Page 83 of Big Mad
Our world remained narrow. Just her mouth. Her breath. Her hands massaged my scalp as if hypnotized. The furnace roared beside us, but she was hotter.
Her lips parted, and I slid my tongue against hers, slow and claiming. Obsession rolled from my chest in a growl, straightinto her heart. Her knees buckled, and I tightened my grip, holding her close.
“Chère, I swear you’re gonna make me forget we’re standing next to Cajun-cooked trash.”
She laughed, breathless, tugging my lower lip between her teeth in a way that made my brain short-circuit harder than it had with the cognac earlier. “Do we need to call the cops, Wash?”
“Nah. Called them on my way inside. You know how they do in New Orleans. They’ll be here in an hour. We should jump apart when we hear footsteps.”
She giggled while I planted her on the same metal table Omari’s body slammed against. Her thighs captured my waist, and her lips brushed mine, soft, teasing, a promise of forever. “So, just kisses then?”
“Long as your toes curl,” I replied as Omari’s pathetic wheezing behind us faded into a forgotten soundtrack.
madison
. . .
Mid-June
My lovely wife,
You don’t know how dark my world got when I lost everything most important to me. My only son. You. There are only two things in this world that I couldn’t live without. My Elijah and my Madison. But as I struggled to pull myself up, I couldn’t fathom what was going through your mind either. My heart kept screaming at me, telling me to be the man you needed. Even as I signed those divorce papers, it was this pressure and internal struggle that nearly took me out. And I’m not saying all this to compare who went through worse. Because, bébé, you went through the fire by hiding yourself. By hiding the light within you. By wanting to be alone in your pain. God must have some sense ofhumor, huh? Got me forcing the woman He created for me into a contract just to get her attention.
Asoft chuckle escaped me as I paused from reading Washington’s letter. Zuri had placed it into my hands after she adjusted my wedding veil, and Phoenix had finished transforming my baby hairs into angel wings. They’d left me in the church’s empty choir room to join the bridal procession. My eyes returned to the letter and his familiar handwriting.
But in my defense, Madison, I’m confident that faith without work is not faith at all. So, I stressed over that contract night and day for a week. Damn, I’m going to be honest. I slaved over every contingency for two whole weeks. All of that was me stepping out on faith. Big stepping out, since I hadn’t slept well since putting everything in order. But enough of that.
You came into my life again right when we needed each other most. Right before parents who have gone through the unthinkable, losing a child, would have to live through that specific day over again. March first.
If I could’ve taken all the pain you went through on me, I would’ve. Still, I know that adversity molds the heart that’s broken down,cracked open, ugly as hell. (Chère, this ugly part was all you, bébé. Your heart was ugly as hell for a while.)
“Oh no, he didn’t.” I settled down on a chair next to a neat stack of royal purple praise dance flags. My glittering, elated eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “Lord, this man done called me ugly? And You want me to marry himagain?”
In that precise moment, my attention landed on the wordheart. Washington said my heart was ugly, and humility made me agree. My palm pressed against my chest, where a newfound fullness replaced the emptiness. Still though? After my saltiness, he could’ve quit. He could’ve given up on me. Instead, my husband relentlessly chased me down with overwhelming love.
My eyes went glossy, but I didn’t dare let a tear fall after all of Phoenix’s Picasso magic with peacock eyeshadows. Instead, I sniffed and kept reading.
I knew, though, that behind the multitude of scars needing attention lay a truly magnificent heart. My wife’s heart. I’ve had peace these past few months with you in my life, regardless of what we had to work through or what we were up against, such as Shonda’s contract that I wanted no parts of. We fought that art demon, Omari Harris, together. Now, we are righting one last wrong. I’m marrying a strong, gorgeous Black woman. Madison, you were magnificently beautiful when giving one lastpush during labor, glowy, sweaty, and absolutely gorgeous. Your last ounce of strength allowed us to meet our baby. And you are FINE with a bat in your hand.
A vision formed in my mind, and I chuckled. Washington had asked me in the police interrogation room if I’d vandalized his car. My salty little ass had said,Fine ain’t she?
“Yeah, I’m fine. Too fine.” I toed the Swarovski crystal heels nearby, but I had a few lines left to read before putting them on.
You’re strong, wielding and conquering the pits of hell.
And you’re one piece of the three-strand cord that will always hold us together. Madison, it is my honor to call you wife again, chère. And it’s even more of a privilege to do so while claiming my bride again on our day … June 12th.
With love,
Wash
I wanted to run to Washington right now. This precise second. Butterflies took flight in my chest, but I told myself not to rush it. As I refolded the letter, I murmured, “Well, Momma Virginia, you’re finally getting that church wedding.”
This was her church, a beautiful church. And she’d been waiting my entire married life for this moment. Though Idoubted she’d wanted us to have an actual do-over, she’d suggested a vowel renewal here on our tenth anniversary.
As I slipped my feet into the show-stopping Jimmy Choos, a contented sigh escaped me. Yes, I would always love designer heels. I also wore a gown from one of the most premier wedding boutiques in New Orleans, but not the most expensive one. In fact, this silk sheath was part of a line calledSimple Creation. But I didn’t give a damn if people said Mood Swing Maddy paired so-and-so with Wally World. I wasn’t trying to be like Omari’s clients anymore.
Ugh. Omari Riche. Omari Harris, or whoever he was.Who knew the FBI had an ART team? I wished I had a Fed friend because two of them interrogated me at length after our run-in last month. And one of them was a sistah! Washington held my hand and did most of the talking. But sis had the nerve to glance at me sideways when I explained my way out of the illegal production of Philippe’s artwork that wasn’t technically illegal since I was told all parties knew they were receiving dupes.Reproductions.
