Beautiful Nightmare

By L.C. Son

Damina Nicaud, a beautiful, successful art buyer in Washington, D.C., has been plagued by hauntingly romantic dreams of a mystery man every night. While she knows she shouldn't consider her dreams to be anything more than anxiety brought on by her upcoming nuptials, she can't help but be lured into its entreat. Unbeknownst to her, the dr

• Language: English
• Publisher: LaTrecia C. Frieson
• Release date: Feb 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733650311

Book preview

Table of Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

About the Author

Dedication

To my loving husband. Thanks for always being my number one. Without you my vision would remain a dream. To my beautiful children. You are God’s gift to me everyday. Thanks for allowing me the space, strength, and support to create.

I love you.

Prologue

Somehow I knew I would end up here. I knew it would ultimately come to this. Finding myself standing in puddles of blood with the darkest red stained at my hem doesn’t shake the core of me because I knew this day would come. I knew this moment was forever plausible while standing before the impossible.

The cold floor at my feet, the shivers up my spine—I stand speechless at the vivid red all around me. The guttural sounds that echo throughout the room stir the very core of me, but I do not run. I do not retreat. How could I? This is what I ran to. I chose this. It was always meant to be. This I know for now and for certain. My time has come.

Chapter 1

We a lways meet here in the meadow with the oak tree. It's the most massive oak I've ever seen. The bark shimmers with a pearl-like hue and the leaves are golden. Not just an autumn gold, but gold! It is nighttime. It's always nighttime here. I can sense a breeze in the air, but it’s not too hot or cold, just a perfect fall night. Golden leaves adorn the earth, nestled with red and orange lying almost hand-placed on the ground. The earth beneath my feet is warm. I dig my toes down deeper, enjoying its warmth.

This is our spot. The place where he comes to see me. I know he can see me because the moonlit sky illuminates the area where I stand like a spotlight. But under the golden oak is shadow cast. I can only see his silhouette.

I’ve never seen his full face. Just his eyes. The look in his crystalline green eyes paralyzes me with awe, fear, endearment, and safety. Why do I feel safe with this man? He stands tall, perhaps over six feet. His shoulders and chest are brawny, but his waist is slender. He stays in the shadows, waiting for me to come closer. But I cannot. There are stirring shadows all around us. He is unmoved. I am afraid.

My fear keeps me from going closer and running into his embrace. I know that he will wrap me in his arms, and I will be safe. But I stand still. Frozen.

I take a step forward away from the moonlight, and I feel the earth beneath me shift. No longer am I standing in the autumn meadow of the forest staring at him under the mountain-sized oak tree. My feet are wet. Cold. The air has shifted from a warm breeze that carries his spicy and sweet smell to my nostrils to a cold arctic blast that sends goosebumps throughout my body. I shiver in the freezing wind. The shadows come closer with hyena-like howls mixed with menacing growls.

I must go forward this time. I must commit to this move. This opportunity may never come again. I take a deep breath, grabbing the edges of my gown so I can run toward him. I know he will protect me, but I must make the first move.

His stance has changed. Has he noticed that I'm preparing to run to him? Is he about to run to me? It doesn't matter. The shadows are coming closer. I must run. Now.

I was so close that I could almost touch him this time. Who is he? My mystery man. I could practically smell him. Cinnamon. He smells of cinnamon. Spicy and sweet. Is it even possible to detect aromas in a dream? If not, then I have attained the impossible.

And just that fast it’s over. Again. I missed my opportunity with him again. My phone alarm is ringing like a banshee in my ears. Do I have to wake up?

Early mornings have never been my friend. The sales lady assured me when I purchased my curtains, they would block out the sun, yet I find the light will force its way through my smoky gray linen curtains with all tenacity. To make matters worse, I fell asleep with my earbuds in again. A stupid and lousy habit, I know, but I much prefer to snooze to the sounds of Boney James or Acoustic Alchemy than watch the evening news or better yet, have it watch me as I fall to sleep. My alarm attacked my ears like a reckoning at a grueling 7:45 am. It's not even 8 am.

It's my day off; I shouldn't have to wake up so early. It's my day off, and it's been a long one coming too. I can’t recall the last time I took a day off just for myself apart from being ill. But today isn’t just any day. It is the eve of my wedding day!

Most girls have dreamed of their wedding day since their first day of playing with Barbie and Ken. Not me. I never really thought much about a wedding day, much less a groom to accompany me on such a grand occasion. Losing both of my parents at the tender age of seven assured I didn’t grow up with images of two loving parents. I like to imagine that they were in love while making me. I wish I had them with me today and every day.

My grandmother and Aunt Delia did the best they could to raise me. They did a great job if I must say so myself. I'm a successful art buyer at the most reputable firm in the Washington Metropolitan area. I graduated with honors and had done a decent job being a strong independent woman. Perhaps it’s why I never thought marriage was in the cards for me. Although, I felt guilty just the other day when I found myself singing "I don’t wanna fall in love" by Jane Child on the train on the way home. Not so much because onlookers stared at me for singing loud on the train but because I realized I was singing lyrics to a song that almost invalidated my pending nuptials. I chuckle at the thought of how Jackson would look at me if he witnessed me making a fool of myself in front of strangers. My fiancé is very proper.

Knock-knock.

Crap!

Let me get up! Dacari is here! Dang it! My cousin is always so frigging punctual that it irritates me sometimes.

I only knocked out of courtesy you know, Dacari says as she storms through the front door, smashing her keys on the kitchen island. Oh and look—she’s carrying her big purse! That only means she has that wretched Yorkie with her. Does that dog have to go everywhere she goes?

