by Briana Cole
Also by Briana Cole
The Unconditional Series
The Wives We Play
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
THE VOWS WE BREAK
An Unconditional Novel
Briana Cole
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
THE VOWS WE BREAK
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Teaser chapter
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Briana Cole
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2197-6
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2197-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2200-3 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2200-0 (ebook)
First Kensington Electronic Edition: August 2019
I dedicate this book to my wonderful literary agent, N’Tyse. Without you, there wouldn’t have been a sequel. Thank you for seeing the vision and, most important, sharing it with the world.
Acknowledgments
As much as I love to write (and talk), it is difficult to find me at a loss for words. But when it comes to these acknowledgments, I find myself circling the airport and never landing. It’s not that I don’t have people to thank. But the amount of love and appreciation I have for my family, friends, and supporters—there are really no words to completely express my gratitude.
How do you put words on the amount of tears shed, the overwhelming support, the calls and text messages, the listening ears while I ranted and raved and shouted my frustration with these characters? The ones steering me back on track, the cheerleaders and boosters, the honest opinions that I hated but needed to hear. The helping hands and encouraging smiles I witnessed through bloodshot eyes. Motivating words I heard on many a sleepless night. (Forgive me. I know my poet is showing right now.) I believe what I am trying to say is this: I hope my actions and the motivation I have to keep going down this journey with you all by my side show just how much of an impact your support has on my heart. Hell, my life. I won’t go down the list individually because there are so many of you that have inspired me in one way or another. But you all know who you are. So to all of my family and friends, thank you, thank you, thank you!
I want to send a special thank you to my love, Ben. Babe, you have inspired me in more ways than you will ever know. Thank you for being my support, my backbone, my rock, my listening ear, and helping me step into my full potential. I love you with everything in me and I’m ready for us to take over the world.
Of course, another huge thank you to my literary agent, N’Tyse. From day one, you have kicked me into high gear, and I absolutely love it! I am so thrilled at the many, many success stories we have and will continue to share.
Also to my publishing team at Kensington, I sincerely appreciate you. Especially my editor, Selena, who is bomb.com. Thank you all who continue to get behind my books and my career. I couldn’t imagine a better publishing house for me to learn, grow, and thrive.
Last, but not least, I have to thank all of my readers and supporters! When I was too tired to write, I thought of you. When I didn’t know what the hell to write about, I thought of you. You deserved a quality story, and I pushed myself because I was determined to give you nothing less than a certified best-seller. So for every text, post, inbox, tweet, like, comment, share, discussion, and review (every ounce of support big or small), thank you from the bottom of my heart.
All my love,
Briana Cole
“For every promise, there is a price to pay.”
—Jim Rohn, Leading an Inspired Life
Prologue
“We should just kill her.”
Those words broke through my subconscious and sent a startling chill up my spine.
The pain, at first excruciating, had long since subsided into a dull ache and whether it was the handcuffs binding my wrists or the minimal rations of stale food and lukewarm water I’d been having to live on for the past few days, my body was now numb. Like a shell. But despite my snatches of blurred vision as I toggled in and out of consciousness, this man’s face was crystal clear. What I didn’t understand was why was he here? Why wasn’t he helping me?
I struggled to lift my lids and through tears that blurred my vision, I stared into the eyes of a dead man.
“My love.” His accent was deepened by the emotion clogging his voice. Pity. Apologetic. But he didn’t move any closer, even though I’m sure I looked like the death I was slowly succumbing to.
I tried to replay everything that had happened in the past few months. Clues I had missed. Then, footsteps brought the other person into view and I remembered. My mind suddenly settled on the missing pieces that had been hidden in plain sight. How could I not have known? More importantly, what were they going to do with me now that I did?
Chapter 1
I knew I was wrong, even as I hiked up the bustle of chiffon and tulle that adorned my dress and quickened my pace toward the bathroom, my retreat causing the muffled noises of the wedding reception to fade against my back. At this point, I would just have to apologize later. For now, I needed peace. If only for a moment.
I swung into the restroom and quickly stooped to peer underneath the three stall doors. Empty. Grateful, I locked the door and walked to the porcelain countertop.
I almost didn’t recognize myself. Sure, I was still Kimmy; same dramatic pixie cut, sharp cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. Physically, for sure, not much had changed. But what had changed, those mental and emotional scars sure as hell couldn’t be hidden under makeup or a distracting smile. Those still waters ran deep.
