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“Cardez is… very particular,” she said. “He doesn’t ask for much, so when he does, I try my damndest to get it right the first time. Because he’s not asking you to try, he’s asking you to do. And that nigga doesn’t forget shit.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Three years and he’s never once raised his voice at me. He’s not easy. But he’s fair, which is rare, especially with the kind of money and power he has.”

“This one.” Lorelei tapped the screen, taking us back to the Brooklyn venue. “I’m not trying to push you, but it’s the best one in my opinion. It photographs beautifully in low light. It’s intimate—maxes out around fifty guests."

“Is that small?”

She screwed up her face. “For this family? Baby, that’s tiny. Trust me.”

At that moment, I realized I didn’t know anybody in Dez’s family outside of his father and Tariq.

We moved onto dresses. She opened another folder on her tablet, and I selected three to try on at a boutique next week so we could get through this faster.

By the time she put her tablet away, I’d committed to barely anything.

“We have time. I know three months doesn’t sound like a lot, but I’ve done more with less time. I’ll swing back through in a few days.” She paused at the elevator. “And Belle?”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll work itself out. Whatever it is.”

She left before I could ask what she meant by that.

A few hours later, I was on an outdoor patio with Siani, drinking a lemon drop at a restaurant a few blocks from my old building. Marco drove, of course, and posted up at the bar like he was just a regular. Except he happened to be six-foot-something and built like he could move a fridge by himself. He sat where he could see us through the restaurant’s front window, but far enough that it almost felt normal.

Siani peeped him before she sat down.

“Who’s the big guy?”

“Long story.”

“Thank God I’ve got time today, because first I need you to explain that.” She pointed to the ring.

I fiddled with it. “This happened after I told him.”

Her eyes went wide, but our waiter appeared before she could say anything. We put in orders and she was right back on me.

“Bitch.” She leaned forward, both hands gripping the table. “Are you telling me the nigga proposed after you confessed to stealing from him?”

“Turns out he knew before I got a chance to tell him.”

I recapped the last few weeks for her but made sure to leave out the part about Jody being held at gun point.

“Wait, let me get this straight. He’s forcing you to marry him, quit your job, and he also moved you into his penthouse?” she asked, as she cut into her eggs benedict.

I nodded. “Oh! And Gideon wants more money.”

“Did you tell Dez?”

“No.”

“Lala,” she groaned. “Everything’s out in the open now. Tell him and let him take care of it. He’ll either pay him off or beat the nigga up.”

“I try to say as little as possible to him.”

“You’re his fiancée, and the nigga obviously still has feelings for you. Why won’t you just let him do what he does best?”

I frowned. She was right, especially after the other night. “I just—I don’t even know how to bring it up. Everything between us is so tense right now.”

“Are you upset because he’s forcing you to get married or because deep down, you’re not entirely opposed to it?”