I thought you would be ready by now. I sat in the car waiting for you for ten minutes before I decided to come up, Dacari says in her maternal yet condescending tone.

Yes, I know what time it is Dacari! I'm exhausted. I worked late last night.

Why would you work so late? Can't that place function without you—you know, at least until you're Mrs. Jackson?

Annoyed that Dacari refuses to use Jackson’s last name, Nash, when referring to my soon-to-be status, I roll my eyes and respond, Well, I will be away for two weeks, so there's a lot to do to make sure no one calls me for anything while I'm—you know, honeymooning!

Yeah whatever, Dacari says, brushing me off. She rummages through the kitchen fruit bowl and grabs an apple. We have a busy day ahead of us! Let’s see, we need to get breakfast, head to the spa, pick up your gown and meet Mom for lunch—all by noon! So let’s chop-chop!

I walk off, deciding that I can either continue this unending tit for tat with Dacari—which she is famous for—or end it. I leave her to feed Doodle apple slices so I can wash up and get dressed. Alas, I opt for one final word.

You know, Dacari, I am the bride. Which means I can take all the time I want this morning. Right? I say as I peep around the bathroom door just in time to see her roll her eyes and tease Doodle with the last of the apple slices.

Dacari is so overbearing. She's five years younger than me but likes to act like she's the oldest. Funny enough, her overbearing demeanor is almost loveable, if it weren't for her slight hint of competitiveness that looms through our relationship. Whatever I did she wanted to do, and better. When I made all-county as a long jumper in high school with a 20-2 score, she vowed to break it when she got in high school. Her attempts at besting me always fall short. Much like her legs. At a petite five feet, she couldn't come near to matching my record, much less making the all-county team, but I salute her for trying. Dacari has said if we compared the measurement of our heights to our overall scores, we would be the same on the long jump. I seriously doubt it.

Aunt Delia was protective of Dacari when we were younger, and not much has changed. At twenty-four she still expects Dacari to call or text her when she gets home. My aunt treats her like a glass doll as if my cousin would break. While she didn't dote on her the way she did me, my grandmother was very gentle with Dacari while she was still alive. Perhaps it was because Dacari's father wasn't a part of her life. I'm not sure, but it was clear that Dacari was precious to them. Not to me. I was extremely rough with her until her teenage years. The way she cried when the first boy broke her heart also broke my mine and changed how I saw her. I had never seen anyone react the way she had when she found her first love kissing another girl. She was fragile. She was delicate.

From that moment I decided I would let her win—mostly. I knew most of her antagonism toward me had much to do with my freedom and independence, of which she had none. She still works for my aunt as an interior decorator. I would have thought she would've found a way out from under Delia's thumb by now, but it appears she's become quite comfortable with it. To each their own, I suppose, but it makes her insufferable from time to time.

My aunt and grandmother always treated me as if they expected me to be independent. By the age of twelve, I could cook a rather vast repertoire of dishes, from omelets to meatloaf and even roasted chicken. My grandmother's arthritis limited her hands from making all the great food we loved, so I took auditory instruction from her to help prepare our meals. Meanwhile, my aunt was starting her studio from the ground, which meant a lot of late nights and early mornings. It also meant I had to pick my younger cousin Dacari up from school and take her to after-school activities often. It made me grow up fast. Being an orphan seems to make one independent in the eyes of others. I’ve learned to live with it.

I hear Dacari in the kitchen fussing at me and rushing me to come out of my room. She should be thankful that I’m up this early on my day off. She should also be glad I picked my outfit and accessories out last night, so I wouldn't hold her up trying to figure out what to wear. I'm sure she's only been here a mere fifteen minutes. Our appointment at the spa is at nine thirty this morning. We have more than enough time to grab a light breakfast from the coffee shop on the way to the spa. Besides, I barely have any nails for the technician to polish. They're more like nubs than nails. Oh well, it is what it is.

One last glance in the mirror before heading out to make sure the clothes I picked out with glassy, tired eyes match. I look fairly decent. A bit rumpled compared to Dacari and my aunt, which I'm sure they'll notice. I'm not a big summer girl. Again, too much sun for me. I'm not a big fan of the heat that the Mid-Atlantic brings in late August. I would more willingly stew in an autumn breeze than a summer sweat. I don't shop well for the summer. No cute maxi dresses or flip-flops are in my arsenal. A purple and yellow peasant top and ripped jeans are my selection of the day. The shirt allows the breeze flow in, and the jeans are plain comfortable. I'll never give them up! I'm only wearing sandals because we're getting our feet done; I suppose that's appropriate.

My grandmother always said a woman's glory was her head. And she meant the whole thing—face and hair. I keep a decent facial regimen, opting for the less is more look. My hair has finally grown back from that awful spring cut. The bronze highlights were perfection; the cut, not so much. At least now I have long coils of bronze and honey brown draping my shoulders in mild layers that look almost purposeful to anyone who didn't witness the wretched cut of the past spring. I'm maintaining my figure on a daily serving of soups and sandwiches. It’s not an actual diet but my typical go-to food choices with such a demanding schedule.

DAMINA!!! I hear Dacari yell from the kitchen.

I’m coming, Dacari! I’m coming! I yell back and head out of the condo.

Chapter 2

It's a beautifully sunny day as we head outside. I thought the sun was bright as it pressed through my window curtains, but today is glaringly vivid. It’s also extremely hot for it to be half-past eight. Looks like we’ll have another scorcher on the horizon. My glam-girl shades, as I like to call them, do nothing to reduce my need to squint. Dacari, on the other hand, relishes in the sun. Flowing effortlessly down the staircase in her burnt orange and floral-patterned maxi dress, she uses a large paper envelope as a shield against the rays of the sun. Doodle has his own sun visor and has nestled deeper in her purse, away from the sun.

