Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Crowned With Light

September 2024

Cecilia

The hotel room hums with quiet anticipation—the kind that feels sacred. 

Soft music plays in the background, something instrumental and gentle, while the glam team moves around me with practiced ease. There's the faint scent of hairspray and rose oil, the rustle of garment bags, the glow of warm lights bouncing off mirrors. I'm sitting still, hands folded over my belly, feeling tiny reminders of how much my life has changed since the last time the world saw me like this. 

The last time I walked on the red carpet was at the Grammy's and it's already two years ago and I've moved past that now that I no longer want any part of that since I've learned the truth about the music industry's ties with satanism. While winning a Grammy is an accomplishment for artists who work really hard to create music 

So much has happened since then that it feels like another lifetime.

Jeremy stands the near the window, adjusting his cufflinks, his reflection caught in the glass. He looks impossibly handsome—classic tux, hair neatly styled, that familiar calm confidence that grounds me whenever my nerves start acting up. 

He catches my eye in the mirror. 

"You okay," he asks gently. 

 I nod, then laugh softly. ""Ask me again in... five minutes." 

He walks over and kneels in front of me, right there on the plush hotel carpet, completely unconcerned with the fact that someone might walk in. He takes my hands in his, presses a kiss to my knuckles, then rests his forehead against them. 

"You don't owe anyone anything tonight," he begins. "This is your moment. On your terms." 

That's Jeremy. Always steady. Always protective without being overbearing. 

I exhale, long and slow. "I know. I just—this is the first time they'll see me since everything. Since I stepped away. Since God rebuilt me." 

When I finally stand and step into the gown, it feels like stepping into alignment and feels like a quiet prayer stitched into fabric. 

When I look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the girl who once hid behind oversized sweatshirts and fear. The sheer black neckline is soft against my skin, daring without being loud. Gold embroidery blooms across the bodice like climbing vines—delicate, intentional, alive. It doesn't feel heavy despite the detail; it feels purposeful, like every stitch knows exactly where it belongs. The way the fabric honors my body instead of fighting it—it doesn't feel like a costume. It feels like truth. 

The sleeves are illusion, long, and fitted, the gold threading tracing my arms as if telling my story—where I've been, what I've survived. The dress skims my body, honoring my curves and my growing belly without trying to disguise it. There's no attempt to minimize this season of my life. This dress celebrates it.

My hair falls in full, defined curls, framing my face the way I wore it back when I was learning who I was before the world had options. My makeup is warm and glowing—bronzed skin, soft gold lids, lashes that flutter when I blink. I look like myself. Not an image. Not a character. Me. 

I take a breath. 

When I step out of the hotel suite, the hallway is quiet for half a second.

And then—

Jeremy turns around when I'm ready. 

He freezes. 

I already know the look on his face before he says a word.