by Amarie Avant
Blake
His words were hard and to the point but true. There were ten stitches in his arm from where Mila slashed out at him. Blake knew that the two of them could not get married under these circumstances. From his position, elbows posted on the rail, Blake warned himself but was still unable to stop himself from glancing over at her face to see the sheer pain and sadness.
“But I am in love with you, Blake.” Mila stepped closer to him. “Not for a second did I believe you would touch Lido or—”
“Good.” The response had been too quick, too harsh. Now with his right hand in a fist, Blake bit his knuckle. He moved away from the rail so quickly that Mila backed up a fraction of an inch in shock.
“There are so many fucking things that I have done for you that you don’t even know about Mila.” His hand pawed at her face a tad too harsh. His thumb rubbed over her lips. “I just wanted to make you happy . . .”
“You do! Blake, you pulled me from the abyss of sadness three years ago, and you make me hap—”
“You don’t ever have to worry about Todd.” His hands went to her shoulders. With his height, he angled his face down to make eye contact. “That fuck will never touch you again, and that is a promise.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
“And your sister. I cannot attest to the future, but I’m pretty sure I will hate her.” He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. Blake walked to the farthest part of the balcony. A bottle of wine was on the table. It hadn’t been opened. He suspected that for all the money he had dished out for the servers, not even one would step out onto this balcony until he left.
“Blake, can we please go back inside. We have family and friends who want to celebrate—”
“Not like this!” His hand hammered down on the table. “See, because I am still stupid enough to want your happiness. I assumed forcing Lido here with gifts would secure your happiness. But that shit won’t—obviously, it won’t.”
“Sorry—”
“Stop!” He lifted a hand up.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she quickly gritted out. “Please, Blake, forgive me. We have to go back in.”
“Not until you tell me why my lovely, always levelheaded, soon-to-be wife went postal earlier.”
“Soon to be?” She scoffed. “Sounds like you’re doubting us.”
“Talk.” He turned away from her, leaning his forearms over the railing, giving Mila the space she needed. The embarrassment was written all over her face. He wanted to hold her and make all the pain go away. But she’d acted like a woman he did not know earlier.
“Lido used to pinch me,” Mila huffed. “Not just those stupid St Patrick’s Day pinches that people give. She could break blood vessels. She’s always had a thirst for blood.” She offered a slight chuckle that didn’t get a rise out of Blake.
He was angered to hear how Lido had treated her.
“Can we return to the party, Blake?”
“Keep talking. I have the feeling you’re not done.”
“Alright,” she leaned against the railing next to him. “This is really beautiful.”
He hadn’t been looking at the view around them and didn’t need a distraction. Blake turned around, placing his back against the rails now.
“Blake, you have to believe me. If I thought you’d cheat, we wouldn’t have made it. No amount of diamonds could be given. When we first met, I denied you the best that I could because you were still married—separated—but married nonetheless. No bad karma for me, no matter how smooth you were, but you had a good game.” She gave a slight grin.
He almost felt like smiling now as he leaned back, and she continued to glance off into the distance while speaking an emotional monologue.
“You were more than just a nasty, ridiculously handsome bastard. You made me face my fears. You’ve been way more to me than either of my last two fiancés, and while I considered Warren my best friend from the start—and the sole reason for my engagement with him—I know he wasn’t perfect. We weren’t perfect because I could never give him my heart, but you stole it right out of my chest.” She placed a hand against her heart. Blake held onto every word, so in love with her. He wanted to kiss her lips right now, but Mila continued to speak. Besides, he had another idea, one that would make their wedding impeccable.
“You own my heart, Blake, and I’ll have it no other way. Can we talk about the torture I endured from Lido sometime later? Let’s just say that I should have not pent it all up for so many years. I should have talked about it. Yelled at Lido. Got a therapist. Talked to you. I don’t know? Anyway, you don’t have to forgive me just yet for my Michael Myers rendition. I can pay in other ways.” Her eyes twinkled at the thought of being his submissive, though a seed of worry still creased her mouth.