I'll never understand how Dacari never gets a ticket! Despite the no parking sign, she always parks in front of my building.

Reaching to grab her keys into the bottomless abyss of her purse, Dacari tosses her pseudo sun visor to me and says, Here gruffly as she hands me the large orange envelope. I had to sign for it while you were getting ready.

Thanks. Oh, that’s odd; I didn’t hear the door.

I was on my way to take Doodle out to pee when the delivery came. It freaked Doodle out so he—um, had a little accident. But no worries, I cleaned it up just fine. You'll never smell a thing!

Great Cari, just great! I love how my cousin sweeps her dirt under my rug. She can always count on me to let her win, even at my expense. I suppose I'll examine whatever mess that wretched mongrel has made when I get back home.

So, are you going to open it or not? Dacari seems more enthused than she should be. Her curiosity is taking over.

Hoping that she forgot about the envelope I mutter, It can wait until I get home.

Well, what is it? It must be something important if you don’t want to open it in front of me. Must be pretty serious.

It's something that can wait is what it is.

Well, excuse me for caring. I suppose I'll mind my beeswax then!

When have you ever done that, Dacari? When?

Grumpy cat, aren’t we?

Look out! I scream, motioning for Dacari to keep her eyes on the road and watch out for the daring pedestrians.

Oh, no worries, I saw him. I was going to stop.

Sure, you were, I say, tucking the envelope into my handbag.

And you're still a woman of mystery, I see. Still not willing to share what you received from JJ Properties?

What? Did you look? You're so nosy! I can't believe you!

And you're stalling. Stop acting surprised. I've always been nosy. It's a part of my charm, Dacari says with a bright grin. Are you two buying a new house? That would be great! I knew his place would get too cramped for the both of you. Jackson's townhouse is very dated, and it would take—

Ok Dacari, just stop. Stop right there. You're getting too far ahead of everything. And besides, we're here.

Finally, I have a valid reason to evade Dacari's inquisition as we reach the town center. Now I can get a bite to eat before we get to our spa appointment. Though I'm prone to recurrent bouts of nausea, all her whipping the car around back and forth gave me an upset stomach. I need to eat something soon.

We arrive at the coffee shop as if we missed the Friday morning rush. Perfect! Only one person ahead of us so we shouldn’t have to wait long. Dacari is too busy texting and updating her social media status now to pester me with more questions. I heave a sigh of relief and realize too quickly that it is short-lived.

There are my girls! shouts a strong yet endearing voice from behind me. It’s my Aunt Delia. I didn’t expect her until after the spa for lunch, at least according to Dacari. Stunning as always, she strides toward us with an apt sense of confidence. Her bronzed pecan arms are open, with a wristlet purse dangling from her arm, black Capri slacks, a violet three-quarter length sleeve blouse, and slingback heel, sporting a curly coifed afro, diamond stud earrings, and creamy pink lipstick. All heads turn in her direction as she comes into the coffee shop. She always makes an entrance.

Mom! shouts Dacari as if she hadn’t seen her mother in months while tossing herself into a hug, adding, I’m so glad you could make it! We will have the best day!

This is an important day for our precious Damina, she says as she pulls me in to join the hug. I'm glad I could move a few things around to join you ladies!

Oh Auntie, I'm glad you could make it too! This day has just gone up a notch since you arrived! It means a lot to have you here, I state as I think about how nice this day would be if my mom and grandmother were alive.

Bringing me back into the moment, Aunt Delia looks me up and down, annoyed by my choice of garb. So Dacari tells me you worked late last night. Did you get any sleep darling? she says while pulling the sleeves of my blouse as if to get out the wrinkles.

I don’t take time pondering when Dacari gave my aunt the scoop of the morning before I respond. Aunt Delia’s questioning is more about apparel than it is my lack of sleep. Tomorrow is the day for me to be a princess to the people. Today is for me. I chose comfort.

Aunt Delia grabs my chin in her typical patronizing fashion and coos, Well, of course, you did darling, of course you did. Now let's get something to eat. She kisses my cheek and smiles, softening her gaze. Even in her chiding remarks, I know she loves me.

I order a cream cheese bagel and a Chai Latte while my aunt and cousin opt for the pre-packaged protein cups and cucumber and mint water. We find a quiet booth to sit and eat. During our breakfast, I spend most of my time staring off, thinking about last night’s dream as the two talk about everything and everyone under the sun. More importantly, I'm thinking about the man in my dream. I try hard to recapture the image of him, but it's getting foggy. I can only recall the sizeable golden oak and his smell. Cinnamon. He smells of cinnamon. As I continue to concentrate on my dream and my thoughts of him, I am shaken from my fantasy.

Earth to Damina! Dacari says, waving a white napkin in front of my eyes. Where have you gone, girl? What are you thinking about?

Realizing that I’m slightly panting and trying to catch my thoughts, I am interrupted again.

Pull yourself together, darling, Aunt Delia says, concerned. I know preparing for the biggest day of your life seems daunting, but you will be fine!

Yes, I suppose everything feels like it’s closing in on me all at once, I say, quickly reaching for my latte while still staring a bit bemused by my thoughts.

Well, since you have confused herbal water for a latte, I think it's a sign we need to get you to the spa! Dacari teases as she swaps the cup of latte and the glass of water out from my hand.

Recognizing that I’m causing a slight disruption between the three of us, I push myself into composure. I must get myself together and stop thinking of this dream. Even more, I need to stop thinking of the mystery man in the meadow and think more about the man who will wait for me at the altar tomorrow. Jackson. Yes, my thoughts need to be of Jackson. I grab my phone to find a picture of the two of us on the wallpaper. This picture is precisely what I needed to see: the two of us. Together.

