Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Q
It was Valentine’s Day. Love was in the air from the moment we woke up that morning.
We started our morning with an early breakfast and ended it walking around the property.
Since we arrived in the evening on the first night, we didn’t get to explore, and the day prior was spent in the spa, so Jameera insisted on the walk.
Whatever she wanted, I would make it happen, and then some.
Every inch of the Royal Mansour was beautiful.
The natural beauty of the places we visited was always special to Jameera, and I noted how relaxed she was the entire time.
While we were out, Khaleesi decorated our riad.
Beautiful green and gold balloons and decorations covered the room, adding a special touch for the rest of our trip.
We were planning to end our evening at the YSL Museum. I paid to have them close an hour early, and we were in the midst of getting dressed when Khaleesi called. Jameera was in the shower on the second floor, and I went out on the terrace to ensure she couldn’t hear me before I answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey. I was just calling to let you know that everything is set up. Fabian did make it. He couldn’t answer the phone earlier because he got stuck in customs. He is already on his way over here so I can show him around the theater and help him scout where he’d like to stand.
Don’t rush to get here. Take your time.”
“Good shit, I didn’t think he was going to make it when I couldn’t get a hold of him,” I sighed in relief.
“Don’t stress, everything is going according to plan. Fabian is coming straight to the museum, no pit stops.”
“Thank you, Khaleesi.”
“Of course. Oh, and thank you for sending Xain to look after me at the club last night,” Khaleesi remarked.
“What you talking about? I didn’t send Xain,” I clarified.
“You didn’t?” She sputtered.
“Nah. I didn’t even know you left.”
“He said you were notified when I used the company card to book the car service,” Khaleesi explained.
“We both get those notifications. I don’t check them because I really don’t give a fuck what y’all charging to the rooms.”
“Oh. Maybe I misheard him,” she noted.
My phone beeped, and I pulled it away from my ear to see a group FaceTime call from the fellas coming through.
“This my brothers calling. I’m going to see you later. Thank you for pulling all of this together last minute.”
“Of course.”
I clicked over to my brothers and held the phone up to my face.
“Yooooo!” Tech’s voice came through on the phone.
“Wassup, jit. What time is it going down?” Quincy questioned.
“In an hour or two. I’m waiting for Jameera to finish getting dressed now. I’m nervous as fuck,” I admitted.
“What you nervous for?” Vez, my brother-in-law, chimed in.
“We just went through the roughest patch in our relationship. What if she thinks I’m only doing this to get back in her good graces?”
“Nigga, didn’t she come home? You’re already in her good graces,” Quincy retorted.
“Y’all both played your part in what went down.”
“Shit, I would’ve acted a hunnid times worse if that was Jury in those pictures,” Tech attested.
“I would’ve made the news,” Vez added.
“Just come from the heart, bro. You gon’ be straight,” Tech added.
“Yeah, and wipe your forehead. You sweating like a motha fucka,” Quincy pointed out.
I lifted my hand to wipe my forehead, and the door swung open. Jameera stepped out wearing a wine cable knit sweater to match mine, a pair of black pants, and black knee-high boots.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jameera!” They all shouted into the phone once she took the empty seat on the bench next to me.
“Thank you, fellas. My man rented out the YSL Museum for a private evening viewing. I hate to steal him from you, but we have to go,” Jameera bantered, waving into the phone.
“Alright. I’mma text y’all later.”
We ended the call, and I stood up, staring Jameera down. “You look so fuckin’ good.”
“Thank you,” she beamed, snuggling up into my arm.
We descended the stairs and found Xain waiting for us out front.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Xain greeted us.
“Thank you. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jameera replied.
I helped her into the truck, then we were on our way.
Pulling up to the curb at the entrance, I scanned the area for Fabian, the photographer and videographer who traveled with us during my last tour.
When I spotted Fabian walking toward us, I was thankful he could make the last-minute trip.
I helped Jameera out of the truck, and she excitedly admired the museum’s exterior.
“Fabian, what are you doing here?” Jameera inquired, noticing the familiar face approaching us.
“Q flew me out to make sure you have the best pictures for your scrapbook,” Fabian informed her as Xain went to park the truck.
Jameera was holding tightly onto my hand as she looked up at me. “You know me so well,” she chuckled.
