Love Redeemed, Book 4 (30 page)

“The break you proposed that night. I was there. You had the props and materials that night to back your plan,” I speak forcefully with clear a memory of her making her plea to remove us from that from the projects all those years ago. “He shot you down and like the perfect submissive wife…like a trained dog with its tail between its legs, you didn’t fight. You let him make the call to leave us in that hellhole to disintegrate!” I find myself out of breath. I know I’ve been holding a lot in, but not how close to the edge I’ve been. “And we did. As a family, we were lit aflame and chard!” My face wrinkles. “You couldn’t stand up to him. Be a real woman…you just took his veto and rolled over.”

Samantha quietly nod
s. “Because two days before ‘den, Eric broke when I stole ‘da rent money for ‘da umpteenth time.” Her regretful eyes rise to meet mine. “‘Da same day, he saw me copping from O.” Suddenly, I recall Akeem telling me about my ex-boyfriend being my mother’s drug supplier. She’s confirming that story. “He couldn’t take it no more. Eric was done.”

I s
ee the tears ejecting from the ducts, being reabsorbed as she fights to control her emotions. At the same time, her attempted revelations begin to anchor in my conscience. She’s presenting an argument of flexibility of perceptions. I’ve perceived the events of my childhood from one set of eyes all of these years. She’s now giving me new lenses—another angle. She’s taking responsibility for her role in our failed family unit.

Samantha
is somehow able to see how those events of my troubled childhood holds bearing to my future. That with Azmir. Once again, I’m being faced with a mirror to help me view myself. I immediately identify the scars from my perception of things concerning my parents. I’ve been so angry with the both of them for our familial demise, but I haven’t had all the facts. All of a sudden, I think about my reservations to love. My delayed acceptance of Azmir’s commitment to me.

“Listen, I
ain’t come here to upset you or to make ‘dis…” She gives a quick glance around the nautical suite. “…about me; we can discuss ‘da drama of my childhood another time. But let me just say ‘dat in my youth, being a Christian was lifestyle over commitment. I lost my way and—”

“…became sick. So sick that eventually you
sought God like a patient in need of healing…” It’s becoming clear to me.

She nod
s as her shoulders shudder. She’s fighting for control. I, however, have a fissure in emotional rheostat. Tears pool my sockets and eventually empty from my lids. It happens so quickly, but I catch them on a rapid swipe of my hands.

After a long pause
she mutters, “’Dis marriage between you and Azmir can work.”

I g
ive an emphatic nod and observe her eyes catching mine. Her hand then goes to the mattress to lift her thin frame from its sitting position. She pulls herself up shakily and stands before for me for seconds long.

Then I hear
a rapid, “I love you and believe in your marriage,” before she turn on her heels to make her way to the door and shuts it behind her.

Time spe
eds up. I’ve had my cocktail, hair done, and face
beat to the gawds
, as Adrian puts it. I’m instructed to put on my shoes first when it’s time to get dressed. A few days after purchasing the gown, I found a simple white satin, open toe, strappy
Jimmy Choo
sandal with ostrich feather covering my foot. I wonder would Azmir
have
me in these babies alone and chuckle. My gown is placed on me by more people than I need assistance from.

While eyeing my bridal attire in the mirror I hear, “Rayna, your sister is here to see you,” from Tessie at the
doorframe of the parlor. I can hear the distress in her voice.

She f
ights to be patient, but really doesn’t want the last minute interruption of schedule to accommodate a guest just before my walk down the aisle. But what’s more surprising is her mentioning my sister. Chanell doesn’t have to pose as my—

My thoughts
are halted by the passing possibility of it being Chyna. I did, after all, ask for an invitation be extended to her and my grandparents.

“We only have four minutes before you are to be at the bottom of the steps here,” Tessie warn
s.

With a soft nod and eventually a
n, “Okay…” I consent.

