A Sin and a Shame (24 page)

J
asmine wanted to throw up
.

But Ciara had just given the signal for the doors of the City of Lights at Riverside Church to open wide.

She took a deep breath, squeezed her bouquet tighter, and began her jaunt down the aisle as the organ’s chords sang Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”

What was I thinking?
Jasmine wondered as she focused on keeping her stomach still. How she wished she’d asked Malik to walk beside her. But she’d wanted every eye on her—only her. Now the guests’ smiling stares unnerved her. Could she complete this fifty-foot walk without collapsing?

Three steps from the altar, she noticed her husband to be. And then she saw his father, standing near. And again she prayed that her body wouldn’t betray her.

The music stopped. And in the silence Jasmine wondered if anyone heard her stomach grumble.

“Dearly Beloved,” Reverend Bush began.

Hold on, girl.
She just had to make it through the nuptials.

“The marriage into which the two of you are about to enter is one which you promise to fulfill, not for a limited time, but for the rest of your lives. It’s a union ordained by God.”

She closed her eyes at Reverend Bush’s mention of God and wondered what kind of divine punishment awaited her as she stood at this altar professing to love one man, yet carrying another’s child.

She swayed, and Hosea squeezed her hand. She looked at him, his face creased with a frown. She held his hand tighter, and then they turned back to Reverend Bush.

“The success of your marriage depends on the love, consideration, and trust that you have now, but that you will foster in the coming years.”

Trust.
She swayed again. She needed to focus and her eyes wandered to the gold cross that covered the wall behind the altar.
Please, God,
she kept saying inside.

She knew God had heard her when she was able to repeat her vows and exchange rings without falling. She knew God was on her side when Reverend Bush said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

She knew God loved her when Hosea lifted her veil and his lips met hers with a gentleness, a fullness of love that she had never before felt. She’d made it. She was Hosea Bush’s wife.

What began as a
daunting day had morphed into the beauty of all she’d expected.

The reverend’s pronouncement, “Ladies and gentleman, let me be the first to introduce my son and daughter-in-law, Minister and Mrs. Hosea Samuel Bush,” swept away her nausea.

At their reception, Jasmine basked in the glow. With her arm wrapped inside her husband’s, they greeted almost every one of the two hundred guests who partied to the five-piece band and consumed the delicacies that had been prepared by one of New York’s premiere chefs.

In between their greetings, Reverend Bush pulled the two aside. “I wish you both all of God’s blessings,” he said.

“Thank you” was her only response, as she hugged him, hoping his words were a peace offering.

During their first dance, Jasmine leaned into Hosea and together they’d swayed to the beat of Luther’s promises.

Here and now, I promise to love faithfully
…

This was a promise that love would help her keep. She would be faithful always, and now, she could make that vow with surety.

After the dance, Ciara rushed them to the cake, anxious to get the planned pictures of the reception. But the moment Hosea playfully covered her lips with the pistachio cream, the queasiness rushed her like flood waters. She’d excused herself and dashed to the bathroom. Inside, she hiked her dress above her knees, flushed the toilet so no one could hear, and then gagged until she was empty.

Minutes later when Jasmine returned to the reception, she knew God’s mercy was still with her.

“It’s time for us to go,” Hosea whispered with love-lust in his eyes. He announced to their guests, “We didn’t plan to stay here all night!”

Jasmine smiled as guests laughed, applauded, and wished them well, but inside her stomach swirled and twirled as if it were preparing to take flight.

Serena stopped them as they rushed to the door. She wrapped her arms around her sister.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Hosea hugged Serena. “I just want you to know that I will love your sister forever. She’s in good hands.”

Serena’s cheeks were covered with her tears—but she smiled. “I know she is.”

A Town Car whisked them to the Ritz-Carlton on the other side of Central Park. It took only minutes before they were left alone in front of the double doors of the twenty-fifth-floor suite.

“Darlin’…you’re choking me,” Hosea stuttered. He stumbled, but regained his balance as Jasmine eased her grip around his neck. Still, she kept her head resting on his shoulder as he carried her over the threshold.

With a grunt and a chuckle, Hosea eased Jasmine onto the floral couch in the living room, and the jeweled tiara she wore slipped through her curls onto the floor.

Hosea smiled as he leaned over his bride. “My queen has lost her crown.”

It wasn’t his words that made her lips twist into what looked like a smile. It was the way her stomach curled that contorted her face.

He frowned. “Darlin’, are you okay?”

She nodded, afraid to open her mouth.

“You don’t look so good.” His eyes searched hers.

She inhaled, prayed, then said, “I’m just tired. And my stomach is a bit upset.”

He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. “You feel a little hot. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

She shrugged, and moved her glance away from his.

Hosea’s sigh was deep. “There should be some champagne in the refrigerator. Maybe the carbonation will help.”

As Hosea moved toward the bar, Jasmine slipped off her jewel-studded sandals, and then glanced around the capacious space. This suite could rival in size and luxury most Manhattan apartments. It would have been beyond a pleasure to spend the first night of her marriage there before they left the next evening for Bermuda.

