Epilogue
Zainab
I almost didn’t make it down the aisle because I couldn’t stop crying long enough to see where I was going.
The waterfront was transformed. White and gold everything.
Thousands of flowers lining the aisle, candles flickering in glass votives along every row, a custom arch draped in cascading roses and peonies framing the Potomac behind it.
The sun was setting and the sky looked like God painted it on purpose, all peach and amber and pink, like even He wanted this day to be beautiful.
And then there was Prime. Standing at the end of the aisle in a black Tom Ford tuxedo with a white rose pinned to his lapel. Hands clasped in front of him. Jaw tight. Eyes already wet.
I almost lost it right there.
But then I felt a tug on my arm.
“You good, Z?”
I looked down at my Yusef. My nephew in his custom suit with his fresh haircut and his serious face. Yusef had both hands on my arm, steady, grounding me.
“I’m good, baby.”
“Then stop crying. You’re gonna mess up your makeup.”
I laughed. Because he was right. I didn’t want to be a smudged mess for the photoshoot.
“Okay,” I said, squeezing his arm. “Let’s go.”
He walked me down that aisle with his chin up and his shoulders back and I swear every person in that audience was crying. Three hundred guests and not a dry eye. Because everybody knew what it took to get here. Everybody knew what this family had survived to make it to this moment.
I saw Grandma Rita in the front row, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, her hat enormous and fabulous because Rita didn’t do anything understated.
Next to her, Prime’s aunts Jesse and May each held one of the twins.
Kheris was knocked out in Jesse’s arms, sleeping through her parents’ wedding like it was a regular day.
Idris was wide awake in May’s lap, fists balled up, looking around with those big eyes like he was already judging everybody.
Storie and Dream sat beside them, both girls in matching lavender dresses, Dream bouncing in her seat and Storie pretending she wasn’t emotional but failing.
Creed and Sloane were a few rows back. Sloane had her hand over her heart and Creed had his arm around her, stoic as always, but I caught him swallow hard when Yusef and I passed.
Cannon and Queen were beside them, Queen already crying into a tissue while Cannon rubbed her back.
Riot and Allure were across the aisle looking like they belonged on the cover of something, Allure’s head resting on Riot’s shoulder.
Serenity was in the bridal party, standing on my side in her champagne gown, glowing. She’d been through her own hell, but tonight she looked like she was finally coming out the other side.
And Mehar. My Mehar, my maid of honor. Standing right next to Serenity, dark hair pinned up, tears streaming down her face. She mouthed “I love you” when I passed, and I mouthed it back and almost started sobbing again.
Quest was standing next to Prime as his best man. Looking sharp in his tux, that cocky smirk on his face, but his eyes were soft. He gave me a nod when I reached the front. Respect. Welcome. Justice stood with him too, smiling proudly at his baby brother.
Yusef placed my hand in Prime’s. Looked up at him with those big brown eyes.
“Take care of her,” he said.
Prime’s voice cracked when he answered. “Always.”
Yusef nodded once, satisfied, then took his seat next to Rita, who immediately pulled him into her side and kissed the top of his head.
The ceremony was everything. The vows were everything.
I cried through mine, and Prime was brave through his.
When the officiant said “you may kiss the bride” he grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me so deep and so long that Quest yelled “Aight, damn, save some for the honeymoon” and the whole place erupted.
The reception was chaos in the best way.
Banks Reserve flowed like water. The food was catered by three different restaurants because Prime and I couldn’t pick one.
There was a Zinnamon Roll dessert bar that Mehar designed herself, every flavor we’d ever created lined up in towers of gold and white.
We also had a custom 5-tiered wedding cake; each tier a different flavor.
The DJ had the floor packed from the first song.
Rita danced to every record. I mean EVERY record. She two-stepped to Luther, she wobbled to Cupid, and when the DJ threw on some Megan Thee Stallion, she hitched up her dress and hit a move that made Quest spit out his drink.
“Grandma!” Justice covered Dream’s eyes.
“Boy, please. I was twerking before it had a name.”
Prime and I did our first dance to “Adorn” by Miguel. He held me close with one hand on my lower back and his mouth against my ear, whispering things that had no business being whispered in front of one hundred people.
“Can you behave?” I whispered back.
“I’ve never behaved a day in my life, Goddess. You knew that when you married me.”
I did. And I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.
Halfway through the song, Aunt Jesse brought Kheris over and May followed with Idris. Prime took our daughter without missing a beat, cradling her against his chest with one arm while his other hand stayed on my waist. I took Idris, who immediately grabbed a fistful of my veil and tried to eat it.
The photographer lost her mind. I could hear the shutter going off nonstop as we swayed there, the four of us, our first dance as a family. Kheris slept through the whole thing. Idris drooled on my veil and I didn’t even care.
Prime looked down at our daughter against his chest, then at our son yanking my hair, then at me.