I love this picture of us. Though we opted not to purchase this picture as a part of our engagement photo package, it’s my favorite. The cherry blossoms at the Tidal Basin were approaching the end of their season, and the spring wind blew the blooms in our direction. I jumped in the air to catch a few blossoms as they flew overhead. Jackson reached up to pull me back down. The photographer was changing the film and lens, so I thought we had a few moments to spare. Jackson, being ever so proper, didn't want to make a scene and to keep us picture perfect, he used all his six-foot-six stature and athleticism to pull me into his embrace. I love this picture because it's the rare moment where my eccentricity meets his demure and we are in harmony—at least for the sake of appearance.

I suppose we can assume by the enormous grin on your face you are thinking of the groom to be, says Aunt Delia with a glint of joy in her eyes as she stares at the cell phone in my hand.

You hit the nail on the head, Mom! Look how she's cooing all over that phone! The girl is in la-la land in love with Mr. Jackson! Dacari exclaims as she fans me with a white napkin. Cool off, honey. Cool off!

We all burst into laughter and pick up our belongings to leave the coffee shop. As we go, a waitress carrying a tray of latte and cappuccinos brushes past me, and I detect the scent of cinnamon. He smells of cinnamon. That quickly, my thoughts of Jackson blow like the wind as it carried the cherry blossoms away. I can't shake this dream. But I must shake it. I've got to pull myself together before this gets out of hand. Glancing at my phone one last time, I take a mental screenshot of the picture of Jackson and me, take a deep breath, and follow my family out of the coffee shop.

Chapter 3

The spa is exactly what I needed! The air is crisp with the scent of jasmine, lavender and a faint aroma of eucalyptus. I only ordered an express manicure and pedicure but leave it to the wisdom of my Aunt Delia to add a stone massage and Swiss shower to make my spa experience memorable. Oddly enough, this spa is the one place where both my aunt and cousin are quiet. I think they needed this time to unwind more than they care to admit.

It’s been over an hour since we got our nails done and I haven’t seen or heard from my aunt or cousin. I caught a glimpse of Dacari as she pedaled past me in a seaweed wrap and cucumber eyelids. My aunt opted for a reflexology treatment for her aching back and feet. Dacari insisted I get my brows plucked and lash extensions, but I drew the line at body waxing. Both my aunt and cousin teased that I better tend my terrain before my wedding night. I stated that I alone am responsible for grooming my garden and that I am not interested in any Brazilian wax treatments. They saw the line I drew in the sand and decided not to cross it.

While I may come across to them as frumpy, unconventional, and unkempt, I take great pride in my health and wellness, and it shows, at least underneath. I exercise, eat well, and drink lots of water. Jackson has often stated how radiant my skin is even though I’m sure he wishes I dressed and carried myself more formal. My fiancée has a body that would make Achilles jealous. We run together, and I am always reminded of his physique as every woman gapes at the sight of his shirtless form. Pacing confidently next to him in my Lululemon gear, I know I also capture their attention with my natural athleticism and poise. It's the one time where I don't stand out like a sore thumb next to Jackson, but rather complement the force and strength he carries about himself.

Jackson Nash is a man of charm and distinction. If you were to look up the word etiquette, I'm sure a picture of his face would be next to the definition. He is suave and debonair. That's how he charmed me. I've always been the girl who eats spaghetti wearing black with five napkins across her lap and chin. But Jackson can swirl the sauciest of pasta with a shrimp fork, wearing the brightest of white linen, and still walk away clean. Though he believes cleanliness is akin to holiness, he is still one of the most masculine forms of bronzed flesh to walk this earth. He has a strong sense of responsibility and respect that exudes from him the moment you meet him. Every man that stands in a room next to him becomes a beta to his alpha presence. However, his respectful nature and charm ensure that those same men still feel validated for whatever role they play next to his side.

While I never saw myself as married, I most certainly never saw myself with someone like Jackson. I'm such an independent and free-spirited person, and it's odd to think how Jackson and I could become a pair. From the moment we met, he was always endearing and dutiful toward me. Much like a brooding hen, he seemed to want to take care of me and make sure I was safe. I think I fell in love with his protective nature. I've always felt safe with Jackson. Secure. I know that he will protect me. And in that protection, I feel his love. He always says, I protect what I love because I love to protect.

I was subbing as an art auctioneer when we met five years ago at an upscale gallery in Ballston. I was being challenged on a bid from a late arrival bidder and caught in a jam. Recognizing my frustration, Jackson held his paddle up and announced an insane offer that silenced both intending bidders and got me off the hook. He asked me to dinner, and I suppose I felt indebted to him, obliged to dine with him. We've been together ever since that day at the gallery.

Oddly enough, he never asked me to be his girlfriend; it was just assumed after about our third date. However, he did propose to me in grand style. Jackson took me to an auction at the gallery where we first met. We sat through eight presentations when the auctioneer announced an emerald ring cut from a stone that was discovered in Egypt during the 16th century and was believed to have been found in the hall of Cleopatra.

With complete silence in the room, Jackson held up his paddle, stood up and said, I’ll take it if you would do me the honor and become my wife. Seated and speechless, I gasped for air and words as the auctioneer presented the ring to Jackson in a golden box seated on a black velvet pillow. The room was still and quiet as I sat in complete shock at what had just taken place. Jackson, lowering himself down on one knee, looked at me with affection yet strength and said, Will you marry me? I said Yes!

