The Vows We Break

Book 2: Unconditional Series

by Briana Cole

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Romantic Suspense; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

The divorce was just the beginning. . . Kimera Davis had a plan to jump start her life and land on easy street. But a disastrous marriage has her making amends and picking up the pieces. It's a struggle to balance her new responsibilities and her ex, who keeps pressuring her for another chance.

All of this has her family scandalized, and with her minister father's health suffering, trying to do the right thing is pulling Kimera and the only man she's ever really loved further and further apart . . . But as Kimera's bad luck piles up, she senses there's something more than faulty decisions at play. Someone's playing a desperate, dangerous game with her life . . . and she'll have to win if she wants to survive.

Release date: July 30, 2019

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

I knew I was wrong, even as I hiked up the bustle of chiffon and tulle that adorned my dress and quickened my pace toward the bathroom, my retreat causing the muffled noises of the wedding reception to fade against my back. At this point, I would just have to apologize later. For now, I needed peace. If only for a moment.

I swung into the restroom and quickly stooped to peer underneath the three stall doors. Empty. Grateful, I locked the door and walked to the porcelain countertop.

I almost didn’t recognize myself. Sure, I was still Kimmy; same dramatic pixie cut, sharp cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. Physically, for sure, not much had changed. But what had changed, those mental and emotional scars sure as hell couldn’t be hidden under makeup or a distracting smile. Those still waters ran deep.

I shut my eyes against my reflection, inhaling sharply through my nose before letting a heavy sigh escape my parted lips. For the first time all day, hell, weeks if I wanted to be honest with myself, I felt like I could breathe.

Of course I should have been happy. It was a wedding that I had long since given up hope would ever happen. But from the time I woke up that morning, it felt like both my brain and body were stuck on a déjà vu repeat. Everything was perfect, just like we had planned it. From the coral décor to the arrival of the vendors, right down to the gorgeous weather that hung appreciatively at seventy-four degrees despite the forecast of rain. Decorations had adorned the sanctuary, a collection of neosoul ballads had wafted through the speakers, and guests had arrived and arranged themselves in the pews with bottles of bubbles (because Daddy wasn’t having rice thrown in his church) and tissues ready for the tears that were sure to come. Pictures were snapped, both from smart phones as well as by the professional photographer who crouched and maneuvered around to capture moments from every angle possible.

And I knew, even as I clutched my bouquet with sweaty palms and started my own descent down the sheer aisle runner, I knew exactly why it was taking all of my strength to feign the same excitement that was clearly evident among everyone else. And for that, I felt terrible.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and now that the ceremony was over, I finally let them spill over, trailing makeup streaks down my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to spend the entire time comparing everything. They were two entirely different circumstances.

Last year, I had signed a contract to be a “love partner” or wife to the rich Leo Owusu. I would be just another along with the two women he already had. It had been nothing more than a business arrangement in my eyes, and I had treated it as such. But for Leo, I was his wife number three in every sense of the word. I couldn’t help but shake my head at the memory of the lavish wedding from months ago, a wedding I neither wanted nor cared for. Nothing but an elaborate showcase of the extent of his money. So I stood at the altar with his other wives right up there by my side, like they too weren’t wearing wedding rings vowing their lives and hearts to the same man. The entire event was fit for a queen, with all its bells and whistles and fake glory.

I grimaced at the thought, then turned my memories to the ceremony that had just taken place only moments before. I could not have foreseen I would be here again so soon. But sure enough, I was, listening to my dad’s proud voice as he officiated. Genuine. That was the main word that came to mind as I reflected on the emotions that hung thick in the air. Vows and rings were exchanged, tears were shed, and every moment that ticked past I wanted to hold longer in my heart because it was so damn strong and authentic. This was how it was supposed to be. A constant reminder that was enough to heighten my own regret for selling myself so short before.

The door pushed against its lock as someone apparently tried to come in. I sniffed and wiped my hand against my face, smearing my makeup even more. Pathetic, I scolded myself as I snatched paper towels from the dispenser and blotted my cheeks. Turning, I flipped the lock and pulled open the door.

