Adrianne Byrd - Wedding Chocolate

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.”

Chapter 8

“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. “Hanging out with us is never going to make you a brother. You know this, right?”

Stanley scrunched his face as his neck turned beet red. “Yeah, I know that.” He rolled his eyes, but was unable to wipe the hurt completely from his face.

“Sorry, man. I just— I don’t know. All this partying is just getting old,” Derrick said.

“Herman has finally gotten into you, hasn’t he?” Taariq accused.

“That or that one chick you were grinding on at Visions the other night,” Charlie guessed. “She wouldn’t happen to have a sister or a cousin—”

“Hell, I’ll date her momma,” Stanley crackled, joining in on the high-fives. “Leave it up to Derrick to score with the finest woman in the place.”

“Hell, the one I caught should be having my baby,” Charlie chuckled and then tossed back the rest of his beer.

“You know how I do,” Hylan said, pumping his chest.

“I scored two fly honeys who had to be gymnasts,” Taariq boasted. “Their mounts and dismounts were worthy of gold medals.”

Laughter roared and a few of the guys pounded Taariq’s back in congratulations.

Only Stanley, with his tall lanky frame and flaming-red hair went home alone, but his boys were good about not commenting on it.

When the fuss died down, everyone returned their attention to Derrick.

“Seriously,” Charlie asked. “You’re really trying to break ranks with that chick?”

“Nah.” Derrick shook his head. “Denise was beautiful and all,” he admitted. “But we were just dancing. I’m not going to see her again.”

“Then you won’t mind if I try to hit it?” Stanley asked.

The boys tried to muffle their laughter, but failed.

Taariq leaned over and wrapped a muscled arm around Stanley’s thin neck. “C’mon, man. You know better than playing with grown folk’s toys.”

Stanley reddened and laughed good-naturedly.

“Actually,” Derrick said. “Denise is married.”

“Ooh,” his boys winced.

“Tough break,” Hylan said, shaking his head. “Course you know, married chicks are off the hook. They’re less clingy and they’re some other cat’s problem.” He tossed back the rest of his beer and then released a long belch.

As Derrick’s laughter died down, his mind drifted over Herman’s constant lecturing. For years, he had laughed off the barber’s lectures, but now he couldn’t get the old man’s words out of his head.

But monogamy? Heck, did he even have it in him? One woman—for the rest of his life?

“Uh, oh,” Hylan said, snapping his fingers in front of Derrick’s face. “I think we’re losing him.”