“Damn right, you’ll pay,” he growled into her ear. His hand slid down between her and the railing. He started to put a hand over her pussy, but in a smooth gesture, Blake moved away from Mila. Internally, he laughed. This was enough torture for his soon-to-be wife as she turned around to see her mother stepping outside onto the balcony.
“Mrs. Ali,” he said. “Just the woman I wanted to see. You are the epitome of gorgeous.”
Her once concerned mother grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you.”
“Mila and I need your help.”
“We do?” Mila’s eyebrow rose.
The tension he’d been holding in his thick muscles faded. He embraced her, and she sighed against his chest. In her ear, he whispered a declaration, “On our honeymoon, you will forfeit clothing the entire time.”
Mila’s smile trembled with confusion. “But—”
“Baby.” He said kissing the top of her head as he addressed her and her mother. “I want you so damned happy. These weeks of planning the rest of our life have been tumultuous, ‘out of this world perfect,’ and at other times, not so much. I expect that. But I made a mistake.”
“Aw.” Mila beamed.
“Remember that evening I came to pick you and Yasmin up from the airport after you went to assist Lido?”
She nodded.
“You were telling Yasmin how much you loved tradition while she wished she’d had a western wedding with Faaid.”
“I was angry, snapping at everyone.”
“Oh, Mila—” Her mother started to reprimand her but seemed to stop.
He tipped her chin. “You were telling the truth.”
She pleaded with him. “No, Blake, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. We are marrying this weekend. I’m the one with cold feet, and it’s too late for Somali customs.”
Blake kissed her hard on the mouth. “No, baby. It’s not. Thao is somewhere around here. You and your mom speak with him after dinner. You and I fell hard for each other in Asia, so there’s no way in hell we leave China without you as my wife. But Thao, his job is hardly done. Mrs. Ali, will you assist Mila and Thao with any changes that you both deem necessary?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Ali beamed, holding her hands against her lips. The anticipation on her face was perceptible. She truly wanted this. Mila held both of her hands and then gave her a hug. “Just a few changes for your wedding, and it will be perfect.”
“I’m sure it will.” Blake could hardly get the words out before Mila rushed into his arms for another hard kiss.
Mila
THE BIG DAY
The western wedding in China, with Somali elements, was now in full swing. Mila had never mentioned her desires to Thao before because she assumed it might not mesh in the first place. Or rather, leave it to her being her mother’s child not wanting to possibly cause issues. The past few days had come together perfectly with her mother’s and Thao’s assistance. The three of them had worked swiftly to merge the existing vendors and activities with her heritage.
Her future husband, as intuitive as he was, had given her another reason to fall in love with him.
The previous day should’ve been a day for all of Mila’s guests to relax before the big event,
and for her and Blake to share one final moment in each other’s company, without sex.
They hadn’t met that intended goal. They hadn’t even seen each other yesterday as she and Mrs. Ali were having a final rundown with Thao.
Now, music played softly in the background. Bridal party chatter filled the air. They had claimed the entire hotel beauty salon, which was now closed for other guests at midday. The glitzy room was light and floral with oriental lilies in tall vases set about. At four beauty stations, each woman, Mila, Yasmin, Ms. Ali, and Zenobia sat. They were all dressed in plush robes. Each woman had an updo except for Mila. They were all in the process of having their makeup applied, and so the fresh fruit and glasses of champagne had just been discarded.
“If the dress doesn’t come, I’m going to really turn into a bridezilla,” Mila exclaimed, attempting not to move her lips while gold was dusted across her cheeks.
Yasmin huffed. “You said that this morning, little sister, but you don’t have a bridezilla bone in you.”
“It will come,” Zenobia said.
“Have faith.” Her mother had been patient the entire time.
Mila sighed heavily. Though adding the last minute cultural shift to her wedding had brought her closer to her mother, she was a jumble of nerves the entire time. Well, except when we all had fun dancing.