“We did good, Goddess.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We really did.”
After the song, the photographer pulled us aside for family portraits.
Me and Prime. Me, Prime, and the twins. The twins with Rita, who refused to take off her hat for a single frame.
Then one with everybody, all the Banks and Kings crammed together, Dream making a silly face, Storie giving her signature unbothered stare, and Idris screaming because he’d had enough of pictures. That one ended up being my favorite.
It was almost midnight when somebody yelled, “THROW THE BOUQUET!”
I grabbed my flowers and turned my back to the crowd of single women who’d gathered on the dance floor.
Serenity was front and center, hands up.
Two of Prime’s cousins were elbowing each other for position.
Storie was standing way in the back pretending she wasn’t participating, but her hands were definitely ready.
Mehar was off to the side near the bar, holding a glass of champagne, not even paying attention. Scrolling her phone with one hand.
I threw it high. Watched it arc over the crowd.
And it landed directly at Mehar’s champagne glass, bumping it and spilling it.
She blinked. Looked at the bouquet in confusion then looked at me.
“I wasn’t even playing!” she yelled.
The crowd went crazy.
“That counts! THAT COUNTS!” Serenity was screaming, pointing at Mehar, laughing so hard she was bent over.
Mehar pulled the bouquet off the table, champagne dripping off the stems, and held it up like she didn’t know what to do with it. But she was smiling. That new Mehar smile that still surprised me every time I saw it because for so long she didn’t smile at all.
Then came the garter.
Prime slid his hand up my thigh in front of God and everybody, taking his sweet time, grinning at me while the crowd hollered. I smacked his hand twice when it went too high and he laughed and finally pulled the garter off with his teeth because he was dramatic and always had been.
He turned to the group of men on the floor. Quest wasn’t even out there. He was leaned back in his chair at the head table, bourbon in hand, not participating.
Prime flung it.
It sailed across the reception like a satin missile and landed directly on Quest’s shoulder.
Quest looked down at it. Looked at Prime. “Nah.”
“Bro, it landed on you. That’s the rules.”
“I don’t follow rules. You know that.”
“GET UP!” Rita’s voice boomed from across the room. “Questor Rufus Banks, you get your behind out of that chair and put that garter on that girl’s leg right now before I embarrass you in front of this whole reception.”
“For real Grandma?! My whole gov’ment?!”
I never knew his middle name was Rufus. Rita was savage for that one.
“Don’t make me take your belt and beat you with it!” She laughed.
Quest took a slow sip of his bourbon. Set the glass down. Stood up, adjusting his cuffs, and picked the garter off his shoulder like it was mildly inconvenient.
“Fine.”
He walked to the center of the floor where Mehar was sitting in the chair somebody had put out, the bouquet in her lap, looking everywhere except at Quest.
The DJ slowed the music down and started playing “Right and a Wrong Way,” by Keith Sweat. Something smooth and suggestive. The crowd started oohing.
Quest knelt in front of her. Mehar’s jaw tightened. She crossed her arms.
“Relax,” he said.
“Don’t tell me to relax.”
“It’s tradition.”
“It’s outdated and sexist.”
“It’s a garter belt, not a marriage proposal. Give me your leg.”
She uncrossed her arms and extended her leg, slow, reluctant, her heel catching the light. Quest took her ankle in one hand and slid the garter up with the other. Over her ankle. Past her calf. Over her knee.
And then he kept going.
The crowd was screaming. Mehar stopped breathing. I saw it from where I was standing. That tiny hitch in her chest, that split second where her cool composure cracked and something raw flickered across her face.
Quest’s fingers grazed the inside of her thigh and he looked up at her. Not smirking. Not joking. Just looking at her with those intense Banks eyes that saw everything.
Mehar’s whole body went still.
Then the garter crossed the middle of her thigh and she shoved his chest with both hands.
“That’s FAR enough!”
He rocked back on his heels, hands up, laughing. She was laughing too, face flushed, pulling her dress back down, swatting at him with the bouquet while the crowd went absolutely insane around them.
But I saw it.
I saw the way her hand lingered on his chest a beat too long when she shoved him. I saw the way his eyes stayed on her face even while he was laughing. I saw the way they looked at each other for just a fraction of a second before they both looked away.
Sparks. Real ones. The kind that start fires.
I glanced at Prime, who was already watching me watch them. He raised an eyebrow. I raised one back.
“You see that?” I whispered.
“I see everything, Goddess.”
“That’s gonna be trouble.”
He pulled me closer, kissing my temple. “That’s gonna be a love story.”
I leaned into my husband. My husband. And watched Mehar laugh at something Quest said as he walked her back to her seat, his hand barely touching the small of her back, both of them pretending they didn’t just set the whole room on fire.
Yeah. That was definitely gonna be a love story.
But tonight was ours.
And it was perfect.
The End.