“Girl, I was looking for you.” Adria breezed in with a laugh. She glanced at my face and immediately engulfed me in a hug. “Aw, I love you so much, sis. I can finally say that now.”

I returned the hug with a small smile, swallowing my own pangs of jealousy. I was sure I was officially kicked out of the best friends club for being so damn selfish. While I was wallowing in my own self-pity and regret, I couldn’t even be happy for my own best friend at her wedding.

Adria released me and turned to eye herself in the mirror. She had lost a few pounds, just enough to really accentuate her curves in the bead-embellished corset of her halter gown. A jewel-encrusted tiara fit neatly around her high bun and clasped an ivory veil to the back of her head, allowing it to cascade down to her mid-back. Despite the tears she had shed and the sweat that now peppered her forehead, my girl’s makeup was still flawless from when I had spent two hours that morning brushing, contouring, blending, and getting it perfect. But more than anything, the pure joy that was emitted from her gaze and wide smile really made her glow with another level of beauty I hadn’t seen before. Not in her, nor myself.

“I am hot as hell,” Adria breathed, pulling paper towels from the dispenser and stuffing wads underneath her armpits. “Would I be too ghetto if I go back out there like this? They’ll understand, right?”

I grinned, welcoming the humor. “Please don’t,” I said. “I don’t think my brother could handle that.”

Adria’s lips turned up into a devious smirk as she winked. “Trust me,” she said. “He can handle all of this and very, very well.” She rolled her hips to exaggerate her statement, and I pursed my lips to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yeah, keep all that shit for the honeymoon.”

“Honey, this honeymoon started four months ago when he proposed.” Her eyes dropped to the three-carat diamond engagement ring and wedding band that glittered from her finger. I turned back to the mirror.

Her innocent gesture had tugged on another heartstring. Through the entire ceremony, I had wondered if Jahmad had been thinking about me. The man was still the love of my life, so I wondered if his imagination had taken over like mine, picturing me, instead of Adria, walking toward him in our own wedding ceremony of happily ever after. But, frankly, after everything that had happened between us, maybe that was too much wishful thinking.

“I actually came in here to talk to you about the store,” Adria stated, pulling my attention back to her.

I frowned at her mention of our cosmetic store, Melanin Mystique. Thanks to the little seed money I had received from my husband’s will, Adria and I had been able to rent a building and get the products for our dream business. “Girl, we are not about to talk business right now.”

“I know, but I’m about to be off for a bit for the honeymoon—”

“And I can handle everything until you get back,” I assured her, tossing a comforting smile in her direction. “Between me and the new guy. What’s his name?”

“Tyree.”

“Yeah. He started last week, and so far, he seems to be catching on quick.”

“So you’ll be able to make sure everything is ready for the grand opening?”

I nodded. Come hell or high water, we were opening that store. I had made too many sacrifices not to. “I’m not saying you can’t,” Adria went on, circling her arm through mine. She rested her head on my shoulder. “It’s just that I would feel comfortable doing this last little bit of stuff with you. I don’t want you to think I’m not doing my part. And with my nephew coming home next week too, you’re going to have your hands full.”

The mention of my son brought an unconscious smile to my lips. I couldn’t wait to bring Jamaal home from the hospital. The overwhelming joy I had for that child made me wonder why I had even considered an abortion in the first place. No way could I have lived without him. But initially, the uncertainty about my child’s father, whether it was my husband, Leo, or my boyfriend, Jahmad, was enough to scare me into making an appointment and even going as far as taking the first of two medicines that would cause the abortion. But by the grace of God, I had forgotten all about my pregnancy when I got a call about Leo’s car accident. Now, my son’s paternity didn’t even matter. As far as I and Jahmad were concerned, he was the biological father. End of story. At least I hoped.

“It’s all going to work out,” I said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I don’t want you worrying about the store, the baby, nothing. Just worry about enjoying my brother and being a newlywed. Can you do that?”

Adria’s expression relaxed into an appreciative smile, and I didn’t feel quite as bad anymore about my little selfish jealousy. At the end of the day, this girl was my best friend, now sister-in-law, and I loved her to pieces. Anything I was feeling was personal, and I would just have to deal with it myself. No way could I let it affect our relationship. Adria certainly didn’t deserve that.

