Minutes later, I’m at the steps of the lower deck, prepared embark on the rose-covered runner. The runner that leads to my groom. My heart thumps hard in my chest that heaves. I’m presenting with all the symptoms of a nervous bride. Yet and still I’m ready.
“Rayna, I’ll give you your cue, okay?” Tessie asks with a smile that’s now forced and applied as an accessory rather than genuinely due to anxiety. I’m not offended by it; I can only imagine what she’s being paid and what that means in terms of her reputation.
I nod in assent. Then I hear the bass drop, followed by the horn blowing, and that’s just before the sextet belts out their various harmonic notes. This time, the jazzy tune rings familiar, too. I have to fight back the tears of joy. Azmir arranged for my processional song to be one that holds warm memories for him. Brian McKnight’s smooth vocals sing, “There I go…there I go…there-I-go…” And I know in this moment that it’s meant for me to marry this man. My man. A.D. Jacobs.
“You can now start, Rayna,” Tessie whispers while she presses a wired bud into her ear and with her other hand, holds a stopwatch of some sort.
Shelly, your mullato ass had better be with me. This is for me…and you.
I ascend the stairs and up to the rear stern of the large boat where I see two rows of people on either side. The rows of chairs are placed at a slant, creating a V as they face the small alfresco altar on the back deck. The immediate notables are Yazmine and my mother, Samantha. Then there’s Petey, Kid, Chanell, Mark, Eric, Natasha, Lenny, Mia, Chyna, Shantee, my grandmother, Peg, Chef Boyd and a few others that I don’t recognize.
Once my eyes are done roving over the guests, I move them over to the white arch that’s sheathed in chiffon and white calla lilies where Pastor Edmonson is with the sun shining brightly over him, and First Lady Twanece, adjacent, yet slightly behind him. Her well-poised presence demonstrates submission with underlying courage and power to assist him. Protect him. The ultimate image of marriage.
Finally, my sights land on the man of the hour—the love of my life. He stands tall with shoulders stretched wide and powerfully. His long legs are apart, giving off that virile stance. His chocolate frame is clad in a light gray three-piece suit, crisp white shirt, and matching oxfords. Azmir’s refined stature and stateliness is breathtaking, beyond anything that I’ve ever imagined walking down the aisle to—if I ever imagined walking down the aisle.
When my lustful eyes rise from his long legs, up his chest to his beautiful face, I notice him closing and tucking his pocket watch into his suit pocket as his eyes are engrossed with me. The expression on his striking face is priceless. Azmir’s mouth collapses and I swallow hard. His face is full with the beard he swore to grow until I became his wife. I love the gruff edge to it and although it covers much of his beautiful face, it’s an undeniably sexy alternative. He’s magnificent, and apparently effortlessly. His boyish insouciance is on full display as his searing gaze scorches me from head to toe.
There’s no bridal party. We don’t need that, only each other and an officiate. I attempt a steady pace down the runner, hoping that I don’t give away my ogling of Azmir’s chocolate Adonis. In some miraculous way, my feet guide me to him, feeling so drawn, so persuaded to be at his side. His eyes grow larger with every step I take.
Once I take my place at his side, I notice the lids of his eyes collapse and Azmir lets out a long breath. I shiver at my affect on him, though I don’t understand it fully. Pastor Edmonson gives his opening prayer and asks the guests to be seated. He then goes over marriage, its creation, how it’s perceived by God and should be viewed by Azmir and me, and then our witnesses.
One last wish I had for Azmir, and before Pastor Edmonson and First Lady Twanece, during one of our last premarital counseling sessions was not to have a long and drawn out ceremony. I don’t need all that to take my vows before him and God. I don’t want the delay, just to take my premeditated vows. I started putting them together almost immediately after leaving Tahiti. In fact, I started jotting down a few lines in my iPhone once Azmir had dozed off after goading me for a date of this coveted day.
What does surprise me is that Azmir has written his own.
“At this time,” Past Edmonson announces. “Azmir and Rayna will recite their vows. Azmir…”