After the longest public embrace ever recorded in our relationship, we left the gallery to a standing ovation of cheers from onlookers to have dinner at the Italian bistro next door, where we had our first date. To my surprise, my aunt, cousin, and a few of our close friends were waiting for us in a private section at the back of the restaurant. Jackson had planned the entire evening! Everyone was there, happy and excited about our upcoming nuptials. The evening sped past me in slow motion. It was a lot to take in all at once, but it appears everything was coming along as planned.

My aunt and cousin have taken great pride in planning every detail of this wedding, which has left me free to keep busy with work and other pursuits. Jackson has also been a very involved groom, more than most men I know would care to be. I often feel like a spare wheel as the three of them discuss the minuscule details of the wedding. The only part that I have been clear is off limits is my gown. I am wearing my mother's wedding dress. I don't want any changes to the gown whatsoever! I've only allowed alterations concerning my waistline but nothing that would change the look and image of the dress.

I want to honor my mother as much as possible on my wedding day. I also found the floral pin my father wore in the trunk of keepsakes I have of theirs. I was able to carefully place the pin on a tuck comb that will keep my hair and veil in place. This is how I will carry my parents with me tomorrow. It’s the only way I can feel as though they are coming down the aisle with me on my wedding day.

While I don’t consider myself a mushy person, I am sentimental and have a heart for restorative art. If I had my way, I’d work in a gallery or art house restoring art from the 12th dynasty of Egypt or relics from ancient Greece. I worked briefly at the National Museum on a restorative art exhibition with hopes to continue, but restoration doesn't always pay well, which is why I conceded my skills to become a corporate art consultant. It was the closest compromise I could accept.

I believe art and creative pieces should be as the creator or artist intended, and I enjoy bringing the intentions of the artist to life. Artistic work shouldn't suffocate; it should come to life. That is why I want my mother's gown to remain as she intended, not revamped into an example of my desire or else I should get something that suited my personal tastes.

The timer goes off, and my escape inside the Swiss shower has ended abruptly. I notice the sky-blue robe and matching slippers left for me by the spa attendant and proceed to use the body oil mist left for me on the counter before a familiar voice interrupts my steamy sanctuary.

Damina, I hope you didn’t turn into a raisin in there. I’m sure that would put a wrinkle in your wedding bliss, says Dacari, snickering behind the frothy glass. Hurry up, girl, get out of there already! Dacari exclaims before pattering away in the spa flip-flops given to her when we got our pedicures. The sound of flip-flops reverberates off the marble floor distinctly as Dacari dashes away in her usual pattern of flustering impatience. Realizing that my time has been far spent, I reluctantly get dressed and head toward my aunt and cousin in the refreshing room.

Though it is apparent that our long time spent at the spa is wearing on Dacari, she tries to muster a smile and helps me with a glass of water and a cup of mixed fruit that is made available in the refreshing room. Despite the no cell phone signs posted in the place, my aunt is on her phone staring out of the window. She doesn't look as happy as I saw her earlier when I peeked in on her reflexology treatment. This time is different. She is noticeably irritated with whoever is on the other end of her call.

My cousin pulls me over and whispers in my ear, I think she's going to fire Scott. She's received several complaints about him online, and now a customer wants their money back and is threatening a lawsuit.

That's horrible! I say in shock. I had heard my aunt complain about her lead design consultant in the past, but I hoped that his shortcomings had resolved.

Dacari continues, I'm so sorry that this is interrupting our bridal shower day with you. Hopefully, this will be the last interruption.

It's ok, Cari. I've enjoyed our time today. It has been great, I state, hoping to reassure her that I do appreciate them taking this time out just for me. Besides, having my aunt miss a good portion of her workday is a big enough gesture. These two certainly prod my pickle from time to time, but at the end of the day, I know that they care for me and that's what matters most.

Ok ladies, who is ready for lunch? I'm famished, Aunt Delia says abruptly while grabbing us both on the shoulder and ushering us out of the refreshing room. She still carries a hint of frustration in her voice, but I can tell she's trying to stay cool for the sake of appearances.

Aunt Delia, if you need to get back to work it’s fine; we can skip lunch. Besides, I could use a nap after the massage and shower.

Oh, rubbish! Aunt Delia proclaims defiantly. No, no, no. We are going to have lunch, and we're going to have it right now. I refuse to let anyone or anything, for that matter, interrupt my day out with my girls. And what an important day it is!

Ok, Auntie if you insist.

Well, can I suggest that we move it along already—I'M HUNGRY! Dacari shouts and picks up Doodle from the front receptionist and staggers out of the door of the spa.

My aunt and I look at one another, shake our heads, and chuckle. I am amazed that Dacari still throws tantrums at twenty-four.

Chapter 4

Sonfries. Wow, they're bringing me to Sonfries. My favorite place to eat! I could eat here every day if given a chance. I'm so shocked that we didn't go to one of their bougie bean sprout and quinoa soup type of restaurants. We are actually at a place that serves meat and all kinds of animal by-products. Not that I'm opposed to clean eating, but Sonfries is pure comfort food. The cool thing is that they only serve small plates; which I believe is primarily because even the most modest plate could contain some zillion calories, but who's counting when it tastes so good!

Still driving a tad erratically, Dacari pulls in front of the drop out zone at the restaurant and Aunt Delia dashes out of the car. Hey! Wait! I can go in with you to grab a table while Dacari parks! I yell to unyielding ears. Aunt Delia is on a mission! She didn’t even turn in my direction. I wonder if she could hear me through the construction happening at the office park located behind the restaurant. Probably not. It’s too loud.

