Pulling her onto my lap, I rubbed her back. “I ain’t mean to come at you, baby, but you… you gotta go talk to the doctor. For real, for real.”
Nyomi swallowed hard. “I know. My hormones are fucked up, and sometimes I don’t even feel like myself. When that chick walked in here smelling like your past, I just…”
“I get it. I read up on a lotta shit when you was pregnant. Mood swings, anger, cryin’… all that shit’s tied into postpartum. So, we’ll get you checked. Whatever you need.”
A tear slid down her cheek as she laid her head on my shoulder, wrappin’ her arms ‘round my neck. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing by getting married?”
I tightened my arm ‘round her waist and slid my other hand up the back of her neck ‘til my palm fit under her hair. I forced her to lift her head and look me dead in the eye. “Why you even askin’ me some shit like that?” My voice dropped to a quiet growl. “You think I claimed you, put my seed in you, and moved you out here just to play house wit’ your ass?”
“I… I just don’t want us rushing into something and then…”
“Then what, Nyomi?” I shook my head. “Nah, we gettin’ married. We ain’t rushin’ shit. We been locked in since the first night I slid up in you. It just took you a minute to realize what you had. I chose you then, and I’ma always choose you. So, don’t ever question shit ‘bout us.” She sniffed, tryna to look away, and I caught her chin again. “Do you love me?” I asked.
“You know I do.”
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitated just long enough for me to feel it. Then she whispered, “With my life.”
“That’s all that matters.” I kissed her forehead. “All that other shit, we fix together.”
A shaky breath left her chest before Nyomi kissed me. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” she whispered against my lips, makin’ my dick hard.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Her body melted against me, all that fight drainin’ outta her. I held her ‘til her in my arms, and we both watched Kassim sleep in front of us. “We gettin’ married, baby,” I said.
“Okay,” She wiped the last tear from her cheek. “I’ll make the appointment.”
“Good,” I laid her on the couch. “Now, lemme remind your ass why you got my last name on the way.” Whatever came next… doctors, therapy, medication… I would handle that shit. ‘Cause I wasn’t losin’ my family for a muthafuckin’ thing.
A Week Later
(Exactly 2 Weeks Until The Wedding)
Iw a st i r e d, but to be back in my lash studio after months of trusting my staff to hold it down felt good as shit. Truth was, I wasn’t even supposed to be in the studio, but when one of my lash girls decided not to show up two days in a row, and another was out sick, I had to step in. Thankfully, Knuck understood as well.
The schedules had been swamped since the social media buzz picked up, and I loved it, but goddamn, I was tired. My ponytail was sweated out like I’d been on a treadmill for the last three hours instead of doing lashes, and the caramel iced coffee I had didn’t help.
“Okay, so when is the shipment actually arriving?” I asked, trying to stay calm while holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder, clicking through the online booking dashboard with one hand and flipping through the physical appointment notebook with the other. “Because I paid for two-day express, and it’s been five. I can’t keep telling clients we’re out of remover pads and serum.”
The vendor rep was giving me the runaround. The lash tech assistant, Sarina, stood in the doorway of my office, still waiting for an answer about a walk-in client asking about same-day services. This was her first day taking clients all on her own.
I shot her a frustrated look and pointed toward the consultation station. “Squeeze her in. I’ll be out in a second.”
The rep finally gave me a vague estimate and a wack ass apology, and I ended the call before I said something unprofessional. After I hung up, I leaned against the back counter with my eyes closed and let out a long, steady breath. Lately, I’d been running on E, tying up loose ends for the wedding.
We officially had a caterer and a DJ, and we completed our written vows. Knuck said he’d handle the groomsmen’s tuxes, but I didn’t know if that meant he already had or if it was sitting at the bottom of a to-do list he hadn’t even touched yet. Planning a wedding in five and a half weeks was fucking crazy, but hey… so was our love.
My phone buzzed on my desk, and I peeked at it to see my lock screen lighting up with a text.
I hadn’t heard from him since this morning when Keema came over to watch Kassim. He gave her the longest, most gangsta speech that basically said, “Don’t fuck up.” Yawning, I text him back.
I stared at the screen for a minute, then laughed a little. I grabbed my keys off the counter and poked my head into the main room. “Don’t accept walk-ins anymore. I’m stepping out for a few, but I’ll be…”
“Girl, go home,” Tina said, pressing a reassuring hand to my shoulder. “We have two hours left in the day and just one more client. Sarina will handle it, and I’ll make sure the studio runs smoothly.” Tina couldn’t do lashes, but always kept the studio in order. Her words made me feel like everything would be handled.
"Thank you, T." I waved at Sarina, focused on the walk-in client. "Call me if anything."
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