Preacher's Wifey

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Table of Contents

Where would I be without the Lord? It is in Him that I live, move, and have my being. I never would have thought I'd go through all I've been through the past couple of years, but the greatest part of it all is I survived it. I owe that to the Lord who has kept my mind on the many days I was sure I'd lose it. From thoughts of suicide, to being homeless, to days I had no food to eat and no money to buy any . . . I still survived. Jesus IS my life, and I'm rocking with Him until the day I die.

To my daughter, Alahna Rose Washington, you are the reason my heart beats. The days I would have taken my life, I looked at you and found every reason in the world to keep it moving. I waited so long for you and although I haven't been able to give you the life you deserve (yet), momma is working on it. There will come a day when nothing you ask for will be withheld from you. You are my saving grace. I love you.

To my parents, Pastors J.C. & Melinda Winters, thank you for being there. Thank you for the many sacrifices you've made for me. Thank you for believing in me when I stopped believing in myself. I love you to eternity. To my siblings, Detras, Harlan, Jerrell, and Beth, I love you with a love you will probably never know. We've all gotten so close over the past year or so and I'm grateful for the roles each of you play in my life. Let's keep doing the impossible.

To ALL of my family—especially my surviving grandparents, Sallie Williams & Jimmy Reese—I love you so much. I can't name all of you but just know you mean the world to me. I'll never forget from whence I came.

To my best friend, Shanna Fountain, thank you for the friendship. Thank you for rolling with me through thick and thin. It feels good to have someone in your corner no matter what. I love you, girl. To a special friend, Pastor Cheryl Moore, you've been like a sister to me. I will never forget what you've done for me. You put your money where your mouth was on the days I had nothing. You pushed me until I got up again. Forever in your debt. I love you. To my godmother, Victoria Christopher Murray, words cannot express what you mean to me. The late night phone calls, the encouragement, the prayers . . . it has all meant so much. Thank you. I love you.

To ALL of my friends, thank you. Some of you have been with me on this very difficult journey since
Diary of a Mad First Lady
was released, and I appreciate all of you. Whatever you've done to contribute to my life has not gone unnoticed. Much oblige. I love you, all. To all of my loyal readers and new ones, it is because of you I get to try my hand at writing. Thank you for being patient with me. It's been a while, but I'm back. Thanks for your support! I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

Myrondous, although our journey together ended, I'll always remember you were the reason I ever believed I could be an author. No matter what, love you, always.

 

~In Loving Memory of Rosia M. Reese~

“And we now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Sprawlings said amid all our guests who had assembled at Cornerstone Baptist Church. “You may kiss your bride.”

I looked into the eyes of my new husband, Byran Ward, as he leaned down and passionately sealed our nuptials with a kiss. The church erupted in applause as we both turned to face our onlookers with huge smiles plastered on our faces.

My eyes caught the gaze of my mother, whose expression made it clear that she was bursting with pride. I had finally done something right. Marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in Atlanta had done it. Up until I got engaged to Byran, no matter what awesome thing I did, my mother always made me feel that it did not count for anything. Today she was beaming—smiling her approval. Her happiness was not due to the fact that she thought
I
was happy. She was happy because she knew that she would finally get the prestige and recognition she had always wanted in life. She was now the mother-in-law of one of the nation's most prolific and well-known pastors. It was as close to her dream coming true as she would get in this lifetime.

“Baby, your smile should be a little brighter. You just came up,” Byran said, turning my thoughts away from my mother.

Without responding, I simply smiled more. For good measure I leaned over and summoned Byran for a kiss. The applause of approval was deafening.

“That's it, darling. That's how you work the crowd,” he said.

We made our way down the aisle, which seemed endless. Unlike most grooms, who would just make their exit with their bride, Byran—who was never going to pass up a moment to “connect” with his flock—insisted upon us stopping to speak to as many people as we could. It felt more like a Sunday morning than a wedding. But I did as he wished. I smiled. I waved. I shook hands. Already I was settling into my first lady role.

Finally, we made it to the back of the church.

“Pastor, the car is waiting out front to drive you to the other side of the campus for the reception,” one of the deacons stated.

Byran nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

That was another thing I had not wanted. I would have preferred to have my reception someplace other than the church, but Byran had insisted it was the perfect way for the congregation to feel involved, and as usual, I conformed to his wishes.

Byran carefully assisted me as I climbed into the black stretch Navigator limousine. My dress, which was a sleek white mermaid-style number and had a ten-foot, crystal-adorned train attached to it, was safely inside when he closed the door behind him and clicked the button that gave us privacy.