“Ladies, you are looking fabulous, but no more reason to worry,” Thao said as he entered the room with a courier at his side.
Each woman rose from their station, eager to see the new dress. Zenobia hip bumped Mila as she giddily went to them.
“Thank you.” Mila told both men as the courier handed her the long box. He’d already been greatly compensated. The women thanked him eagerly before crowding around the bride
“See, I always come through,” Thao said. “I need more brides like you, humble even in the darkest hour."
Mila placed the long, large box onto the accent table in the center of the beauty salon. A Chinese photographer, who had silently clicked away, capturing candid moments all morning moved forward to catch even more enduring times. He must’ve already had a thousand photos, but it was easy to tell when his creative juices were flowing as the shutter of his camera became incessant.
“Open it, open it,” Zenobia chanted. Lilac colored tissue fell to the ground as Mila opened the top and the photographer’s camera clicked rapidly. The women gasped at the sight of the dirac, a long, willowy magenta dress with a sheer gold overlay, and gold embellishments along the seams.
“Mama,” Mila sighed, unable to contain her glee. When her mother had mentioned the dress, a good friend of the family had gone straight away to their home in Ethiopia to send a screenshot of it because of Mila’s excitement. Then the friend was paid to have it sent. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she touched the golden overlay. The magenta would pop against her beautiful skin. The dress rivaled the million dollar one that Madame Renee had made. Both were beautiful in their own right, but her dirac would make her feel like she was bathed in gold. In love with the dress, Mila fussed. “Why didn’t you tell me you bought me a dress in the first place?”
Her mother kissed her cheek in the same manner she had when Mila asked to see the photo of the dress. This time; however, Mrs. Ali, replied, “I didn’t know if you’d want to be married in it.”
“Well, I am going to celebrate in this dirac and enjoy myself dancing.” Mila’s shoulders began to shimmy in the movements they would for the ‘buraanbur’ a special women’s dance. Although she wanted the typical western-culture tradition of the white dress and all that encompassed it, Mila would change before the reception for even more photos.
Zenobia began to dance with her for a moment, but when they both glanced over, Yasmin was staring at the dress. She was fanning the tears brimming in her eyes. “I can’t stop crying,” Yasmin said.
“No, no, big sister.” Mila patted her cheek softly while laughing. “These past few days have brought us closer,” she said, placing an arm around Yasmin and then her other around Zenobia. She didn’t have to utter the word sister. She knew these women felt the same.
Yasmin sniffled as she grinned
“Yas, you are not a crier. We never could quite get your mouth closed, but crying? Sis, you better stop it.”
“Tsk,” their mother said, grabbing a few bits of tissue that Zenobia held out. Mrs. Ali thanked her, taking the tissue and following the dark mascara-stained tears running down her daughter’s cheek.
“But I’m so happy!” Yasmin said.
“Me too.” Zenobia chimed in.
“This is not your day, Yasmin,” her mother assured; all though, she was all smiles.
“Sheesh, Mama!” Yasmin’s shoulders teetered from her laugh-cry. “It’s just that . . . Mila has found the one. I’ve been so happy in love with Faaid for years, but it would’ve been nice to love him during the actual wedding. I may have a big mouth, and mention that tradition was boring, but—”
Mila cut in. “Clearly, you are contradictory about tradition, Yas. I assume it has something to do with that mouth.”
“Actually, I guess my comment was out of context. When you’re raised around our customs, it becomes bland. Also, I didn’t love Faaid, now I’d marry him at the park if I had to. Albeit, I wanted to marry in Vegas when I was young. But we haven’t had a good wedding in ages, and I forgot how close family can be . . .”
She placed her arm around her mother and was beginning to put her arm around Mila when Mrs. Ali’s eyebrows bunched together. “Vegas?”
“So, y’all are going to skim over my family moment. Surely that should’ve covered up my previous comment about Vegas.” Yasmin emphasized, sweeping it under the rug. They all laughed and gave her a hug.