I let myself be steered back into the hallway and toward the reception hall. A collection of old-school mixes had everyone on the dance floor, moving in sync with the electric slide. I groaned, knowing no one but my dad had initiated the line dance that was a staple at every black wedding reception, family/class reunion, or cookout from coast to coast.

The venue was minimally decorated, to appeal more to comfort, with its beautiful assortment of coral flowers and floating candle centerpieces adorning each round table. Chiffon sashes draped from a stage where the wedding party sat, the remnants of the catered soul food dinner and white chocolate cake now being cleared by the waitstaff.

We hadn’t even stepped all the way in the room before I was blinded by yet another flash from the photographer, and obediently I plastered another smile on my face. Adria would surely kill me if I messed up her wedding pictures.

Talking about cost efficient, Adria had certainly managed to save her coins when it came to planning this thing. Of course, my dad offered the couple his church and services free of charge, and the reception was now being held in the refurbished church basement, the sole location for numerous church events and family functions. Her aunt Pam was good friends with a caterer, and her small wedding party consisted of me and another young lady who worked at the bank with Adria. It had all worked out like it was supposed to, because Adria was set on putting as much money as possible toward their honeymoon and a house they were looking to close on in a few weeks. My sigh was wistful as her boisterous laugh rang throughout the room. Of course Adria had done everything right. Me, on the other hand, well, I was still picking up the pieces.

Speaking of pieces, my eyes scanned the crowd for Jahmad. Between this morning’s argument and the chaos of the wedding operations as soon as we arrived to the church, we hadn’t said much of anything to each other. Even as I had taken hold of his arm and allowed him to escort me down the aisle at the ceremony, the tension had been so thick I could taste it, and I prayed the discomfort hadn’t been obvious to Adria nor to Keon. Or the photographer. Wanting to break the ice, I had given his forearm a gentle squeeze. I even tossed a smile his way, but both gestures had gone ignored.

I sighed again as I noticed him on the dance floor, his arms around one of the guests, Adria’s cousin Chantel. Her face was split with a flirtatious grin and Jahmad, well, he looked more relaxed than he had in months. And that shit pissed me off.

I was weighing how to get in between them and put hands on this chick in the most discreet way when an arm draped over my shoulder. Glancing up, I met my dad’s eyes and allowed my anger to subside. For now.

“Beautiful ceremony, huh,” he said, and I nodded.

“It really was, Daddy.”

“I’m so happy your brother finally grew up,” he went on with a chuckle. “I thought I was going to have to take him to the mountain for sacrifice like Abraham and Isaac.”

I laughed. “You would’ve sacrificed my brother?”

“I was telling God to just say the word.” He winked. The humor instantly faded from his smirk as he turned somber eyes on me. “What about you, baby girl?”

“What about me?”

“You know I wanted to officiate for both of my kids. And, well . . .” He trailed off, and I shrugged, trying to keep from looking back over at Jahmad and failing miserably. I knew what he meant. Of course he hadn’t been able to do that with me when I decided to up and tie the knot with Leo. I hadn’t given him that honor. And I knew he was still hurt by that.

A slow song now had Jahmad and Chantel swaying closer, his hand on the small of her back. If I wanted to be logical, the two didn’t look all that intimate. Quite platonic, actually. But I didn’t give a damn about logic at that point.

My dad could obviously sense the heightened fury in my demeanor, because he took my hand and gently guided me to the dance floor, in the opposite direction.

“When are you going back to the hospital to see Jamaal?” he asked as we started to dance.

I sighed. Obviously everyone had some secret mission to keep me from wallowing in my own self-pity. Dammit.

“I went up there yesterday,” I said. “He’s doing really good.”

“You sure you don’t want him to stay with us for a few weeks? Just until you get situated in your place with the move?”

I tightened my lips. If I played my cards right, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere but to Jahmad’s house. In fact that’s what we had been arguing about this morning when I had come over so we could ride to the church together.

The thing was, my heart still completely belonged to that man. But somewhere in these past few months, he was becoming distant. One minute it was as if we were on the same page, trying to focus on us, or so I thought. But then I would feel like I was struggling to breathe under this suffocating tension that hung between us. And I really wasn’t sure how to get us back on track.