But as she watched her husband fill a crystal flute, she dreaded the coming hours. How were they supposed to consummate their marriage when her stomach was on the verge of erupting?

“Darlin’, I hate to say this, but you look worse.”

Heat swept over her, forcing beads of perspiration to pop through her skin. Without a word, Jasmine took the flute; the chill of the glass and the sparkling bubbles cooled and calmed her when she took a small sip.

Hosea sat beside her, pulled her back into his arms. “You’re really not feeling well.”

“No,” she whispered. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes that she heard in his voice.

Hosea stood. “You need a good night’s rest.”

He took her hand and eased her from the couch.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she asked.

“We have the rest of our lives to figure that out.”

When she stepped inside the bedroom, Jasmine stopped. “How—” The all-white room was illuminated with a golden glow from dozens of flickering flames, the vanilla candles releasing their scent.

“I wanted this to be perfect for you,” he said.

“It is.”

Hosea stood behind his wife and unzipped her gown. Then, she slipped the straps from her shoulders. The satin dress spilled to a soft pile around her ankles. She was left covered only in the La Perla set that she’d purchased for this night. Even in the candlelight, the look of want in his eyes was clear, and it melted her. She wanted to give herself to him.

Hosea folded back the satin duvet on the bed and helped her slip between the sheets. She snuggled into the softness of the luxury linen, and he sat on the bed’s edge.

“I love you, Mrs. Bush.”

She’d heard the words “Mrs. Bush” from others throughout the day, but this was the first time she heard them spoken with such love.

She wrapped her arms around Hosea, held him tight, apologizing wordlessly. Then, he gently laid her back on the bed.

He kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take a shower. Will you be all right?”

She nodded.

He kissed her again, before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Jasmine snuggled into the softness of the down feather pillows. Never had she imagined a sexless wedding night. In her mind, she replaced this truth with the way she wished life was—without Brian, without a baby. Just a night filled with expectations and no regrets.

She closed her eyes. She’d take care of this. In two weeks, she’d be the happy wife, ready to truly start her life as Mrs. Hosea Bush.

She sunk deeper into the sheets. All she had to do was get through the next fourteen days, and then she’d be completely at peace.

J
asmine raised her head
slightly and glanced at the clock. The digital numbers displayed 9:47. Forty-five minutes had passed since she’d first awakened.

With a deep breath, she rose slowly, waiting for that feeling. Nothing.

She glanced at Hosea, still asleep, then carefully slipped from the bed. With slow steps she crept toward the bathroom. Inside, she moved with caution, across the cool tile until she faced the mirror. A smile filled her face. No quesiness, no rumbling, no nothing.

She waited for more minutes until she was sure and then she scurried back to the bedroom. Sliding under the covers, she nestled against Hosea’s chest. It didn’t take a minute for him to stir.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

His eyelids fluttered, and then opened.

“Do you remember?” she asked.

His eyebrows furrowed together.

She said, “We were married yesterday.”

He smiled. “I remember.”

“And then last night, I didn’t feel well.”

“I remember.”

“But,” she snuggled closer to him, “I’m feeling wonderful now.”

He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “But, first…” She wiggled from his arms. “I want to take a shower.”

He pulled her back. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” She giggled as she tugged from his grasp. As she stepped away, she could feel his eyes on every part of her body. She slowed, added more swerve to her curves. When she glanced over her shoulder and winked, he moaned.

With joy, she turned the shower’s hot water on full blast. She tossed her bra and thong aside, and then glanced at her nakedness. If she were pregnant, she couldn’t be more than a few weeks. But she could see the subtle shift in her body, the fullness that came to a woman with child.

“I’ll take care of this,” she whispered.

The door swung open, and she jumped.

Hosea stood at the threshold, his eyes plastered on her.

She faced him, wanted him to see all of her. Finally, she stepped forward. All she wanted was to devour him, but he gently grasped her wrists.

With whispery kisses, his lips met her nose, her eyelids, and with the tip of his tongue, he traced the line of her eyebrows.

Her breathing quickened and she pulled him closer.

He backed away, just a bit. “Slow down.” His voice was thick with desire. He buried his face in her neck, nibbling softly until she moaned.

His hands began their own exploration, tenderly touching, curiously discovering.

“Please,” she begged.

His tongue traveled the trail his hands had set and Jasmine felt as if she might soon stop breathing.

“Please,” she panted.

With swiftness, he lifted then carried her to their bed. The comforter was cool, but only for a moment. He ignited the flames within her once again when his hands, mouth, fingers, lips continued their journey. She tried to begin her own search, but he held her hands at her side.

“Please,” she moaned, knowing she soon would explode.

She squeezed her eyes and he continued his passage, making her fire-hot body tremble.

She’d never made love like this before.

Finally, he stretched on top of her. “I love you, Mrs. Bush,” he said the moment he joined her and she groaned with pleasure as she lifted herself to meet him. Their moans played a symphony and they waltzed to their music, in rhythm, step-by-step.

When there was nothing left, they lay holding each other, their breathing in sync.

Finally, Hosea said, “Mrs. Bush.”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“I think you forgot something.”

She frowned.

He said, “Did you leave the shower running?”