No worries, Damina! Dacari says reassuringly. We made reservations. We were just a little late leaving the spa, so Mom wants to make sure the reservations set. Besides, this place is always packed! I'm sure people love clogging their arteries at your little Bohemian dive bar! Whipping the car into a parking space, Dacari hops out of the car and knocks on the window, bellowing for me to come out of the car. Dacari is so impatient sometimes, but this time seems different. I guess she's starving.

Dacari, wait up! I shout from the car as I try to slip my shoes back on in trade for the spa flip-flops I’ve had on since the shower. The spa shoes are way more comfortable near the tree-shaped birthmark on my ankle than my own shoes—so much so that I hate to change them. But I know I’ll get nothing but grief from my aunt and cousin if I don’t.

Why are you in such a rush? Can you give me a minute to get my stuff please? I yell at my cousin.

Girl, just hurry up; I'm hungry! Dacari shouts at me as she takes Doodle to a flower bed near the parking lot to pee.

Once again, I suppose Dacari will slip Doodle into a restaurant in her bag unnoticed and feed him nibbles from her plate. She always has that dog with her. Doodle is so quiet when we're in public. It’s like he knows not to let on that he is with her, so he stays quiet. But when he's at home, he's such a character. I hope he behaves in the restaurant.

I quickly put on my shoes, finger through my hair and gloss my lips and run over to meet up with Dacari and Doodle at the stone staircase.

Hey, I have to drop Doodle off next door, Dacari says, pointing to a place called Pretty Paws. How about that? There’s a dog grooming place next to the restaurant. I've never noticed it before. There's so much redevelopment happening in the area as new sites spring up all the time.

I made reservations here this morning. I figured it was a good idea for Doodle to get dolled up for the wedding too! Besides, since we're coming to your little Bohemian spot, I didn't want him to eat something that will give him the trots.

TMI Dacari! I didn't need to know all of that. I'll wait here for you, I say, annoyed at my cousin's constant digs at things I like—like this restaurant, for instance. I'll have to confront her when she gets back.

Attempting to avoid the inevitable crass remark from Dacari to an employee or waiter at the restaurant, I issue a preventive statement. You know this place isn’t Bohemian, Dacari…right? It's just a small plates café! Dacari stares back at me with a dismissive and despondent look, confirming that she wasn’t interested in what I had to say, and begins to point to the hostess table through the crowds of lunch-goers.

Hey there's Mom, Dacari says, pulling me by the arm through the crowded vestibule. It’s typical of my cousin to ignore admonishment, especially if she thinks she won't win an argument. I choose to let her win this round. While I don't want any showings of negativity from aunt and cousin at my favorite restaurant, I resolve to let it go and swallow my angst down. Again. But at least I can enjoy dining at my favorite spot!

Right on time! states Aunt Delia. Perfect timing, ladies; they are now ready to seat us. Let's eat!

I'm happy that my aunt seems genuinely delighted to be here. Perhaps she's famished too! Nonetheless, I'll take what I can get. A happy aunt and an overly hungry cousin—maybe this lunch won't be so bad after all!

The hostess walks us briskly through the café of diners, leading us through double glass doors to a room I didn't know was in the restaurant.

SURPRISE!

Shouts, clapping, and a chorus of cheers erupt through the dimly lit private room. I look around and see friends, co-workers, and a few family members, all smiling and excited to see me. Our wedding colors are all over the room. There are decorations of silver, purple and accents of black throughout the room. Purpletop Verbena flowers in glass soda bottles are used as centerpieces on the tabletops, while bouquets of balloons accent the room.

I am surprised to find poster board and collage photographs of me held in display in the private room. I spot a few of my co-workers in the corner holding up pictures of me at work. Most of the photos are of me in the break room getting coffee. I suppose my assistant, Melanie, wasn't carrying her phone around the office for a week for no reason. She's been playing a bit of paparazzi! Two of my cousins are also holding up baby pictures of me. Friends from my art group are holding up shots of me in our painting class. So many pictures of me in one room is a lot to take in for someone like me who likes to be behind the scenes. It feels odd but a sweet gesture all the same.

I look to the center of the room and spot a giant engagement photo of Jackson and me sitting on a tripod near a group of eight who are holding up individual letter signs that spell TEAM NASH on black paper with silver lettering. Popping up from behind the A in Nash is Jackson! Jackson is here!

He stands up and away from the chair and lays the letter card on the table and walks toward me, greeting me with his perfect smile. Wearing a dark purple shirt, an unbuttoned black vest, and gray slacks, he looks like he just stepped out of a photo shoot. His wavy dark brown hair is cut at his jawline, and his goatee is perfectly trimmed. As he walks toward me, I can smell a hint of his Versace cologne breezing through the air. Every woman is staring at him in complete awe. The few men in the room also gaze in admiration. He is quite a catch if I do say so myself.

Extending his arms toward me, he kisses my cheek and pulls me in close for a hug. I try to wrap my arm around his shoulder, but he nestles my neck for another kiss and pulls me beside him. Gripping my hand, he waves to the full room of family and friends and addresses our guests.

Thank you all for coming out today to surprise my bride-to-be. It means a lot to both of us to share this special time with the people who mean so much to us. Tomorrow we begin our journey until forever. So, before she gets a moment to speak, I just want to share how honored I am to have her by my side. Damina, you bring a balance to my life I never thought I would ever find, and that is why you will become Mrs. Jackson Nash!

Waiting for our guests to end their clamoring celebration of Jackson’s expressions, I try to think of what I can say in response. I'm still in shock at this surprise. My aunt and cousin got me this time. I'm at a loss for words. I'm not one who lives for oratory opportunities, so the laughs and cheers of our guests give me a moment to pause. To make matters worse, I feel underdressed. Everyone else looks nice. Perhaps I should have taken Dacari's clothing advice. Great. The room begins to quiet and my moment to speak has come. Jackson squeezes my hand and gives me a quick nod and a smile, nudging me to greet our guests.