Tessie back
s away from the doorframe and in comes a beautiful teenager in a red satin mini tube dress, exposing her smooth almond skin. Her right shoulder is inked with a red rose, marring her beauty right along with her facial piercing, in my opinion. Chyna’s hair is jet black and pinned up in huge curls. Her red satin platform shoes are more appropriate for the club, but is perfect for this day so long as she’s here. Something deep within warms at the sight of her.

“Chyna?” I breathe.

Chyna’s sucks in a breath and her eyes bulge when they arrive at me. “Oh my fuckin’ gawd!”

“Chyna!” I admonish. And that’s when I notice she
isn’t alone. There’s an ebony skinned girl in a blue mini right behind her.

“My bad, big sis. It’s just that…I always knew you was pretty, but…DAMN!” she shriek
s then looks back to her friend. “Right, Tay?” Her girlfriend nods with a wide grin.

I
wave her over to me suddenly feeling overwhelmed in emotions. I pull her into me. “I’m so happy you were able to make it. I didn’t think you would.”

“What!” Chyna trill
s when we release one another. “And miss a free trip to Hollywood—oh, I mean,” she ducks her head. “Of course seeing my big sis get married is the biggest reason. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. What about Grandma and Grand
dad?”

“Umm…Grand
daddy wasn’t up to the long flight. You know…with that last stroke and all. He don’t like to go out much. Grandma is here. She didn’t want to lose her seat up on the deck, even though they told us we had assigned seats.” Then Chyna backs away just a little to give me sight of her friend. “This is my home girl, Shantee. You could call her Tay for short.” The two girls giggle for some unknown reason.

“Nice to meet you, Tay. I’m glad you were able to make it,” I proffer my hand, to which she reciprocate
s on a weak shake, indicative of her age.

“We just came to show you some love before you take that leap,” Chyna sa
ys then her eyes grow. “Speaking of, you ain’t tell me your man was fine as fuck! I mean, damn sis!” Shantee bursts into laughter as she nods her head emphatically. “I don’t mean no disrespect, but if you having any doubts about him, puleeeeze pass him over to me. I promise you, I can handle him.” Chyna can’t keep the humor
or lust
out of her voice, and something tells me she isn’t entirely joking.

Adrian, Chantal, and the other stylists even join
s in on the mirth. Adrian shakes his head as he belts out laughs. I don’t know if the humor is the truth in what the teens said or the fact that it came from two girls who are just out of training bras.

I’
ve grown accustomed to women fawning over Azmir, so this isn’t new. However, having your little sister who your strongest recollection of is being a toddler, do it makes it a bit awkward. The girls laugh long and hard as they hold hands with one holding her belly and the other having her hand on the wall.

I sh
ake them off with my head and ask, “Where are you all staying?” I know unless they’re crashing in my make shift dance room at my house in Redondo Beach, there isn’t much space. I also know my grandmother isn’t fond of hotel rooms. She’s always said they are the most impersonal and therefore nasty places to lay your head.

Hardly having c
aught her breath, Chyna answers, “At your place on the water.” She then stands erect and sprightly asks, “Yo, who calls that place an apartment. And your bedroom...the one you share with that fine ass man! How is it that you leave that bed?”

“That place is dope as hell, Ms. Rayna! I gotta give you mad love on your world, ma!” Shantee cover
s her mouth with a balled fist, “You’s a bad bitch—beautiful, educated, fine ass rich man, laced crib! I wanna be like you when I grow up!” She and Chyna proceed to give each other some dap.

Before I c
an answer, Tessie peeps her head back in the salon. “Ms. Brimm ninety seconds until your call!” I nod and she closes the door or more like slams it. I can tell her nerves are frayed.

I look at my sister and her friend, smitten
by their presence, even if they’re lusting over my A.D. in my face. I’m just happy to have family here. Weird for me, but true.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Chyna doll,” I pull her into another tight embrace, doting on her with a name I used
to call her as a tot. Chyna freezes in my arms before reciprocating, wrapping her arms around me.

“Me, too,” she murmurs
into my shoulder. “If I could be with you every day, I would.”

My eyes pop
open behind her.
Chyna…I’m so sorry for leaving you behind!

