All About Eva (25 page)

Finally. After three years of shacking up, Roland and I were jumping the broom—and
baby
we were doing it in style!

The invitations were beautiful. Burgundy suede covers opened to reveal embossed roses and elegant fourteen-karat gold calligraphy. Each one of our three hundred guests received these invites via Federal Express along with a gift basket packed with François Payard praline truffles, a magnum of Laurent-Perrier Rose Champagne, and Cuban stogies from Le Comptoir du Cigar.

Pure Opulence. That was the theme, and “my day, my way” had been my mantra from the minute Roland whispered,
Marry me
in my ear, then collapsed on his side of the bed in a sweaty heap. Two minutes later, he was snoring.

And that was it.

No ring, no loving words of endearment, and nowhere near the romantic marriage proposal that I had been fantasizing about since I was eleven years old.

Afterward, I pulled the bedsheets up to my chest, shocked, elated, and just a skosh disappointed that Roland had asked for my hand in marriage in such a half-ass manner.

Men were supposed to plan these things out, weren't they? I mean, seriously—come
onnn
! I can't one day tell my grandbabies that Paw-Paw proposed while he was banging Grandma.

If we could rewind the tape and do it all over again, Roland would have gotten down on both knees and proposed to me on Christmas night in front of my entire family. Of course I would have said
yes!
and the Christmas party would have instantly turned into this big, emotional affair with everyone hugging and crying, happy that Roland was finally going to make an honest woman of me.

Barring that scenario, a hot air balloon ride in the countryside would have been memorable; and atop the Eiffel Tower would have been most impressive. Hell, now that I think about it, the very least Roland could have done was the old ring-in-the-dessert trick.

But, half-ass as it was, it
was
a marriage proposal.

I sprang into action the next morning, giving myself a one-year deadline to plan the wedding of the century.

And to think. This long, crazy journey to the altar began four years ago when the two of us met at a wedding. Courtney Adams, my old roommate from Kansas University, was marrying Aaron Graves, a fraternity brother of Roland's.

Ironically, I hadn't even wanted to go to that wedding.

Not because I disliked Courtney so much, but because I was going through the breakup blues, and just was not feeling very sociable that day.

The source of my doldrums was Joseph.

A wonderful man with whom I had spent eleven wonderful months, only to find out that this fool had umpteen kids by umpteen different women.

Ooh! The breakup was nasty.

It almost got to the point where I had to put a restraining order out on his black ass, because the brother just refused to accept that I was breaking off the relationship.

This is about me and you,
Joseph had said with tears in his eyes.
What do my kids have to do with us?

Hello! Who in their right mind would unnecessarily invite all of that baby mama drama into their life? I'm sure as hell not the one. I don't care how good the sex is.

Besides, if Joseph and I had gotten married his financial obligations would have become my financial obligations, and I just can't see myself handing over my entire paycheck for someone else's child support payments.

Don't get me wrong, Tori loves the kids.

However, when those kids number close to double digits, baby, that's where I have to draw the line. Hasta la vista, baby. See ya next lifetime.

So, there I was at my old college roommate's wedding, single, and cynical as hell.

Roland may have been tall, dark, and Tyrese Gibson–fine, but as he confidently strolled over and introduced himself, I was certain he was just another well-dressed loser who would promise everything, expect everything, and give absolutely nothing in return.

But Roland proved me wrong.

Right off the bat, he struck me as being warm and sincere. By the end of the night, he had won me over enough for me to give him my phone number; and we proceeded to fall for each other fast and hard.

After just a few months of dating, I was already marveling at my good fortune in landing such an outstanding catch. This man was the ultimate romantic. He cooked for me (okay, so the meals weren't always that great but the point is, he tried), wrote me poetry (he's no Langston Hughes, but the effort was sweet), and handled his business in the bedroom like no man before him ever had (well, except for Vincent, but that's a whole 'nother story).

As far as I was concerned, I had finally found the one.

In spite of my mother's adamant warnings about giving the milk away for free, I allowed Roland to move into my two-bedroom condo on the Plaza, and all was blissfully right with the world.

Fast-forward four years and here we were, about to become man and wife, with a wedding tab of $202,536.24, and counting. My friend, Simone, jokingly compared the out-of-control budget to one of those telethon tote boards with the numbers rising rapidly by the second, but seeing as how I had an image and a reputation to maintain, I didn't give a damn about the cost. Being a senior event coordinator with over a decade in the business, I'm known for throwing ridiculously extravagant soirees, so naturally, it was expected that my own nuptials be over-the-top
fabu-lous
. It was a lot of work, but it was truly a labor of love, and in the end, the stage that I had so painstakingly set, conveyed over-the-top opulence that had to be seen in order to be believed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To quote Shug Avery from
The Color Purple,
“I's married now!” A Maybach limousine whisks my husband and me to the Roseville Country Club Mansion where we are greeted by our guests, and so many photographers that it looks like an army of paparazzi.(There's no such thing as too many wedding pictures.)

Next to each place card is a snow globe containing a black Cinderella holding hands with her prince. The keepsakes are engraved with the words:
R
OLAND AND
T
ORI
—H
APPILY
-E
VER
-A
FTER
.

 

Sounds like the start of a beautiful life together, right? Well, that was the way I envisioned my wedding day from start to finish. Unfortunately, though, things did not work out as planned. Not even close.

Those beautiful wedding invitations that I loved so much were quickly replaced with announcements that read: