An Ace Up My Cuff 2

We are at the altar. Ibrahim, the groom keeps sniveling. I look at him with thinly veiled contempt. I do not know why some guys are absent a back bone! The deed is done, why wallow in self pity?
‘ Your tears cannot save you now' I whisper, while I’m beaming from ear to ear. The priest looks at the downcast eyes of my groom and the way he reluctantly, very reluctantly repeats the vows. I smile reassuringly at the Priest. He nods uncertainly as we finish with the oath taking.
‘ May I announce to you, the latest couple in town, Mr. and Mrs. Ogunkoya!’
Our families and friends scream ‘ Praise the Lord' and ‘ Alhamdulillah' almost simultaneously. My husband’s family is Muslim while I am from a Christian home.
The reception is over and done with and we, the latest couple retire to our hotel. My hubby sits on the bed dejectedly, silent sobs wracking his frame. I hiss, and quickly undress. I study my baby bump. The wedding gown had belts at the back to make it firm around my frame and also to hide the fact that I am three months gone. I have a quick shower and enter into the room, only to meet my newly wedded hubby in the same position, wallowing, in tears.
‘ Ibrahim, how long will you continue to cry, how long will you wallow in self pity?!’
‘ I regret the day I met you, you bitch!’ he cried
I smile  sardonically.
‘ Well, the feeling is certainly not mutual. I am exceedingly glad we met' I taunt him
My mind goes back to some seven months earlier. The day I met my hubby, for the very first time, also the day I had made up my mind to be, Mrs. Ogunkoya.
What I want, I always, always get


To be continued…