1. Run-a-way Bride #2
As a detail-oriented person, there wasn’t much that could slip past me.
As a cardiovascular perfusionist, it was my job to pay close attention to detail.
I hadn’t yet secured a job in the field, but to succeed, missing even the smallest thing could mean the difference between someone’s life and death.
My father called me his human heart since I was a small child, and ironically, that’s exactly what I’d grown up to be.
I’d been trained to operate, maintain, and record the output of a cardiopulmonary bypass machine.
In short, a cardiovascular perfusionist operates and monitors the heart-lung machine to ensure blood flow, oxygenation, and temperature during surgery.
Detail was my strength, so the glam team’s communication through their eyes couldn’t be missed, even through my flow of tears.
I wasn’t sure if my new husband would let me work or even if we’d be living in a city that was hiring perfusionists.
I didn’t know what my life would look like after tomorrow.
I had no idea what my husband looked like.
Being one hundred percent African American who had only been with black men, I’d always said that when I did settle down, it would be with my own kind.
My father had all types of clients, and even though society often paints black men as the most criminal, he had more clients from other races than black men.
And it wasn’t because they couldn’t afford him.
I grew up in the suburbs surrounded by black doctors, investors, and CEOs— even went to private school with other black kids.
I’d searched my father’s office, going through case files that were probably illegal to look at, just to see if I could find a clue about who this guy was.
The more I looked, the more anxious I became because no one fit the description of who I saw myself being tied to for the rest of my life.
I’d been fed a silver spoon my entire life; I hadn’t even gotten a parking ticket, so my father handing me over to a criminal was beyond anything I imagined.
Still, I went along with it, and even though I had doubts, I trusted my father.
Up until now. Feeling the saliva grow thick and slimy in my mouth, I stood abruptly.
All three men, dressed in an array of fashion pieces that must have come from someone’s capsule wardrobe. The dramatic bell sleeves, sheer tops, leather pants, and platform shoes—all in black—made the already couture-like men stand out among the pinks, creams, and whites of the bridal suite.
“Could you... could you give me a minute?”
Bruna and Chimo looked at Lunar, communicating with their eyes again, and then averted their attention back to me.
“Of course, baby doll. We are pretty much done for the day.”
Lunar spread the photos they’d taken of all three looks on the vanity in front of me. In each picture, my eyes were glossy, and my nose was pink without any blush being added to it.
Take your time examining the looks. We’ll be back here in the morning to finish up.
For what it's worth, you’re just as beautiful without it as you are with it.
Get some rest, and remember that he,” Lunar pointed to the cathedral ceiling, “has a plan for everything. It’s already worked out in your favor.
Each man gave me air kisses and packed up just as fast as they’d come, leaving me in my beautiful suite a beautiful mess.
Now that I had them gone, I walked around the room.
This couldn’t be my life. Fear and anger twisted inside me with every step I took.
My father was supposed to be here—to love me, to keep living with me, and for me to ask him what the hell he had been thinking.
I didn’t need a man to take care of me. Yes, I’d been spoiled right up until the end, but I’d always wanted to be just like my father—a go-getter.
Someone who stayed up late going over case files and got up early heading to the office.
I chose a field just as challenging as the one my father thrived in, and I felt like the craving for exhaustion was genetic.
I didn’t need anyone to provide for me. When I landed a job, I’d be making one hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year, and that’s an average salary.
As I gained more experience, I’d be earning three hundred grand—eventually half a million a year. I could take care of myself.
When I started to feel dizzy, I stopped pacing.
I had never been this unnerved before. I sensed unsettling tremors within my calm.
I wasn’t built for this. Despite all my years of learning and training, I’d never been prepared for something like this .
The scent of flowers made me lightheaded, and I felt as if someone had been playing a cruel game on me.
My father might have been the one to tell my groom-to-be that pink was my favorite color.
I inherited that from my mother. She died on her birthing bed.
My father entered the hospital as part of a trio and left as a duo.
Still, he kept pictures of her all around our home my entire life.
My favorite was her in her wedding dresses.
She wore four at their extravagant wedding that would put Princess Diana’s to shame.
Looking at the three dresses on mannequins in front of me, I was told to pick my favorite one by one of the guards who dumped me here.
Just looking at them made me scoff. My father didn’t give my mother options to choose from.
She was dramatic enough to wear four, and each was a different shade of pink.
This person didn’t know me. If he did, he’d know I also wanted to change dresses, but one of the options would be any one of my mother’s dresses that my father had carefully kept in the basement.
Running my freshly done oval-shaped nails adorned with tiny pearl beads down the middle of each finger along the gown, the silk fabric felt cool against my skin.
This Lead Da Gloria dress featured a sweetheart corset and a drop waist. The coat was heavy, and a train flowed behind it.
It had been perfectly crafted and fit the headless mannequin flawlessly.
I could tell it would also look good with my 5’5", 145-pound frame, but it was missing something.
To the left of the middle dress was a long-sleeved lace ball gown that had a partial corset at the waist, made of silk, and puffed out slightly less than the middle dress.
It was also astonishing but not quite my taste.
I’d never wear lace on my wedding day, even though you couldn’t see through the fabric.
Nicole and Felicia was the brand of the dress, and I’d hate it that whoever had taken the time to design it because I wouldn’t be wearing it.
The last dress caught my eye. Curated by Dodona Avdiu, it was one of those dresses where you couldn’t even have a single piece of cake on your wedding day, or it wouldn’t fit.
The mermaid style flowed into a cloud-like tulle at the bottom and was covered in beading on the upper part.
It also had a sweetheart neckline. All the dresses had matching veils hanging on the wall behind them, and I hadn’t even taken the time to look at them.
As extravagant as they were, I hated them all.
It might have been because I didn't want to do this, or because my father wouldn't be there to walk me down the aisle. Panic, like I’d never felt before, welled in my throat, and I felt the vomit that had been threatening to come up. Turning, I ran out of the suite, nearly shoving a florist aside and sprinting out the door. I ran without stopping, even after I felt one of the hair clips scrape my face — the one used to lock in the curls. The glam team hadn’t even had a chance to undo the pin curls.
This man, whoever he was, had already picked out my dresses, even from across the room; there were reception dresses to choose from, and in the in-suite bathroom, lingerie was also displayed on mannequins for me to select.
How fucking controlling and sick was that?
He had everything chosen for me, right down to the fucking negligee he’d rape me in?
Because it definitely wouldn’t be consensual.
Finally reaching my destination, I had my hands on my knees and my stomach was caved in, my heart racing as I threw up what felt like my entire body.
Tears streamed down my face. Because of the flow and the loose curls that fell along with the lashes, I could barely see anything, but I could hear my breakfast splashing into the water.
I don’t know what the fuck my father was thinking, but still, I yearned for him deeply.
My wedding day, as much as I dreaded it, I needed him present for it. It was always supposed to be that way.
Feeling the urge to scream but swallowing it down along with the spit, I stood.
I felt eyes on me but didn’t bother to investigate.
Since the night my father was killed, guards had been posted outside our home.
It wasn’t the first time my father used security.
He’d hire a team whenever he took on a high-profile client and went to trial.
Seeing them outside our house didn’t bother me much until I was summoned to the lawyer's office and handed my father’s last will and testament.
I felt safe with guards, but the police still didn’t know who had killed my dad, which kept me on edge around everyone.
For all I knew, his client who owed him a favor could have done it.
Why? To marry me? I was just a graduate.
I didn’t have any influence beyond being a lawyer’s daughter and having a few degrees. It just didn’t make sense.