Mists of the Serengeti(97)

Bahati, the best man and honorary maid of honor, taking selfies in his sponsored suit.

Scholastica, our flower girl, twirling through the coffee plants in her new dress, while her Aunty Anna chased after her with a hat.

Anna’s kids, playing hopscotch in the dirt, white socks rolled up in their shoes.

Rodel’s parents, trying to talk Olonana into selling them his earrings.

“Aristurtle could crawl up their leg and bite them in the ass, and they wouldn’t notice,” said Goma. “And you.” She turned to me and tried to adjust my tie, but she couldn’t quite reach the knot. “No peeking in the living room.”

Hair, Makeup, and Wardrobe were holed up in there with Rodel—the same girls who’d come to the hotel. I couldn’t wait to see Rodel in her wedding dress, but holy crap, how long was this taking?

Goma chuckled as I paced the floor. “Jack . . .” She trailed off and patted the chair beside her.

“I wish your grandfather were here,” she said, when I sat down. “He’d have been so proud. Your father and mother, too.” She stared at the table and nodded absently. “And Lily . . .” Her voice cracked as she said it. A lump formed in my throat. I put my arm around her and pulled her in. She laid her head against my shoulder, and we shared a sweet, silent moment.

“I’m tired, Jack,” said Goma. “But seeing you and Rodel together gives me new breath. You better make some babies soon. Not for me, of course. I hate babies. Screaming, pooping, useless little things. But just so you can go fuss over someone else and leave me the hell alone.”

“I don’t fuss over you.”

“Oh yeah? I sleep in a couple of hours and you’re tiptoeing outside my door. I’m not going to croak in my sleep, Jack. That’s not my style.”

I chucked. “Well, you might be putting up with one of those screaming, pooping, useless little things soon.”

“No!” Goma slapped my arm. “Yes? Tell me!”

“Careful. I might start thinking you actually care.”

“I just want to know so I can plan my cruise around it. I’ll be back when it’s out of diapers and sleeping through the night.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Goma. You’re going to need someone to change your own diapers soon.”

“Shut your filthy mouth.” But she grinned and looked at me like she always did—like I meant the world to her.

“We’re ready!” One of the girls popped her head out of the living room. Josie. Or Melody. Or Valerie. I could never get it right.

I tried to say something but ended up grinning like an idiot. Rodel was on the other side of the wall. Ready to walk down the aisle.

“Thank you,” said Goma, piping in for me. “We’ll start getting everyone to the barn.”

We’d cleaned out the barn and moved the animals to the sheds. String lights and chandeliers hung across the wooden beams. Most of the guests were already seated when we entered. Bahati stood by my side as we waited for Rodel. Jodie, Valerie, and Melody walked in first. Bahati’s phone pinged. He glanced at it quickly and typed a reply. Across the room, another phone went off. One of the girls that had just entered jumped in her seat to silence it.

“Which one is it?” I asked Bahati.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He turned his phone off and gave me a cheeky smile.

Scholastica was up next. Her smile was as big as the moon as she headed toward me, forgetting to scatter the flowers as she came up. I chuckled as she presented me with a basket full of petals. She’d saved them all for me.

And then Rodel walked in, and the whole world stilled. It had been a year since we’d returned from England, and she still managed to steal my breath away. Her shoulders gleamed as she stood in soft silhouette against the entrance. She wore her hair down and held a single lily. She was a vision in the dress that Goma had sewn for her. It was knee-length, with a fitted bodice and a tulle skirt that flared out from the waist. The hemline wasn’t completely even, but no one wanted to challenge Goma’s eyesight.

Rodel’s father probably escorted her down the aisle, but everything else faded. I had eyes only for her. It seemed to take forever for her to reach me.

Come on. Come on.

When she finally got to my side, I wanted to skip ahead to the part where I got to kiss her. Delicate blooms of jasmine were tucked in her hair. I wanted to pick one and run it up and down the graceful curve of her neck.

“I turn around for two seconds and you’re in the middle of a tea party,” she said.

“You like?” I smiled.

Around us, guests were gathered on small, round tables. Teapots and tiered trays sat on burlap table runners.

“A tea party on a coffee farm.” She smiled back. “I like.”

The next few hours passed by in a blur. Renegade hens crashed the wedding party. Rodel discovered that a lot of the tea was actually booze. Olonana got tipsy and hit on Goma. Josephine Montati gave us a wedding card signed by the children from the orphanage. I danced with Rodel’s mother. Bahati danced with Hair. Then Makeup. Then Wardrobe. There was no telling which one he’d been texting. Inspector Hamisi wanted to know if the circuits were set up to handle all the extra lights. The Maasai morans that had come with Olonana had a dance-off with the farm hands. Scholastica and Anna’s kids stole sips of adult tea when no one was watching. Olonana’s mother spit on us.