Chapter 93: Lovers' Devotion
The reception was a shock of color and sound after the solemn hush of the ceremony. Under billowing white tents strung with fairy lights, a reggae band laid down a smooth, infectious rhythm that vibrated up through the sand. The air, already thick with the scent of salt and frangipani, now carried the rich, smoky aroma of jerk chicken and curry goat from the massive grills down the beach.
“See dis?” Marcus slung an arm around Veronica’s shoulders, grinning as he gestured at the dancing crowd where Stephanie’s Parisian cousins were attempting to find the beat. “This is a cultural exchange. We’re doing the Lord’s work.”
Veronica shrugged him off, but a smile played on her lips. Her eyes, however, were locked on Stephanie, who was being gently spun by her father. Charles’s movements were stiff, formal, but the look on his face as he watched his daughter was one of profound, bewildered love.
“Come,” Reyna commanded, appearing at Veronica’s side with two glasses of sorrel. “Stop looking like a hawk guarding its nest. She is happy. You are happy. Drink.”
Veronica took the glass, the sweet-spicy tang hitting her tongue. “I am happy.”
“Good. Because her brothers are coming over, and they look like they want to measure you for a coffin.” Reyna took a sip, her gaze sharp and amused.
Ryiel and Charlotte approached. Ryiel, tall and severe like his father, extended a hand. “Veronica. A beautiful ceremony.”
“Thank you.” Veronica’s grip was firm, meeting his assessing stare.
It was Charlotte who broke the tension, stepping forward to embrace Veronica. “Thank you for making her shine like that,” she whispered in her ear. “We haven’t seen that in a long time.”
The protective shell around Veronica’s heart cracked a little more. “She makes it easy.”
The conversation was interrupted by a burst of laughter from a nearby table where a intense game of dominoes was underway. “Lawd! Unu see dat?” Veronica’s uncle shouted, slamming a tile down. “Six-love! Mi tell unu she was a shark!”
Veronica’s competitive streak ignited. She excused herself and strode over, her presence causing a ripple of excitement. “Make space fi di champion,” she declared, her voice dropping into a deeper Patwa as she squeezed in. “Is who a beat unu so? Uncle Leroy, yuh too old fi dis game.”
For the next hour, she was all sharp smiles and louder trash talk, the feared CEO replaced by a grinning, ruthless player. Stephanie watched from the edge of the circle, leaning into Jacqueline’s supportive side, her heart so full it ached. This was it. This loud, messy, loving chaos was home.
The cake cutting was a spectacle. A massive, tiered rum cake, adorned with fresh mango and passionfruit. They posed for pictures, Stephanie’s hand guiding Veronica’s on the knife handle.
“Ready, mon cœur?” Stephanie whispered, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“For what?”
In answer, Stephanie plucked a soft piece of cake from the layer and, with a giggle, smeared it gently on Veronica’s cheek.
A collective “Ooooh!” went through the crowd.
Veronica went still, her green eyes widening in mock outrage. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. “Oh, you start war, French girl.” She scooped up a much larger handful of cake. Stephanie squealed, trying to retreat, but Veronica’s arm snaked around her waist, holding her fast. She didn’t just smear it; she carefully, deliberately, placed the entire handful right on top of Stephanie’s head, the white icing cascading down her brown hair like a bizarre, sugary veil.
Stephanie shrieked with laughter, collapsing against Veronica’s chest while the entire beach erupted in cheers and applause.
But two hours later, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the fairy lights glowed like captured stars. The music was still going, but the rhythm seemed to pulse behind Stephanie’s eyes. The laughter felt too loud. A dull ache had settled in the small of her back, and the baby was practicing what felt like acrobatics against her ribs.
She found Veronica by the bar, debating the merits of Appleton Estate versus Wray & Nephew with her father, Jace. Stephanie didn’t speak. She just leaned her forehead against Veronica’s shoulder, her entire body slumping.
The conversation stopped instantly.
Veronica’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, her fingers gently scraping through the sticky, icing-stiffened hair. “Alright,” she said, her voice a low rumble that was for Stephanie alone. “Time to go.”
“But the party…” Stephanie mumbled, the protest weak.
“The party will survive without its two main attractions.” Veronica turned to Jace. “Daddy, we’re heading out.”
Jace’s eyes softened as he looked at Stephanie. “Get her home, Ronnie. She’s done good.”
A few minutes later, after a whirlwind of goodbyes—Reyna pressing a container of food into Veronica’s hands, Margot fussing about the state of Stephanie’s hair—they were walking away from the lights and the music, down the dark, cool stretch of beach toward their villa. The sound of the waves was a gentle hush, washing away the din of the celebration.
Stephanie leaned heavily on Veronica, her steps slow in the sand. “I am sorry. I am a terrible wife. I ruined the party.”
“You ruined nothing.” Veronica stopped, turning Stephanie to face her. In the moonlight, the cake smears on her cheek were silvery ghosts. “You lasted longer than I thought you would. You’re carrying a whole person. You’re allowed to be tired.”
“I am not just tired,” Stephanie admitted, her voice small. “I am… cranky. And my back hurts. And my feet are swollen. And I think I hate reggae music now.”
Veronica laughed, a deep, genuine sound that echoed over the empty beach. She bent down slightly. “Get on.”
“What? No, you cannot carry me. I am too heavy.”
“Woman, get on my back before I throw you over my shoulder like a sack of yams. I’m not having my wife collapse in the sand on her wedding night.”
Stephanie hesitated, then gave in, looping her arms around Veronica’s neck as Veronica hooked her hands under Stephanie’s knees. She stood easily, adjusting her grip, and started walking again, Stephanie’s pregnant weight settled securely on her back.
Stephanie rested her head between Veronica’s shoulder blades, listening to the strong, steady beat of her heart. The irritability began to melt away, soothed by the rhythm of Veronica’s steps and the vast, dark tranquility of the sea. She pressed a kiss to the linen of Veronica’s shirt.
“Until the end of everything,” she whispered into the fabric.
Veronica’s stride didn’t falter. She just tightened her grip on Stephanie’s legs. “Everything,” she confirmed, her voice carrying them home.