So when I suggested we move in together now that our son was coming home, I certainly hadn’t expected the frown nor the subsequent questions about my motive for asking like I was up to some shit.

“What is the big deal, Jahmad?” I had asked as I paced his bedroom. “I mean I thought we agreed we would try to work on this? Us?” I pointed a wild finger first at him, then myself.

“What does that have to do with us moving in together?”

The tone of his question had a twinge of hurt piercing my heart. Here I was thinking we were taking steps forward only to realize we were actually moving backward. Why else would the idea of living together come as such a shock to him? I mean after the whole ordeal with Leo, I had moved back in with my folks because I wanted to focus on the business, which was already stressful enough. And I honestly knew, however false the hope, that it would be temporary, because Jahmad’s stubborn ass would finally realize exactly where I belonged. With him. Apparently I was still in Neverland.

“Kimmy, that’s doing too much.” Jahmad sighed in frustration as he shrugged into his suit jacket. “The way I see it, we don’t even know if there is an ‘us.’ And we damn sure don’t need any more complications.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Complications? Since when is being with me a complication?”

“Since when? Since I found out you were married.”

And there he went again. Throwing the shit up in my face. As if I hadn’t berated myself enough. As if I hadn’t been laying on apology after apology so much that I was sick of hearing the words my damn self. I masked the embarrassment with anger.

“You know what my situation was about,” I snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. “And you know it wasn’t real.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he yelled back. “Hell, if anything that shines a negative light on you, because all the conniving and sneaky shit was for money. My love didn’t mean anything to you.”

“How can you stand here and say that? You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” He narrowed his eyes. “How can I even trust you or anything you say?”

“Jahmad, we’ve had this same conversation every week for months.” I threw up my arms to express my frustration. “I can’t change the past. What else can I do? Or say to move past this?”

This time he was quiet so I used the opportunity to keep pushing. “There is no more marriage. No more Leo. No more lies and secrets, Jahmad. I promised you that before. Now it’s just us. And our son. That is what’s important to me.”

I had to mentally repent even as the words left my lips. There were still a few lies between us. Among other things, whether he knew there was a question of paternity with my son. I sure as hell had to take that to my grave. And the money: Leo had given me plenty of it and since technically he had staged his death, that money was still tucked safely in my accounts. Like hell I would give that up. That would mean the whole arrangement would have been in vain.

Silence had ridden with us to the church, and we soon became so engrossed in the pre-wedding preparations we hadn’t bothered, nor had time, to resume the conversation.

I tried to bring my attention back to my father as he swayed with me on the dance floor, but thoughts continued to consume me.

I glanced around, my eyes eager to catch Jahmad once more, but he had long since disappeared. I stopped my scan when I noticed a certain face appear in the crowd. I squinted through the dimness and distance, struggling to blink clarity into my vision. The face I couldn’t make out but the dress, I knew that dress. And the hair was the same, too much to be a coincidence.

My dad spun me around, and I quickly angled my neck to catch another glimpse of the woman I thought I recognized. But by then, the Tina look-alike was gone.

I knew Jahmad wanted to say something. It was evident in the way his jaw was clenched, the way his forehead seemed to be creased and those lips I loved remained frozen in something of a pout. Even as he kept his eyes trained on the road, his profile was stoic, and I knew whatever was on his mind rested on the tip of his tongue. But still he said nothing to me. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anger, but either way, it was awkward as hell and making me fidget uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

Funny. All during the reception I had been silently counting down until the clock signaled the party was over. I was in no mood for the ordeal, and all I wanted was to get home and snuggle up to Jahmad. The bridesmaid dress had called for the skimpiest of panties and maybe, just maybe, I could help him forget all about his little attitude as soon as we got behind closed doors. But now that the reception hall was fading in the sideview mirror, this stifling silence was making me wish we were back in the noise and laughter. Just something to fill the air besides this tension.

A familiar scene began to play in my mind, and it was one I often lingered on whenever I felt distance between us. Jamaal had just been born, granted prematurely because of Tina’s crazy ass. She had tried to kill me when I’d found out. . .