Wedding Chocolate: Two Grooms and a Wedding

“I heard you were engaged,” Rayne said. “Congratulations.”

Isabella winced. “I’m sorry. I meant to call everyone, but things are a little crazy around here.”

There was a long silence and then, “I’m a little confused,” her girlfriend said softly. “I thought things weren’t that serious between you two. Last I heard you were, uhm—”

“Going to break things off,” Isabella finished.

“Yeah.”

Isabella would have to prepare an answer to this question, something better than the truth.

“What do you mean you can learn to love him? This is the twenty-first century,” Rayne said once Isabella finished her story. “The only reason women should marry is for love.”

Isabella glanced at the TV screen just as Diana Ross and Billy Dee Williams were embroiled in a heated argument. “Life isn’t like the movies.”

“Your family is pressuring you to do this, aren’t they?”

“No.”

Silence greeted the lie and Isabella had to backtrack a bit. “Not really.”

Rayne clucked her tongue.

The friends returned their attention to the movie. Out of the many personalities of Isabella’s close sorority sisters, she and Rayne were the ones with the most in common: highly intelligent, but shy introverts who were often pressured to the whims of their families.

On screen, came one of the famous lines from the movie.

“Success means nothing without someone you love to share it with.”

Isabella and Rayne sighed dreamily.

“Life should be like the movies,” Rayne commented. “Every woman should be rewarded with a nice happily-ever-after with a man as handsome as Billy Dee.”

Or Derrick Knight, Isabella thought, but said aloud, “Amen.”

When the credits finally rolled, the ladies said their goodnights and hung up. Isabella cleared the books off the bed, grabbed her teddy bear and curled into her pillow; but as she drifted off to sleep, she imagined that she wore Diana Ross’s large white fur coat threading through the crowd at the end of Mahogany but the man guaranteeing that he could get her old man back was the exceedingly handsome Derrick Knight.

* * *

Randall Jarrett was a happy man. Not only was his career on track, he had closed the deal on obtaining the perfect political wife. He smiled while he lathered up in the shower. Senator Kane was a force of nature on Capitol Hill and Randall wanted to be just like him. Who knows? Maybe he would be the next Obama.

Already the Kanes and his parents were spreading the news to their family and friends. His phone had been ringing off the hook from stunned ex-girlfriends and old fraternity brothers. Charles and Taariq thought he needed to get his head examined for turning in his single’s card so soon. Hylan and Stanley just couldn’t stop laughing.

The only call that was missing was from his ex-best friend and frat brother Derrick. Randall and Derrick hadn’t seen or talked to each other in years—ever since Randall caught Derrick in bed with Christina Faye, his girlfriend and first prospective wife. Derrick had fed him some cockamamy story about how nothing had happened, but Derrick’s reputation made the declaration impossible to believe.

Boys will be boys, especially when the object in college was to score with as many women as possible, but Christina had been different. Randall had issued a “hands off” alert, but Derrick just had to stab him in the back.

But everything had worked out. He had Isabella now—and she would be the perfect politician’s wife.

His mood only brightened as he whistled and enjoyed the bathroom’s acoustics. After he scoured every inch of his six-foot-three frame, he stepped out of the shower and began dancing in front of the steam-covered mirror.

“I see you’re in a good mood.”

Randall jumped but then smiled at his long-legged visitor. “I have every right to be in a good mood, sweetheart. You’re looking at the future president of the United States.”

“Oh. Are we having that dream again?”

“A dream that’s going to be reality. Mark my words. Give me 12-15 years, tops.” He removed the towel from his waist and then snapped it against her ample bottom.

Randall’s curvy guest just glared. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“C’mon.” Randall squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush and began scrubbing his extremely straight pearly-white teeth.

“If you’re going to marry her, then I can’t see you anymore,” she said.

Randall stopped scrubbing and turned his incredulous gaze toward her. “Why?” he asked, and then spat into the sink.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“But we talked about this,” he said. “I have to marry Isabella. She is the perfect choice for my career. She has the breeding, a good reputation and hell, I think the girl is still a virgin. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Well, thanks a lot!” His girlfriend turned on her heel, and stomped away.

“Aw, hell.” Randall turned on the water and quickly rinsed out his mouth before racing after her. When he had caught up with her, she had damn near reached the front door.

“Come on, baby.” He twirled her around to face him. “What’s gotten into you? We’ve been over all of this before.”

“You just don’t get it. Do you stop and think for one second about how all this makes me feel? What about me? I’m the one that should be your wife. I’m the one you’ve been screwing the last three years. I’m the one that puts up with your bull day after day.”

“Bull?”

“Yeah, bull.” She snatched her arm from his firm grip and then stabbed him in the chest with an acrylic nail. “Everything is about your career. The right school. The right job. The right wife. What am I, chopped liver?”

“No, baby.” Randall lifted the hand planted in the center of his chest and brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingers. “You’re my heart. You know, I can’t live without you. You’ll always be in my life.”

“What—as your mistress?”

“As my true love.” He pulled her stiff body into his arms. “You know how the game is played. I’m striving to be one of the most powerful men in Washington, and I can’t do that without you in my corner.”

“Then put a ring on my finger.”

“I can’t, baby. Not with your father’s criminal record, and that bit of shoplifting you did back in high school.”

“I was a teenager,” she protested.

“What about that concealed weapons charge when you were in college?”

“It wasn’t my gun. My ex-boyfriend—”