Page 60 of Certified Pressure 3
I stared at him for a moment, then raised a brow. “I bet.”
He didn’t say nothing. He just went right back to scrolling on his phone like my attitude didn’t bother him. That hit me harder, only adding to my damn irritation.
“So you wasn’t with nobody?” I asked, my arms crossing over my chest.
Pressure sighed and looked up again, this time with that tired expression he always got when he thought I was doing too much. “Kash, I told you where I was. I was out handling business.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Business, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly, his voice calm but cold enough to make me want to throw something.
I stood there for another second, staring at him. There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him how lonely it felt not hearing from him, how much I hated wondering where I stood with him and how much I still loved him even when I wanted to hate him, but I knew none of it would come out right.
So instead, I turned to walk away. I only made it a few steps before I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. My voice came out low but firm. “I just hope you got enough respect for me to be honest, Pressure. That’s all I ever asked you for.”
He didn’t respond, and that silence told me everything I needed to know.
I went back into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me. The mirror was still fogged, but I wiped it clear again and reached for my body oil. The soft scent filled the air while I smoothed it over my skin, watching my reflection as I moved. My thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.
Pressure had given me a life I couldn’t ignore. The cars, the clothes, the mansion, all of it had my name written on it. He made sure I was good, and even made sure the world saw me as his, but when it came to his heart, I still felt like I was on the outside looking in.
I rubbed the oil into my thighs and looked myself in the eyes through the mirror. “You’re not losing this, bitch,” I whispered.
That was my truth. I wasn’t about to let Pluto or anyone else take what I was trying to build. I earned my place in Trill-Land, and if his mama or the rest of them didn’t like it, that was their problem. Oh fuckin’ well! Abeni could talk all she wanted, but she didn’t run me, and she wasn’t about to run Pressure once he became my husband.
I leaned on the counter, staring at my reflection like I was staring at my own warning. If Pressure wasn’t going to make it official soon, I would. I was done waiting. I was done playing the background while everyone else had an opinion about who deserved him.
I reached for my phone again, opened my calendar, and started scrolling through dates. If nobody else was going to move this wedding forward, I would, even if I had to drag this nigga by his damn head—we was getting married.
Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t just his girl. I was the woman who loved him enough to fight for him, even when it hurt, and once I had my ring and my title, nobody would be able to control what I had going on with Pressure.
As the weeks rolled by, I found myself deep in wedding planning mode, and it was the kind of planning that made me feel alive. Every morning started with phone calls, appointments, and designers sending sketches that didn’t feel big enough for what I had in mind. Pressure acted like he didn’t care about half of it, but I knew he loved watching me run the show. That man liked seeing me in control even when he pretended to be annoyed by it.
The first fitting was at a boutique in Nzuri Hall that looked like something out of a dream. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the air smelled like vanilla and new money. Racks of gowns shimmered under the light, each one more dramatic than the last. When I walked in, the owner greeted me by name, already knowing I was the bride that came with the tab that didn’t have a limit.
I tried on everything from classic silk gowns with long trains to dresses covered in diamonds that made me shine like a chandelier myself. Every time I stepped out of the dressing room, the team gasped and told me how stunning I looked, but none of it mattered until Pressure saw me. When he finally came to one of the fittings, he leaned back on the couch with that half-smile, his eyes following me from the moment I stepped out in the fitted white gown that hugged me like it was custom made for my body.
“That’s the one,” he said, and even though he said it calm, I could tell he meant it.
I looked at myself in the mirror, running my hand down the fabric. It had pearls sewn into the bodice and a slit up the thigh that made the whole thing feel sexy but royal. It was everything I wanted to be. It was classy, powerful and absolutely unforgettable.
The designer, a woman from Paris who flew in for the appointment, asked if I wanted to make changes. I told her to double the veil length, add lace sleeves, and make sure it was one of one. If I was going to marry a man like Pressure Mensah, the world was going to know who his wife was before I even said I do.
Over the next few weeks, my days were filled with decisions, from colors, table arrangements, flower options and cake tastings. I met with planners, decorators, and stylists until my head spun. There were swatches of gold and cream spread across the table in the mansion’s sunroom and every day another box of samples showed up at the door.
We decided on deep golds, champagne tones, and soft blush pinks for accents. I wanted luxury dripping from every corner of this wedding.
Kay’Lo and Toni Roc helped us out and the four of us would go out to dinner or plan double dates where all Toni did wastalk about how excited she was to see me walk down the aisle. She kept saying, “Kash, you about to shut the whole damn event down.”
She wasn’t lying either.
The venue came next. I wanted something private but breathtaking, a place that looked like a dream. We visited a few spots before I found a cliffside villa overlooking the ocean on the edge of Trill-Land. The sky there looked painted and the water stretched for miles like it was created just for me. The moment I stepped out of the car, I knew.
“This is it,” I whispered, looking back at Pressure.
He slid his hands in his pockets, glanced at the view, and nodded. “If this what you want, then it’s yours.”
That was all I needed to hear.