I shut my eyes against my reflection, inhaling sharply through my nose before letting a heavy sigh escape my parted lips. For the first time all day, hell, weeks if I wanted to be honest with myself, I felt like I could breathe.
Of course I should have been happy. It was a wedding that I had long since given up hope would ever happen. But from the time I woke up that morning, it felt like both my brain and body were stuck on a déjà vu repeat. Everything was perfect, just like we had planned it. From the coral décor to the arrival of the vendors, right down to the
gorgeous weather that hung appreciatively at seventy-four degrees despite the forecast of rain. Decorations had adorned the sanctuary, a collection of neosoul ballads had wafted through the speakers, and guests had arrived and arranged themselves in the pews with bottles of bubbles (because Daddy wasn’t having rice thrown in his church) and tissues ready for the tears that were sure to come. Pictures were snapped, both from smart phones as well as by the professional photographer who crouched and maneuvered around to capture moments from every angle possible.
And I knew, even as I clutched my bouquet with sweaty palms and started my own descent down the sheer aisle runner, I knew exactly why it was taking all of my strength to feign the same excitement that was clearly evident among everyone else. And for that, I felt terrible.
Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and now that the ceremony was over, I finally let them spill over, trailing makeup streaks down my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to spend the entire time comparing everything. They were two entirely different circumstances.
Last year, I had signed a contract to be a “love partner” or wife to the rich Leo Owusu. I would be just another along with the two women he already had. It had been nothing more than a business arrangement in my eyes, and I had treated it as such. But for Leo, I was his wife number three in every sense of the word. I couldn’t help but shake my head at the memory of the lavish wedding from months ago, a wedding I neither wanted nor cared for. Nothing but an elaborate showcase of the extent of his money. So I stood at the altar with his other wives right up there by my side, like they too weren’t wearing wedding rings vowing their lives and hearts to the same man. The entire event was fit for a queen, with all its bells and whistles and fake glory.
I grimaced at the thought, then turned my memories to the ceremony that had just taken place only moments before. I could not have foreseen I would be here again so soon. But sure enough, I was, listening to my dad’s proud voice as he officiated. Genuine. That was the main word that came to mind as I reflected on the emotions that hung thick in the air. Vows and rings were exchanged, tears were shed, and every moment that ticked past I wanted to hold longer in my heart because it was so damn strong and authentic. This was how it was supposed to be. A constant reminder that was enough to heighten my own regret for selling myself so short before.
The door pushed against its lock as someone apparently tried to come in. I sniffed and wiped my hand against my face, smearing my makeup even more. Pathetic, I scolded myself as I snatched paper towels from the dispenser and blotted my cheeks. Turning, I flipped the lock and pulled open the door.
“Girl, I was looking for you.” Adria breezed in with a laugh. She glanced at my face and immediately engulfed me in a hug. “Aw, I love you so much, sis. I can finally say that now.”
I returned the hug with a small smile, swallowing my own pangs of jealousy. I was sure I was officially kicked out of the best friends club for being so damn selfish. While I was wallowing in my own self-pity and regret, I couldn’t even be happy for my own best friend at her wedding.
Adria released me and turned to eye herself in the mirror. She had lost a few pounds, just enough to really accentuate her curves in the bead-embellished corset of her halter gown. A jewel-encrusted tiara fit neatly around her high bun and clasped an ivory veil to the back of her head, allowing it to cascade down to her mid-back. Despite the tears she had shed and the sweat that now peppered her forehead, my girl’s makeup was still flawless from when I had spent two hours that morning brushing, contouring, blending, and getting it perfect. But more than anything, the pure joy that was emitted from her gaze and wide smile really made her glow with another level of beauty I hadn’t seen before. Not in her, nor myself.
“I am hot as hell,” Adria breathed, pulling paper towels from the dispenser and stuffing wads underneath her armpits. “Would I be too ghetto if I go back out there like this? They’ll understand, right?”
I grinned, welcoming the humor. “Please don’t,” I said. “I don’t think my brother could handle that.”
Adria’s lips turned up into a devious smirk as she winked. “Trust me,” she said. “He can handle all of this and very, very well.” She rolled her hips to exaggerate her statement, and I pursed my lips to keep from laughing out loud.
“Yeah, keep all that shit for the honeymoon.”
“Honey, this honeymoon started four months ago when he proposed.” Her eyes dropped to the three-carat diamond engagement ring and wedding band that glittered from her finger. I turned back to the mirror.
