Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
When I told the Feds he might be the serial killer, as evidenced by how he popped up around the time women started dying and how charming he was, the sistah had the nerve to look at me like I was reaching so hard I’d sprained my brain. The look on her face read, Ms. Spencer, you want to throw the heat off yourself.
Did I go low and give her a stink face too? I did not, though it was a struggle to stay silent.
The team ended up investigating Omari but only charged him with art fraud. I was glad that his scheming behind was behind bars.
“Lawd, I’m glad I’m not behind bars too. I couldn’t do a jailhouse wedding or get into the mood for those conjugal visits.” My eyes widened. “Or … protect myself because Washington’s cousin, Felicia, couldn’t watch my back night and day.”
I told myself to stop stressing. All that was behind me, and I should enjoy those butterflies in my chest fluttering, nice and soft.
After a few moments, I got antsy. Zuri had said someone from the church would come and get me when they were ready, but I needed to take a peek. I opened the choir-room door.
Sunlight spilled through the stained glass, painting Peaches and Momma Virginia’s matching peach-colored skirt suits, except Washington’s auntie had scootched hers upward more than a few inches. They stood with the girls and Tennessee.
“Hey,” I whispered, doing my best to blend into the walls, being stealthy without touching them. This was a spotless, old-school church, but my dress was white.
“Oh, look at you!” Momma Virginia clapped her hands together as I approached.
“That girl is beautiful,” Peaches said, inching her dress up once more. Damn, she’d have to stand in the back during wedding pictures, or she’d look thirsty. “Washington was a fool to sign that divorce mess.”
“Mm-hmm,” Virginia said, taking my hands for a second and kissing my cheek.
“I’m gonna cry,” Zuri added as Phoenix slinked an arm around her.
I stifled a sob. “Don’t cry, because if you cry, then I’m gonna cry, and Picasso is gonna charge us for our makeup this time.”
“Yep, first time’s free.” Phoenix chuckled.
I peeped through the tiny windows of the double doors. Washington stood near the pastor with Montana at his side.
I sighed. We were doing it right this time. I only needed to remember my vows. Things were a lot easier to remember in my late teens.
“Texas is on his way, right?” I asked Tennessee as he handed Phoenix a bridesmaid bouquet. Although I’d rather know if my sister had returned from the airport with my parents. She’d sacrificed her sanity and her unwrinkled chiffon dress when they’d called her an hour ago. Our momma had complained that she wouldn’t do an American rideshare after some chat she had with another couple in the Philippines.
Zuri handed me a bridal bouquet, murmuring way too loudly, “Montana and I better get married before another Babineaux catches wedding fever.”
I arched a brow. “The million-dollar waitlist got you worried. You’re afraid someone else may beat you to it?” My eyes tracked to Phoenix as Tennessee brushed a copper curl from her face.
Phoenix’s loud snort reverberated down the hall. “Ha ha … ha. Y’all know Tennessee and I are just friends.”
“Just friends,” he mumbled, readjusting his momma’s corsage. With more conviction, he added, “Besides, I’m seeing someone.”
“Who you dating?” his momma asked, with some I-rebuke-you energy that Phoenix needed to catch.
Before we could unpack their love lives, a voice cleared. Texas strolled along the corridor. A blazer blessed all his muscles. He was smiling, his locs falling down his back in two neat braids. A woman nestled against him.
A gorgeous woman, whose meek smile showed beautiful, white teeth, a good indication she wasn’t on drugs. Texas certainly looked better than I’d last seen him, so maybe we’d all been wrong?
“Pardon, ladies,” Texas said. “Zuri and Montana may not have next.”
The next few seconds blurred by. Virginia staggered. Tennessee rescued her, and Texas lifted his woman’s hand, which held a rock.
A rock so large and shiny, it must have been under pressure since the Jurassic era.
The entire foyer erupted with questions about their engagement. From where I stood, I could see folks in the sanctuary shifting in their seats, whispering questions. And I could practically hear Cason, whom we’d hunted down during a shift at Dooky Chase and invited, telling Washington, It’s gonna be alright.
“I’m so sorry.” The woman’s light-brown skin ran red with embarrassment. Her hazel eyes, sharp enough to give paper cuts, pinned the man. “Texas knows it’s taboo to steal a bride’s moment.”
“Oh, no, I don’t care.” I wasn’t sure what made me like her more: the way she humbled Tex, or the apology that softened her features.
We stood in the hallway long enough for me to worry that my man might fidget in his Bottega Veneta Chelsea boots. But by the time the wedding music made its fifth circuit, Momma Virginia wore a smile, granting her approval of Texas’s fiancée.