Wedding Chocolate. Adrianne Byrd
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you what,” he said, dropping one arm and sliding the other across her to cradle her in a hug. “Go to Atlanta. Consider it a mini-vacation. If being with your friends is going to cheer you up then I’m all for it. But when you get back, I expect us to knuckle down on planning this wedding. I was thinking something like April 8th. What do you think?”
She didn’t say anything. She wanted him to release her.
“Good. Good,” Randall said, taking her silence as a yes. “Now why don’t you go home and get you some rest, uhm?” He looked down at her; his cheap car salesman’s smile still in place. Again, he took her silence as an agreement and he leaned down and planted a kiss in the center of her forehead.
When his arm finally fell from her shoulder, she headed toward the door.
“Wait. Wait.” Randall glanced around the floor and then rushed over to the other side of the room and retrieved her ring. “Don’t forget this.” He held up the diamond.
Isabella stared at it and then at Randall. “You keep it.” She opened the door and strolled out.
* * *
Whatever freedom Isabella felt was short lived. By morning, she woke with cotton mouth, a migraine and a massive hangover. After she managed to crawl out of bed and shuffle toward her morning shower, she wondered how long it would be before her father would send her mother over to fix her broken engagement. An hour or two at most.
While she stood motionless beneath the steaming hot water, she replayed the events of last night and smiled at the image of her throwing her diamond ring at Randall. The man truly looked as though he was about to have a heart attack.
She snickered and then wished that she would be able to conjure one tenth of last night’s courage when her mother came calling. Looking for her when her cab dropped her off, she had the foresight to take the phone off the hook. If she hadn’t, she would have been besieged by phone calls.
Finally clean and somewhat alert, Isabella shut off the shower, dried off and slipped into her favorite robe and made her way to the kitchen.
Only someone was already waiting for her.
“You look well rested.”
“Daddy.”
“Coffee?” he asked, holding up her favorite mug.
“Sure,” she said. This was really serious if her father came to handle her himself. “Black. No sugar.”
“I remember.” He poured two cups. “I heard you and Randall had quite a fight last night.”
There wasn’t going to be any beating around the bush.
“Those things are normal,” her father said. “The stress of planning a wedding can do those things.”
“I don’t...” C’mon. You can do this. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”
“Of course there is,” her father countered without missing a beat. “You just have wedding jitters.”
Isabella stared up at her father, swallowed whatever retort she had since his tone made it clear that this wasn’t up for discussion.
The senator walked out of the kitchen to hand her coffee. “It’s hot.”
She accepted the mug. “Thank you.”
Her father smiled. “You know how much this—arrangement means to me, don’t you?”
Isabella didn’t answer.
“This wedding is bigger than you. I mean, Randall has so much potential.” He placed his fingers beneath her chin and forced it up so that their eyes remained level. “And so do you. If everything goes as planned, we can put you in the White House. Think of all the good you could do. The power and influence.”
“But he’s not in love with me,” she whispered.
“Hmph. Love is...overrated—especially in a marriage. Love is fleeting and painful. And it always disappoints. But a marriage built on sturdier things: friendship, respect and a commonality have the potential to last. A different kind of love can be cultivated from that. You and Randall have more in common than you think. You could do great work together.”
With every word her father spoke, Isabella felt her heart break more and more.
“Go to Atlanta,” her father said as if granting her permission on an elementary school field trip. “Have some fun with your friends and when you come back, I’m sure you’ll see things my way.”
“I think I’m ready to settle down,” Derrick blurted to his frat brothers in the middle of halftime of an Atlanta Falcons game.
Stanley hit the TV remote’s mute button and all eyes zoomed to Derrick.
“Not you, too,” Charlie moaned.
Derrick frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t heard? Your old boy, Randall, got engaged,” Charlie informed him. “Damn shame.” He shook his head and turned to Taariq. “Pass me those chips over there.”
Derrick bobbed his head—not totally surprised at the news. “So he’s finally found the nation’s next First Lady?”
“Apparently,” Taariq said, handing Derrick the bowl of chips. “When I talked to him the girl sounded about as exciting as a game of cricket. I kept trying to pump him for information, and all he said was how well-connected her family was and how perfect her personality was for the whole political game. We all know that’s code for—”
“She’s a dog,” the frat brothers chimed together.
Derrick fell silent as he listened to his brothers discuss his ex-best friend and pretend he wasn’t bothered by being cut out of Randall’s life. To this day, he couldn’t believe his old friend actually believed he’d had sex with Christina Faye. Sure Randall had found them in bed together—naked, but Derrick had been clueless of how she’d gotten there. After Christina sobered up, she admitted that she was too drunk and had climbed into the wrong bed.
A simple mistake.
Randall didn’t buy it and ended his relationship with both of them. Hell, because of Derrick’s reputation, no one bought the story. But it was the truth.
Nothing happened.
“I’m happy for him,” Derrick finally said and meant it. He glanced around. “Frankly, I think old Randy may be onto something.”
His boys stared at him with their mouths hanging open.
“It’s just a thought,” he added with a shrug. “Every man must surrender sometime.”
“We’re too young to surrender,” Taariq said sternly.
“Yeah,” Hylan cosigned. “Besides, you’re like a living legend or something. If you retire—” He glanced at the others. “It affects all of us.”
“Oh, cut me a break.” Derrick turned up his beer bottle and took a long, hard swig. “Nobody wants to be dirty old men marrying women half their ages.”
“Don’t forget rich,” Charlie said. “And I don’t see anything wrong with being eighty and married to a twenty-four-year-old.”
“Yeah,” Hylan jumped in again. “Rich makes a difference.”
“Speak for yourself.” Stanley found his voice. “The only reason Amanda Easton went out with me was because I know Derrick. Same goes for Jennifer Givens or Monica Kingsley. The sistahs wouldn’t give me the time of day if it wasn’t for you.”
“Then maybe you should consider going back to your side of the fence. You catch my drift?” Taariq chuckled.