“They do not allow photography past the courtyard, but I already peeped a good spot for a few pictures before we enter. The exterior would be perfect for some full-body walking shots,” Fabian suggested.
Releasing the grip she had on my hand, Jameera fluffed out her hair, and I stood to the side, patiently allowing them to do their thing.
Fabian snapped pictures and gave a few directions that Jameera followed before I was summoned for a few couples’ pictures.
We finally entered the museum about twenty minutes later.
Jameera and Fabian stopped for a second photoshoot inside the circular courtyard, where the YSL monogram logo was displayed against the massive stone wall.
We took a few photos together, then I was pushed aside for Jameera’s solo shots. A woman wearing a black blazer with her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail greeted me with a warm-silent smile. She stood a few feet away from me, watching Jameera and Fabian work until they were finally done.
Fabian’s camera dangled from his neck, and Jameera walked back over to me.
“Good evening, Jameera and Q. Welcome to the Musée Yves Saint Laurent Marrakech. We’re delighted to have you with us today.”
“Thank you. I’m so excited,” Jameera chirped.
“We were informed you are a celebrity stylist, so I’m sure you are aware of what our museum has to offer, but I’d still like to go over it,” she explained, leading us inside.
“Today you’ll be able to explore the permanent exhibition dedicated to Yves Saint Laurent’s work.
We have some of his most iconic designs, sketches, photographs, and pieces that highlight his creative process and influence on fashion.
“If you’d like, we can arrange a private guided tour, or you’re more than welcome to explore at your own pace. The exhibition leads into our temporary exhibition space, and at the end, there is a small theater where we have a special film curated for you two.”
“We will take the self-guided option, thank you.”
“Of course. Photographs are welcome here, but once you enter the exhibition halls, photography will not be permitted.”
“Got it,” Fabian nodded. “I’m actually going to head out. Jameera, it was a pleasure photographing you. Happy Valentine’s Day!” He waved at us.
“Thank you for making that trip, Fabian.”
“Anytime.”
“Shall we?” The woman nodded, waving towards the entrance.
Jameera snuggled up into my arm again as we entered the museum.
The museum was something that Jameera had been talking about visiting since last year.
She ogled the pieces, admiring every clothing item on display like it was a rare artifact.
For women who loved fashion, I guess these were their holy grails.
My baby could go on about clothes and designers for hours, and our trip through the museum proved it. I didn’t mind listening. It soothed my nerves, which were a wreck at the thought of what I had planned.
We stopped in front of a vintage garment shielded by glass.
“She’s beautiful,” Jameera complimented. “He’s one of my favorite designers because of pieces like this. He challenged the way people thought women should dress.”
“How so?” I questioned, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
Jameera melted into my chest, her hand gripping my forearm. I looked at the blank garment. It looked vintage, but I couldn’t tell you anything besides that.
“He made women look powerful. Borrowing from menswear without making us lose our femininity in the process,” she noted.
Pulling me in another direction, I was happy to see Jameera in her element. We moved from display to display, the click of her heels echoing through the empty museum. Jameera dropped tidbits along the path. The way she confidently educated me along the way, a guide definitely wasn’t needed.
“What’s special about this one?” I inquired, pointing at another piece that looked important.
“My student is listening so intently,” Jameera complimented, rubbing her hand through my chin hair. “Look at the construction of the jacket. Do you see the way the fabric is shaped? The structure and the lines.”
“You getting all of that from a dress?”
“Yep. You just don’t know what you’re looking for. Just like I don’t know anything about the eight zero eight beats you be trying to explain to me in the studio.”
“They ain’t beats,” I laughed. “An eight oh eight is that deep bass you hear underneath the track. That little rumble that makes the speakers shake.”
“This is a fashion history lesson, not a music lesson,” she snickered.
“You right. What else you want to teach me, Ms. Clayton?”
Jameera took my hand, and we walked deeper into the museum. Somewhere between Jameera explaining his fashion influence and showing me some of her favorite things in person, we reached the theater.
“Hello again, Q and Jameera. You guys have reached my favorite part of the exhibit, the theater. Today we have an exciting show for Valentine’s Day that we hope you all will enjoy.”
“Thank you,” I replied as we slipped inside.
