“I know you’ve been planning the wedding, but I don’t want to wait for the date you set, that’s four months from now,” Mula uttered while I sat on his lap.
“What do you want to do about that?” I turned around and gazed at him.
“There’s a chapel on the boat; let’s sneak off and go. Just me and you.”
I giggled. “You’re so exciting.”
Mula made me stand up with him, and then he grabbed the bottle of champagne we were sharing. We left the deck and wandered the ship as we laughed and finished our champagne. Mula hugged and kissed me from the back, making me love the way he smothered me with affection. We were on our rockstar shit. I wasn’t regretting marrying him while we were intoxicated.
We went inside the white chapel that had wooden benches and white roses surrounding the church. The pianist was playing a soft melody, putting my nerves at ease.
“Are you ready to do this?” Mula grabbed my hands while we stood at the opening of the chapel, waiting to be signed in.
“Yup, I am more than ready.” I smiled at him, and he kissed my forehead.
“Welcome to Chapel Of The Tide. Are you two lovebirds trying to tie the knot on this beautiful night?” the woman standing at the door asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yes, we are,” I replied generously.
“Okay, I need the husband-to-be to stand at the altar. You will walk to your soulmate like a real wedding. You’ll be able to sign the marriage license after the ceremony,” the woman instructed.
Mula walked to where the pastor was standing at the podium, and the woman gave me a pretty white sheer veil to put on. Luckily, I was already wearing white, even though it was a skimpy dress from Valentino Garavani, and I had on a diamond necklace Mula got me before we left for the cruise.
As I stood in the small, empty chapel, my heart raced with excitement and nerves. The soft breeze brushed through the open windows, causing chill bumps to form on my arms. Everything felt surreal, yet so perfect. In just a few moments, I would be marrying the love of my life, Lameek Wave.
As the piano's gentle melody filled the air, I took a deep breath and walked down the aisle. My eyes locked with Mula's. His gaze was filled with love and tenderness, melting away any lingering doubts or fears.
We stood face to face, our hands intertwined, ready to embark on this incredible journey together. As the words of commitment and love were spoken, time seemed to stand still. And then, finally, we were pronounced husband and wife. In that moment, pure bliss washed over us.
Without hesitation, Mula pulled me into his arms, his lips meeting mine in a passionate and heartfelt kiss. The kiss sealed our love, promising a lifetime of shared dreams, laughter, and unbreakable bonds. In that small, empty chapel, surrounded by love and with our souls intertwined, our love story was just beginning.
“When we get back, you can pick out whatever wedding ring you want,” he assured me.
“Okay, baby. I would marry you without a ring again.”
After our cruise, I went back to Sable Cove, feeling refreshed. I got on my grind with my brand, and Mula helped me get in stores like he promised, but I was on a grind deeper than that. I wanted to connect with the people, so I started showing my face again, selling my bikinis in the club and in salons. The girls were loving it, so giving up was never in my plans again, but drama was, and I was de-escalating it and protecting my peace at all costs.
DON’T DIE OUT HERE
I hadno business still being in Sable Cove, but here I was. Condo over the water, balcony view, fully unpacked. Like I lived here.
Every other weekend, I was in Southwave. Rivera made that easy. His side of the city loved me. I was the pretty outsider with a fiery head and no morals. Velvet South knew me by name now. The seafood spot with the blue neon lights? My table stayed reserved. Sable Cove was slowly becoming mine.
I’d seen Yummi around. She moved like the city kissed the ground she walked on. Her curls. Her soft voice. The fake fairy tale aura that got her ex killed by Mula. I’d seen her, but she never saw me. Until today.
I was at the salon on Eastwave Avenue, getting my curls touched up by this bad lil’ stylist I’d found on Instagram. It was girls in every chair, music low, incense burning, drinks on the dryer table. The kind of hood-rich peace I liked.
Thenshewalked in with a Louis duffel, gold hoops, and a cropped T-shirt. The room shifted when she stepped in. She was selling her bikinis—everybody was hyped, showing love. The energy pissed me off.
I kept quiet, scrolling on my phone, until she walked over to me.
“Wanna buy one, bitch?” she said, smiling like a villain.
I lifted my head. “Bitch?”
She chuckled, cocky and unbothered. “What you think I don’t know who you are? Didn’t my man tell you to take your ass back to that lil’ snowy hometown you crawled out of? That’s what he told me. You’re not built for Southwave.”
That’s when I stood up. My chair damn near slid back. I was hot. “First off, ho?—”