Wow. Where do I begin? I'm truly at a loss for words. Let me start off by saying my aunt and cousin: you got me good! What a surprise!

The room echoes in undertones of laughter. Good. I’m shaking the dust off just a bit.

But I want to thank Jackson for making days like today possible. Thank you, honey. I'm happy to have you as my husband-to-be. I'm looking forward to some forever moments with you! Now, I know you all didn't come to hear impassioned speeches, so let's eat!

Now that’s what I’m talking about! shouts Jackson’s friend Gregory from across the room. Everyone chuckles and then follows direction from my aunt and my office assistant toward the buffet table. Jackson and I hug once more and greet some of our guests on their way to the buffet line.

A little over twenty guests have gathered in the private room to celebrate the eve of our wedding. All the guests seem happy to share in this joyful moment with us. I even discovered that my cousin asked people to bring in pictures of me based on where they know me from and stationed them throughout the room. It was a fun and interactive way to keep everyone involved with one another.

Strange enough, my aunt and cousin were so quiet and busy with the duties of managing the luncheon it almost felt like they dumped me once we stepped into the private room. It's odd how my ordinarily overbearing aunt retracts and takes her cues from Jackson instead of leading the charge the way she usually does. Dacari doesn't exactly take a back seat, but more like a passenger seat when Jackson is around. Even that is peculiar since she thrives on being in the driver's seat. But I still see the fingerprints of my aunt and cousin all over this luncheon, from the décor to the guest list.

I scan the room looking for Jackson. We’ve gotten separated after being pulled in opposite directions by various guests. I can't find him. The last time I saw him, he was talking with his friend Gregory. He and Jackson have been friends since grade school. Gregory lives in Richmond, so the two don't get to see each other often. He's not as refined as Jackson, but he's a stand-up man in his own right. Gregory opts for more casual attire than Jackson, but I do not doubt that Gregory can command a room when he walks in. Standing tall, well over six feet, with golden bronzed skin and dark brown eyes, he is hard to miss. I see Gregory. He's talking, or from the looks of it flirting with my assistant Melanie, and she is indeed responding in kind. Where is Jackson?

After gazing around the room, I finally spot Jackson talking to Ms. Greenlee, my aunt's good friend and close friend of the family. Ever since I could remember, Ms. Greenlee has been at every family function or important event in our family's lives. Whether it was graduations, proms or just at home birthday dinners, Ms. Greenlee was a staple in our lives. She and my aunt have always been inseparable. I'm sure they talk every day, if not twice a day. I chuckle at the thought of Jackson making it out of whatever conversation she's begun. She can speak for hours, jumping from topic to topic in one seamless pattern.

Jackson catches my eye and gives me a glance and mouths, HELP ME! I can only imagine the range of topics Ms. Greenlee is discussing with Jackson. He’s stuck. Poor thing!

I haven’t had a moment alone with Jackson, Dacari, or Aunt Delia since I’ve arrived. My guests have passed me around the room discussing the wedding and the joys of being a wife and explicitly losing sole possession of my remote control. Everyone means well, but I want to get back to Jackson or my aunt and cousin. It still surprises me how lonely I can feel in a room full of people. I want to retreat. Even more, I want to eat. I had a small plate of loaded sweet potato skins and sesame chicken bites, but Jackson's Aunt Sophie took it from my hand and traded it with a veggie plate while stating, A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips and walked off.

I am marrying into this family. Very prim. Very proper. Everyone looks like they've modeled since they were two. Always impeccably dressed, Sophie flows through the room in an ivory dress and heels to match with grace and charm, even exceeding that of Jackson or Delia. She’s clearly not a fan of this restaurant as it’s beneath her five-star, white linen palate.

She tolerates me, to say the least. I’m sure I was not her first choice of a mate for her precious nephew. Her words are always clipped, short and seasoned with a pinch of pretentiousness when she speaks with me. Sophie watches my every move with a hawk-eyed presence that would give me the chills if I hadn't been raised by strong women like my aunt and grandmother. I am not easily frightened or tempered by her presence, and in that, I take great comfort.

Sophie is still watching me as Gregory and I exchange pleasantries. I glance in her direction, squinting my eyes and curling my lips as if to challenge her obliquely so that she knows I see her watching me and I do not feel threatened. She retreats with a curt smile, acknowledging my actions, and disappears into the shadows of guests.

Gregory has pulled in another friend of Jackson’s named Tye and continues to regale me with stories of their childhood days playing baseball with Jackson. Tye isn’t as cut from a magazine as my fiancé and Gregory. I don’t know Tye as well as Gregory either. He is more mysterious than any of Jackson’s friends. His reserved demeanor is both captivating and curious. He stands smaller than Jackson and Gregory, with a burly physique and lumberjack’s beard. Tye's ocean-blue eyes stand out next to his sun-bathed skin. His words are always few, but his perfect white smile is infectious as he heartily laughs at the memories shared by Gregory. I try not to get lost in the ocean floor-like depth of his eyes as I try to recall his surname, but it escapes me, so I smile and let pretense carry me back into Gregory's monologue.

So, this is where I find my wife-to-be, enthralled in yet another embellished story, eh Gregory?

Jackson stalks up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders, laughs and gives both Tye and Gregory a daring glance. The two men share a faux cough and walk off smiling, giving knowing glances to one another and Jackson. Gregory picks up a yeast roll and throws it at Jackson overhead. Jackson seamlessly reaches up and catches the bread as if it were a curve ball, takes a bite of it and laughs.