The four of them settled back down at their individual stations. The stylists at each seat took their time in returning to work, aware that this was a ritual that couldn’t be rushed.
“We will be late,” Mrs. Ali glanced at her watch.
“We are slightly behind schedule,” Zenobia murmured while glancing at the watch on her phone. Then she gasped. “Lawd, girl, you are trending!”
“What’s this ‘trending’?” Mrs. Ali peered over as Zenobia held up the phone. Zenobia handed the phone to her stylist out of respect for the bride’s mother, who in return walked the phone over.
Mrs. Ali’s lips began to move as she silently read what was on the iPhone. “Oh, I love this.” Mrs. Ali let her index finger rove over the screen.
“What is it?” Mila asked, unable to move as mascara was being applied to her eyes.
“Aw,” her mother mumbled.
Yasmin gasped. “Zennie, what’s on the website? I don’t know why you handed the phone to our mother. She doesn’t know anything about grown folk business.”
“I heard that.” Mrs. Ali spoke up.
“Humph, that was the point. Won’t you read it aloud for us all?” Yasmin smirked as her mother continued to silently read with an adoring smile. “I’m trying to get to it,” Yasmin grumbled, fiddling with her own late-model Android. “My cell phone isn’t like all of yours.” A few seconds later, she was sighing too.
“Well, hello, what happened to appeasing the bride?” Mila said.
“Um-hmmm . . .” her sister responded.
“Zennie?” Mila gestured.
“Your mom is hogging my phone. Blake wrote you a love letter.”
A beam brightened on Mila’s face. With one eye fit for a Bali magazine, she glanced around her beautician to Yasmin and said, “Start from the top, heifa. It’s my letter.”
“Okay, bridezilla.”
“I’m not!” Mila scoffed.
Yasmin offered the sideways glance that reminded her of three nights ago. And then she started reading. “Mila, you are mine now and forever . . .”
A deep, satisfying breath moved through Mila’s chest. She listened.
“You remind me every day that my strength and ambitions pale in comparison to what your heart posses
ses . . .”
***
Later that evening, stars glittered in the sky as pure white horses pulled a white carriage. The carriage was enchantedly tangled with twinkling lights and sparkled through the night. Mila was dressed in Madame Renee’s creation, a fur draped around her shoulders. Her father was at her side, and she couldn’t for the life of her recall him ever being so funny.
“Father, you are going to make me cry.” She told him.
“Well, don’t. I’m attempting to make you smile for the camera. We’re getting closer.” He patted her hand. “My beautiful daughter, you are the light of my life. No tears.”
She smiled as the horses moved in a slow trot. With her father at her side, Mila couldn’t wait to be given to her future husband.
What had looked like a crystal jewelry box off in the distance was actually a greenhouse that had been cleared out. As they approached, she could see Zenobia step into the last bridesmaid’s spot. From the ceiling, oriental lilies were braided together and draped down. The entire scene was beyond the point of taking her breath away. The intimate crowd turned around, and a hushed gasp came over the room.
A videographer was at their side when Mr. Ali held out a hand to assist Mila out of the carriage. The flicker of so many pillar and votive candles glowed across her skin, casting rainbows in all directions from the Swarovski crystals on her dress. Batting her eyes closed to the sting of tears, Mila knew she dared not allow a single one to fall when she gazed upon Blake.
He was dressed in a white tailored tuxedo. His broad shoulders and arms filled out the suit, and a gold tie and vest brought out the flecks in his emerald eyes. His hair—she wanted to touch his hair—like she often did when he had come home from getting a fresh cut. And his lips were begging for a drink. She wanted to run to Blake. But the lithe woman at the harp was strumming the cords ever so slowly, and Mila fell into pace with the tempo, magnetized by her future. At Blake’s side was Isaac, and Jace and Ephraim rounded out the groomsmen.
“You look gorgeous.” Blake mouthed the words. His desire for her was in his eyes along with love.