The man is a menace. Before he retreats, he takes each of our hands in turn, pressing a lingering, courtly kiss to our knuckles. For a heart-stopping second, I actually thought he was going to bid us a final goodnight and walk out of my life—but no, he’s just getting started.
Mmm, mmm, mmm! Ms. Lilly Rose is never going to believe this.
We all watch him walk away, his retreat far more composed than I feel. Once he’s out of earshot, Liberty levels me with a look that could peel paint. “Tell me this is a joke. Because our Lord the Pimp just sauntered off, and you’re standing here telling me he’s your husband.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart is still doing gymnastics. “I mean, look at him. He was all sexy and exotic and...refined. I couldn't exactly leave a man like that at the altar, could I?”
Liberty repeats herself as if in a trance. “Tell me you’re joking. He is wearing a pimp costume!”
Mylene weighs in. “He’s still fine, though. Just saying.”
I laugh. “Chill. We’ll get it annulled tomorrow.” I start to giggle again, the tequila bubbling up. “Chill. Chillmonger.”
Mylene leans in, her voice a poorly disguised whisper to Liberty. “Does she have an underlying mental illness we didn’t know about?”
“Starting to look like it,” Liberty confirms. And I roll my eyes at them both.
I understand their concern. For all I know, this man could have a secret wife and three kids in Nigeria, or shady offshore accounts and a burner phone linked to an international syndicate. And yet, here I am, married to him.
“You won’t be getting anything annulled if you end up murdered! What if he traffics you?!”
I blink. “Mylene, please. Black people don’t sex traffic other Black people.”
She sucks her teeth. “Girl, that man is fine and all, but I heard a British accent. We don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s not from here!”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, that’s exactly what I intend to find out.”
Liberty crosses her arms. “Aspen. When we said we were all going to do something spontaneous this weekend, marriage was not anything close to what we discussed. A bitch couldn’t just get a tattoo or a piercing like the rest of us?”
“The night’s still young! A tattoo could be on the menu.” I snatch both their phones and send them my location. “Track me all night. If I go missing, call Liam Neeson. Or my cousin Jamal, who just got out of jail.”
Mylene narrows her eyes. “I’m not above calling your mama, either.”
“I know,” I sigh dramatically. “But if you do, I’m telling your mama that it was your pregnancy test in the trash after prom. Not Angela, our friend from cheerleading.”
She gasps like I slapped her. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me and see. You’re lucky it was negative, or you’d have had to explain how you became the second immaculate conception, with a big-headed baby and no Joseph in sight.”
We all laugh, the sound a warm reminder of why I need them. But the noise fades as my attention is drawn back to Luca as he rejoins us, looking far too comfortable in his own skin.
A flicker of clarity settles in my chest. I’m not sure how I know this yet, or why the realization feels so heavy, but I just do.
He is nothing like Croix.
It isn’t a slight against my past. They’re just orbits apart. Both are incredible men, but with Croix, certainty was a ghost I was always chasing. Luca, for some inexplicable reason, anchors the air around him. He makes things feel final.
No questions asked.
Walking away from Croix—from the man who had been my best friend—hadn’t left the hollow ache I expected. There was no shattering, no violent fracture. Instead, it felt like a quiet release. Like a door had finally, gently, clicked shut.
Now, looking at this beautifully complex, slightly guarded, completely magnetic man, I can’t help but wonder if our timing was never an accident.
Perhaps every detour was always leading here.
To this breath.
To him.