“Time!” Tessie appear
s again in the doorframe. Chyna and Shantee shuffle out, promising not to post pictures of me or Azmir on IG, FB, Twitter, or any other social networking site that I’m not familiar with.

Tessie ha
s my bouquet of pink tulips and mini calla lilies, placing them in my hand. I can’t help but notice it’s by design that it is the same arrangement Azmir had delivered to my office when he muscled me for our first date, after our initial encounter in his cafeteria. This time I don’t need help identifying the flower type. Boy, have I been cultured to many things since then, thanks to A.D.

Minutes later
, I’m at the steps of the lower deck, prepared embark on the rose-covered runner. The runner that leads to my groom. My heart thumps hard in my chest that heaves. I’m presenting with all the symptoms of a nervous bride. Yet and still I’m ready.

“Rayna, I’ll give you your cue, okay?” Tessie ask
s with a smile that’s now forced and applied as an accessory rather than genuinely due to anxiety. I’m not offended by it; I can only imagine what she’s being paid and what that means in terms of her reputation.

I nod
in assent. Then I hear the bass drop, followed by the horn blowing, and that’s just before the sextet belts out their various harmonic notes. This time, the jazzy tune rings familiar, too. I have to fight back the tears of joy. Azmir arranged for my processional song to be one that holds warm memories for him. Brian McKnight’s smooth vocals sing, “
There I go…there I go…there-I-go…
” And I know in this moment that it’s meant for me to marry this man. My man. A.D. Jacobs.

“You can now start, Rayna,” Tessie whisper
s while she presses a wired bud into her ear and with her other hand, holds a stopwatch of some sort.

Shelly, your mu
llato ass had better be with me. This is for me…and you.

I ascend
the stairs and up to the rear stern of the large boat where I see two rows of people on either side. The rows of chairs are placed at a slant, creating a V as they face the small alfresco altar on the back deck. The immediate notables are Yazmine and my mother, Samantha. Then there’s Petey, Kid, Chanell, Mark, Eric, Natasha, Lenny, Mia, Chyna, Shantee, my grandmother, Peg, Chef Boyd and a few others that I don’t recognize.  

Once my eyes
are done roving over the guests, I move them over to the white arch that’s sheathed in chiffon and white calla lilies where Pastor Edmonson is with the sun shining brightly over him, and First Lady Twanece, adjacent, yet slightly behind him. Her well-poised presence demonstrates submission with underlying courage and power to assist him. Protect him. The ultimate image of marriage.

Finally, my sight
s land on the man of the hour—the love of my life. He stands tall with shoulders stretched wide and powerfully. His long legs are apart, giving off that virile stance. His chocolate frame is clad in a light gray three-piece suit, crisp white shirt, and matching oxfords. Azmir’s refined stature and stateliness is breathtaking, beyond anything that I’ve ever imagined walking down the aisle to—if I ever imagined walking down the aisle.

When m
y lustful eyes rise from his long legs, up his chest to his beautiful face, I notice him closing and tucking his pocket watch into his suit pocket as his eyes are engrossed with me. The expression on his striking face is priceless. Azmir’s mouth collapses and I swallow hard. His face is full with the beard he swore to grow until I became his wife. I love the gruff edge to it and although it covers much of his beautiful face, it’s an undeniably sexy alternative. He’s magnificent, and apparently effortlessly. His boyish insouciance is on full display as his searing gaze scorches me from head to toe.

Th
ere’s no bridal party. We don’t need that, only each other and an officiate. I attempt a steady pace down the runner, hoping that I don’t give away my ogling of Azmir’s chocolate Adonis. In some miraculous way, my feet guide me to him, feeling so drawn, so persuaded to be at his side. His eyes grow larger with every step I take.

Once I t
ake my place at his side, I notice the lids of his eyes collapse and Azmir lets out a long breath. I shiver at my affect on him, though I don’t understand it fully. Pastor Edmonson gives his opening prayer and asks the guests to be seated. He then goes over marriage, its creation, how it’s perceived by God and should be viewed by Azmir and me, and then our witnesses.