I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

35. happily ever vow.

|◁ II ▷|

anne marie — breathing.

( two years later )

THE ROOM WAS ABUZZ with frayed nerves — the type that could easily get the bodies of those swimming in composure to ultimately unravel.

The odour of perspiration had washed out Ebén's musk of overconfidence, now appearing as a man, in a tux, feeling the full height of his nerves. Naturally, Ebén was a bullish man, but today, he felt a fear.

"Nervous?" Jameson knew the answer already before the word had even left his lips, so he was fully expecting Ebén to drum out a lie, along the lines of...

I don't get nervous.

But Ebén's piercing pools of brown elected to be honest, "Not gonna lie... I'm shittin' it."  Maybe it was the occasion of the day, or the fact that life with Maya had brought out the best in him, forcing the once-unfeeling athlete to operate his life in a gear of complete honesty, something he rarely ever was.

Jameson was familiar with the feeling of wedding jitters and could recognise that itch even without Ebén verbally pronouncing it, "That's understandable. You're gettin' married, homie"

Ebén had to take a minute to absorb it all in.

Married? — Ebén mentally made a jeer at the word. He had always known that he was a man that had never been the type to go and get married. He opted for one-night-rendezvous with women who were, at best, unmemorable because he struggled to come to terms with committing to someone, when those that birthed him, hadn't committed to him.

"Shit don't even feel real," Ebén acknowledged, still trying to breathe through this wind of nerves.

Even in his wildest dreams, he was sure — absolutely so, that he'd never find his person. But things with Maya had been a whirlwind from the start, crash landing into his heart and making a home there.

Today was the start of his forever, with the woman who had loved him as though he had been deserving.

"Nigga, it is. It's very real," Harrison added his own chime, making his own assessment of the groom, whose custom-fit three-piece tux, engineered by Tom Ford was the suit for the occasion.

But Ebén's face dripping in sweat beads was not.

He came across, slapping his stubbled cheek of the groom like it was some sort of ritual, "Proud of you"

"Same," Jameson toasted his congratulations in the form of a shot glass, and immediately flushed the liquid down but was not too fond of the bitter taste.

"Ay, thanks guys," Ebén personally thanked his groomsmen by extending his arms out to hug. They both looked at his outstretched hands, and then at each other, jointly deciding to share in the love.

Ebén felt a sharp pin stab through his shoulder, Pierre silently chastising the groom for causing folds to appear in his suit that he was still trying to prep.

"She's a good woman, and it's everythin' you deserve Cash," But Ebén knew that this spiel of him deserving Maya wasn't true — especially given the terms they had met on. He had maltreated her, both in his words and in his conduct, and at times persisted with the rudeness in an attempt to get his way.

So, her loving him in return, was proof that he was lucky that she had willingly said yes to him.

Yes to a life of forever with him.