Her innocent gesture had tugged on another heartstring. Through the entire ceremony, I had wondered if Jahmad had been thinking about me. The man was still the love of my life, so I wondered if his imagination had taken over like mine, picturing me, instead of Adria, walking toward him in our own wedding ceremony of happily ever after. But, frankly, after everything that had happened between us, maybe that was too much wishful thinking.
“I actually came in here to talk to you about the store,” Adria stated, pulling my attention back to her.
I frowned at her mention of our cosmetic store, Melanin Mystique. Thanks to the little seed money I had received from my husband’s will, Adria and I had been able to rent a building and get the products for our dream business. “Girl, we are not about to talk business right now.”
“I know, but I’m about to be off for a bit for the honeymoon—”
“And I can handle everything until you get back,” I assured her, tossing a comforting smile in her direction. “Between me and the new guy. What’s his name?”
“Tyree.”
“Yeah. He started last week, and so far, he seems to be catching on quick.”
“So you’ll be able to make sure everything is ready for the grand opening?”
I nodded. Come hell or high water, we were opening that store. I had made too many sacrifices not to. “I’m not saying you can’t,” Adria went on, circling her arm through mine. She rested her head on my shoulder. “It’s just that I would feel comfortable doing this last little bit of stuff with you. I don’t want you to think I’m not doing my part. And with my nephew coming home next week too, you’re going to have your hands full.”
The mention of my son brought an unconscious smile to my lips. I couldn’t wait to bring Jamaal home from the hospital. The overwhelming joy I had for that child made me wonder why I had even considered an abortion in the first place. No way could I have lived without him. But initially, the uncertainty about my child’s father, whether it was my husband, Leo, or my boyfriend, Jahmad, was enough to scare me into making an appointment and even going as far as taking the first of two medicines that would cause the abortion. But by the grace of God, I had forgotten all about my pregnancy when I got a call about Leo’s car accident. Now, my son’s paternity didn’t even matter. As far as I and Jahmad were concerned, he was the biological father. End of story. At least I hoped.
“It’s all going to work out,” I said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I don’t want you worrying about the store, the baby, nothing. Just worry about enjoying my brother and being a newlywed. Can you do that?”
Adria’s expression relaxed into an appreciative smile, and I didn’t feel quite as bad anymore about my little selfish jealousy. At the end of the day, this girl was my best friend, now sister-in-law, and I loved her to pieces. Anything I was feeling was personal, and I would just have to deal with it myself. No way could I let it affect our relationship. Adria certainly didn’t deserve that.
I let myself be steered back into the hallway and toward the reception hall. A collection of old-school mixes had everyone on the dance floor, moving in sync with the electric slide. I groaned, knowing no one but my dad had initiated the line dance that was a staple at every black wedding reception, family/class reunion, or cookout from coast to coast.
The venue was minimally decorated, to appeal more to comfort, with its beautiful assortment of coral flowers and floating candle centerpieces adorning each round table.
Chiffon sashes draped from a stage where the wedding party sat, the remnants of the catered soul food dinner and white chocolate cake now being cleared by the waitstaff.
We hadn’t even stepped all the way in the room before I was blinded by yet another flash from the photographer, and obediently I plastered another smile on my face. Adria would surely kill me if I messed up her wedding pictures.
Talking about cost efficient, Adria had certainly managed to save her coins when it came to planning this thing. Of course, my dad offered the couple his church and services free of charge, and the reception was now being held in the refurbished church basement, the sole location for numerous church events and family functions. Her aunt Pam was good friends with a caterer, and her small wedding party consisted of me and another young lady who worked at the bank with Adria. It had all worked out like it was supposed to, because Adria was set on putting as much money as possible toward their honeymoon and a house they were looking to close on in a few weeks. My sigh was wistful as her boisterous laugh rang throughout the room. Of course Adria had done everything right. Me, on the other hand, well, I was still picking up the pieces.
Speaking of pieces, my eyes scanned the crowd for Jahmad. Between this morning’s argument and the chaos of the wedding operations as soon as we arrived to the church, we hadn’t said much of anything to each other. Even as I had taken hold of his arm and allowed him to escort me down the aisle at the ceremony, the tension had been so thick I could taste it, and I prayed the discomfort hadn’t been obvious to Adria nor to Keon. Or the photographer. Wanting to break the ice, I had given his forearm a gentle squeeze. I even tossed a smile his way, but both gestures had gone ignored.