The room was darker than the exhibits we’d just left, and the smell of orange blossom and sandalwood wafted through the air.
I followed Jameera toward the middle of the theater, and we claimed the two middle seats.
My nerves ramped up again the longer we sat in the dark.
Did Khaleesi forget to cue the staff? Did Xain forget to usher Fabian back there?
Shit, did those childish motha fuckas get to squabbling instead of orchestrating such an important moment in my life?
“What’s wrong? Are you enjoying yourself?” Jameera questioned, grabbing my hand.
“Absolutely. I loved watching you enjoy yourself more than anything. Plus I learned a thing or two,” I admitted.
“What did you learn?”
“That Mr. Laurant–”
“Oh my God, Q. His name is Laurent,” Jameera giggled.
“Yeah. Mr. Laurent said let the women wear the nigga clothes if they want to.”
“Lordy, I failed as your guide. Next time, I’ll let the professionals do their job,” she continued laughing.
She was loud enough to miss the sound of Fabian reappearing with his camera pointed at us. He gave me a thumbs up, and I finally relaxed as the lights faded completely, and the screen in front of us came alive.
The words Before We Met flashed across the screen, and a slow montage of our pictures from birth to middle school, the time before we met. When our parents chose our clothes and hairstyles.
Fabian’s camera came on, and Jameera looked at me. “Q, what is this?” She whispered.
“Shhhh,” I placed my finger against my lips, and Jameera eyed me with a smile before turning back to the screen.
The song I recorded for that moment began playing, and Jameera looked over at me.
“This is an unreleased song?”
“Yep, recorded just for you,” I affirmed.
A select few lyrics from the song projected onto the screen.
Some love stories start in college, the workplace, or the club,
but AP Computer Science class is where I found my love.
Pictures from our freshman year of high school followed. During that timeframe, Jameera kept her hair blown out. I had a gold grill, and Jameera had gold covering her fangs and lateral incisors on both sides of her mouth. Outdated clothes and innocent smiles were abundant.
“Awww, we were babies,” Jameera cooed.
What started as friends eventually turned into more,
Now I know I got the type of love that niggas pray for.
I smiled as pictures of us after becoming official were displayed. Homecomings, being hugged up in the cafeteria, prom, and any other high school pictures were thrown in there. I looked over at Jameera, and she was tearing up.
Anybody can love you at your best,
but can she love you at your worst?
Down on dialysis and losing my way,
depression tried to take me, but you never walked away.
Hearing the song brought me back to the most vulnerable days of my life.
Hence why it was especially for Jameera.
A few pictures of us in the studio, Jameera in her element styling my dancers for my first tour, and random pictures we took traveling over the years.
Our growth was my favorite part of the montage.
I found my way out of that dark place through the music, and we’d been up since.
After ten years you’re still my favorite part of life,
I hope you’ll do me the greatest honor and become my wife.
“Q!” Jameera sat up at that last line.
I was already out of my chair and bending to my knees as the montage continued behind me. The lights came on, and I pulled Jameera’s fingers into my trembling hands.
“Jameera,” I started as she excitedly bounced in her seat.
“The day you walked into the AP Computer Science class during freshman year of high school, I knew I was going to shoot my shot. It took me some time. You were spoiled as fuck, my name didn’t mean shit to you, and that made me want to go even harder.
We started as study buddies, and eventually became good friends.
The day I grew the confidence to ask you to the movies, I never imagined we’d spend the next ten years falling in love over and over again.
Choosing each other through every storm.
Growing. Thriving. Surviving some of the worst times.
“I couldn’t imagine my life without you.
The last week taught me that more than anything.
You love me when I’m right, and appreciate when I can admit that I’m wrong.
You’ve taught me that the things we love most deserve patience.
You’ve shown me nothing but love and loyalty.
Even when I didn’t deserve it. I want to spend the rest of my life proving why that wasn’t a mistake. ”
Jameera was sobbing, using her free hand to gently pat away her tears. I used my free hand to pull the custom velvet box out of my pocket.
“Jameera Alicia Clayton, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes, Q!” She shouted, leaning forward to hug me.
I broke the hug and slowly slipped the ring up her finger as the silent theater erupted in applause. My grin went from ear to ear, we were about to get married.