When Jackson's friends are around, I sense his college-boy days looming. He is not as stoic or proper and seems to let his hair down. I like to see this side of my fiancé. Relaxed. It's nice. Unfortunately, it never lasts long.

It’s the first time that Jackson and I have been alone since I’ve arrived at the restaurant. We can finally evade our guests for a moment and step out onto the patio. I am relieved to be alone with him and away from everyone.

Grabbing the roll from Jackson's hand, I break it open and pick the softer bread from the inside and eat.

Well, someone's hungry, Jackson says as he looks at me with concern as I devour the roll.

Starving, I shove the last bite into my already full cheeks. I haven't been able to eat since I arrived. I didn't eat much for breakfast, and now I feel lightheaded.

Damina, you've got to take care of yourself. Tomorrow is the big day. Our big day. Jackson grabs my hands and looks at me in his protective and loving way. I don't want you to make yourself sick. You've got to take care of yourself.

Annoyed that he’s giving me a soft reprimand, I swallow the remaining piece of bread and attempt to change the subject.

Wow! Our big day is tomorrow. This time tomorrow I will be Mrs. Jackson Nash.

I like the way that sounds, Jackson says with a soft undertone of seduction.

His voice is so melodic it doesn’t take much for him to woo me until my knees are weak and my heart flutters. There are times when I just listen to him talk because I enjoy the rhythm of his tone. It’s a wonder we were both able to remain celibate throughout our courtship. It was not without great difficulty, for sure.

I recall spending a hot summer's afternoon swimming at the pool in his community. We had the entire pool to ourselves and swam a few laps. It all started as I tried to mirror his perfect backstroke. Jackson whispered in my ear how to use my core to lead my arms and legs in unison. The vibrating tenor of his voice in my ear threw me off, especially with his body leaned in so close to me. In my failed attempt at the backstroke, I splashed water on his face. That led to us playing splash wars, which resulted in us kissing in the pool.

I can’t recall how we made it back to his place so fast, but in what seemed like a blink of the eye, we were on the couch in his living room. As we kissed one another, desire fueled our bodies with heat and vigor all at once. We were no doubt going to take our relationship to the highest form of intimacy when my foot hit his phone and dialed Sophie on the speaker. Hearing her voice say, Jackson? Jackson is that you? Are you all right? What's that sound, Jackson? in the room as we were about to share our passion was enough to stop us in our tracks.

That was the last time we went swimming together.

I suppose that is why Jackson is always so formal with me. I think he's trying to maintain his composure. Jackson, the ever-enduring gentleman. He once told me that protecting my heart and purity was as important to him as all the gold in Fort Knox. I took that as a compliment. I am glad we waited, and I do not doubt it will be worth the wait.

The thought of what is to come sweeps over my face, flushing my caramel cheeks to the warmest red.

Are you still here with me, Damina? Jackson breathes his words along my neckline while taking my chin and turning my face to meet his eyes.

Where else would I be? I reply.

Good, Jackson responds, his eyes dancing with delight as he smiles like only he can. He looks me up and down and continues, I hoped you weren't worried about anything. Besides, I think you look great.

And just that fast, the moment is over. This is how it happens. Our vacillating romance plummets from one hundred to zero in a matter of seconds.

Staring up at Jackson, puzzled. I ask, What are you talking about?

Well, I know you may feel out of sorts in your outfit, but as long as you're comfortable, that's all that matters.

"Are you serious? We're talking about what I'm wearing right now? Are we doing this the day before our wedding? I can't believe this. I did not know there would even be a party, much less something that everyone knew to dress up for except me. Really, Jackson!"

Calm down, Damina! Jackson says in a quiet yell, looking around, hoping not to disturb the outside diners.

Calm down? You want me to calm down? Is this how it's going to be, Jack? Maybe I should get your approval on what I wear from now on? I can’t believe this. Ugh! Way to blow the moment I was having.

I saunter onto the patio nearing the trees, facing an estuary behind the restaurant, and stare into the sky. I can tell the sun sets on this side of the restaurant and I'm sure they placed here the patio to reflect an ideal evening dining spot.

As I walk toward the iron gating around the patio, I feel my anger rising and the nostalgia of the party wearing thin. I'm sure this is Sophie's influence over Jackson. But then again, he's disapproved of my style in the past, so I'm not entirely surprised. More so, I'm disappointed that he would be so insensitive as to question my apparel the day before our wedding.

The more my rage grows, the darker the afternoon sky becomes. It’s likely a passing summer rain sweeping through the area, though I heard no forecast of rain for today.

I hold on to the iron bars, and tears flood my eyes at the slightest hint that Jackson has any reservations about me or the way I look.

Damina, I'm sorry, Jackson says, leaning into me from behind. He whispers in my ear and the dulcet tones of his voice tingle down my spine, making the hairs on my neck stand up. His chest presses into my back, and I can feel his heart beating through my shoulder blade. He turns me around and pushes his body into mine. Holding my waist with a firm grasp, he leans back, narrows his eyes and cracks a cautious smile.

Truly Damina, I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you. You know I never want to hurt you, baby. I only want to keep you protected and loved. Your heart is more precious to me than all the gold in the world, baby.

Smiling dimly, I reply, I know, Jackson. I know. You know I'm sensitive about that.

Hey, look at me, Damina. No one else here matters to me but you. Not even my aunt. So, let’s not worry about anyone else, okay. Okay?

Okay.

Look! The sun is coming back out all because you smiled, Jackson says, pointing to the sky.

I try to stifle my smile and pout, but I can never be mad at Jackson long. Without knowing it, a smile wanders from behind my frown. I laugh as I look up to see the sun peeking from behind the clouds, synchronizing with