the already spotless house from top to bottom.

Daddy told her once that he loved coming to her home because it was always clean and I wasn’t loud and rowdy like my sister.

From that day forward, Mother became damn near OCD about a spotless house.

I couldn’t play with my toys because God forbid, he came over and a doll was lying on the floor.

I spent the first twelve years of my life practically mute because she didn’t want me to make a peep.

They taught me at an early age that love could be toxic, manipulative, vain, and controlling. I stayed away from that four-letter word like the plague. When I found myself in relationships, I found it hard to let my guard down.

When I finally met Jamieson, he was the first person to break through all my barriers. I won’t pretend as if we’re perfect. There are still a few issues we can’t seem to get around.

A soft knock has me turning to face the door. My mother walks into the room. Tears dance in her eyes.

“Oh no,” I say, fanning my face. “Don’t you let them fall. It will be a chain reaction in here.”

Mother laughs as she walks further into the room, her gaze going up and down my body.

“You look so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“Jamieson was right all along. Having this wedding at his parent’s church was a smart move.”

There were many things my fiancé and I disagreed on when it came to this wedding.

The dress for one. He wanted something more traditional, and I wanted to showcase my curves.

The entire venue and the number of guests were all his choice.

I’ve always wanted an outdoor wedding with only my close friends and family there.

However, Mother and Jamieson talked me into this.

“Yeah, I guess.” I say, not wanting to argue with her about this again.

She moves a strand of hair out of my face. “I know your father is going to be so thrilled walking you down the aisle. He’s been excited for this day. I told him you won’t wear those heels. He doesn’t want you to be the same height as him in the pictures.”

Although my smile remains, part of my joy dies.

It never fails. Angelica will always find a way to appease my father, no matter how it makes me feel.

At my graduation, she came late because daddy didn’t get his tickets beforehand like I told him to.

She stayed in the parking lot waiting to give him his ticket so he could get into the event. She missed me walking across the stage.

For senior prom, I had picked out my favorite dress. It was all black with a thigh split and curved to my figure perfectly. I spent two months searching for the dress.

When Mama sent a picture to Daddy, he told her that my sister had a black dress, and it would make her feel a type of way if I wore the same color.

Where my mother should have told her man to go to hell, she made a big deal about not liking the dress and how I needed to find a new one.

Eventually, I said whatever and got another dress.

I turn back to the full-length mirror, taking myself in. I refuse to let them ruin this day for me any more than they already have.

Mother steps up behind me. I catch sight of her somber expression in the mirror.

“I always wanted a princess gown for my wedding. Ever since I was a little girl and saw Glinda the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz.”

My heart sinks. As happy as I know my mother is for me, I also know she’s hurting. For as much trauma she caused me in my childhood, I still loved her and wanted the best for her.

When I turned fifteen, I tried to talk to her about my dad. I told her she deserved to find her own man and to be loved completely. She smacked the taste out of my mouth. Told me I didn’t know shit about her and to stay out of grown folks’ business.

After that, she and I never spoke of it again. I love her, but if she wanted to be his fool, I would let her.

“Princess style would’ve been nice on you,” I say.

She gives me a warm smile through the mirror. The door to my suite opens again, and my best friend/cousin walks in carrying an enormous bouquet of black roses.

“Girl,” Tanisha says, placing the bouquet on the round table in the center of the room. “Tell Jamieson he’s already going to get in those panties, he didn’t have to blow a bag on these flowers.”

“Nisha,” my mother scolds her niece lightly.

Nisha laughs and shrugs. “Now Auntie, you know Jamieson is bussing her down tonight. Don’t act all innocent.” She winks at me. I roll my eyes at her as I head over to the table to view the flowers.

“I don’t want to hear about either of you girls’ sex lives,” my mother pretends to look disgusted. “I like to think you are both still virgins.”

Nisha tosses her head back and laughs. “Well, Siah might be, but you know I’m a freak.”

I should take offense at Nisha’s remark about being a virgin, but she’s almost right. Look, it isn’t that me and Jamieson haven’t had sex. We’ve been intimate a few times. However, there is something wrong with me.

I love my fiancé, and he takes the time to try to please my body, but sex feels more like a chore for me than something I actually desire.

Nisha tells me all about her sexcapades and multiple orgasms and wetting up bedsheets.

I couldn’t tell you what an orgasm felt like.

And I may get a little aroused, but I can’t say I’ve ever wet up bedsheets.

And this isn’t just a Jamieson issue. My fiancé is my third sexual partner, and it was the same with the other two guys.

I tried to talk to my doctor about this, but she said that physically there is nothing wrong with me. Jamieson tries not to complain about my lack of desire and stiffness in bed, but I know it bothers him.

“Tanisha Rose, you better not be out here popping that little thang to just anyone. I know my sister taught you better.”

I cut my eyes at my cousin, waiting to hear how she was going to respond. When it came to Tanisha, you never knew.

Nisha bats her long eyelashes and places a hand over her heart. “Now, Aunt Angie, you know better. This world-class coochie is exclusive. It’s harder to get into than a politician’s inner circle.”

I toss my head back and laugh. Mother frowns at both of us.

Returning my attention to the enormous bouquet, I smile. Pulling one black rose out of the bunch, I bring it to my nose. I’m not sure why J would choose black roses, considering my wedding colors are burnt-orange, teal, and beige.

There’s a card with the flowers. I pull it out and read the slanted handwriting.

My condolences, —R

“I think someone delivered the wrong flowers to me,” I say.

“The delivery guy said your name,” Nisha says, fixing her breasts in her maid of honor dress.

“What does the card say?” Mother asks.

I read the card out loud. As soon as I’m done, Mother rushes over and snatches the card out of my hand. She looks over the two words as if it’s an entire five-thousand-word essay.

“You don’t think it’s somebody trying to be funny, do you?” Tanisha asks, walking over to me. “You know bitches can get really petty at a wedding. I’d hate to beat a hoe down today.”

I want to laugh at my cousin and tell her that there is no way some female would be trying to send me a message. Jamieson isn’t that type of man. He’s honest, and gentle, and he loves me. He wouldn’t cheat.

Would he? I ignore the slow creep of doubt. I’ve been working on my trust issues in therapy. No need to accuse him of something I didn’t have proof of.

I look over at my mother, wondering what she thinks. When my eyes land on her, I pause. My mother is light-skinned. Not as light as my future husband but lighter than my pecan brown color. However, now she looks damn near pale.

“Ma, are you alright?” she blinks a few times before she focuses in on me.