“You really need to do a better job at smiling, honey. It seems forced,” he said.

“Baby, I do not know what you are expecting of me. I have smiled so much, my cheeks are close to being permanently frozen in a raised state.”

“I understand the smiling gets a little tiring. But you still seem a little disconnected. Are you not happy? Is this not the wedding of your dreams?”

Was he really about to start an argument with me? On our wedding day?

“We have already been down this road. We both know this is not the wedding of
my
dreams, but this is what you wanted, and so this is what I have to deal with.”

“I really hope I am reading you wrong, because if I did not know any better, I would think you would rather be someplace else than here at our wedding.”

“Let's not exaggerate, Byran. Of course I want to be here. It
is
my wedding day. What bride would not want to be at her wedding day? I just have issues with you grilling me on how much I need to smile or
how
I should smile—all for the sake of people.” I paused for a beat. “It just makes it hard to actually enjoy my special day when you are constantly nagging me about something I am doing or not doing. I understand image is very important to you, and it is also important to me. But at some point, you have to relax. Be yourself. And allow me to be myself.”

“You are not getting paid to just be yourself. You are getting paid to be my wifey. So what did you think my expectations would be? This wedding, this relationship—it's an arrangement, Allyson. Please don't ever lose sight of that when you start to complain.”

I could feel the blood running warm in my veins. I knew this was an arranged marriage, but why in the hell would he choose this moment to bring it up?

“Do you have to remind me? I know what I signed up for. I know what I agreed to. But can you just show some emotion today? Can you just at least pretend you are in love with me and that this entire thing is not a sham? Jeesh. Is that too much to ask?”

The limo rolled up to the Franklin D. Douglas Banquet Hall. Named after its previous pastor, who had been the pastor for forty-six years, until his death, it really was the perfect venue for a beautiful reception. Overlooking a sparkling eight-acre lake that was surrounded by many varieties of springtime flowers, it was the perfect backdrop for our wedding pictures and a would-be romantic evening.

As we exited the limo, several members of the church who had not had the opportunity to get a close-up were stretching their necks to get a view of my dress. I put on the biggest smile I could, and like any other celebrity would do, I waved to the onlookers.

I noticed a couple of local news trucks assembled on one side of the parking lot. On the other side were some of the nation's most elite and well-known pastors, along with their wives. I even caught a glimpse of some other celebrities making their way into the building. Our wedding had certainly spawned the latest tabloid-worthy buzz for the local area. From the day we announced our engagement, it had been one interview after another. The church's publicist had seen to it that we were featured on as many magazine covers as possible. The headlines of one of the magazine articles read YOUNG BLACK LOVE—THE CHRISTIAN WAY.

“Mrs. Ward, how does it feel to be married to one of the city's most prominent new pastors? A million women would have loved to be standing where you stood today and become Mrs. Byran Ward,” said one of the reps from a popular online gossip site.

Everything isn't always what it seems,
I thought. I wanted to say those words out loud, but instead I said what had been scripted. “It feels wonderful to be marrying my best friend. I am certain that any woman would love to be in my shoes today. Who would not want to marry a man who is as talented, gifted, and anointed as my husband?” I looked over at Byran, who was beaming brighter than the sun was on this spring day.

“Not to mention he's rich,” said a blond-haired reporter representing Atlanta's Fox 5 News.

A few people chuckled at her comment. It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, but the truth was his money was exactly why I was marrying him. He had made me an offer I could not refuse. Would not refuse.

“His money is the least of my concerns. I have never given much thought to his wealth or his company. I fell in love with him, as a person.”

“So if he was not wealthy, talented, and the new senior pastor of one of the largest churches in the country, would you still have married him?”

“But of course. Again, I fell in love with him—not with his money or his title. Pastor Byran Ward is a wonderful man. I am very blessed to be his wife.”

“Okay, everyone. I do not want to tire out my new bride by having her stand out here in this heat, answering your questions. I need her to save some of that energy for our honeymoon,” Byran said, joking with the reporters.

“Speaking of honeymoon, where are you two lovebirds going?” another reporter, from Access Atlanta, asked.

Byran shook his head. “Now, now, you know I cannot divulge that information. We would never have our privacy. All of you would be following us there, and there is no way I am going to have you following my wife around while she is dressed in a bikini.”

“Bikini? The pastor's wife . . . in a bikini?” the gossip reporter asked.

“Yep. And she looks great in one.”

With that, Byran's assistants ushered us past the reporters. Inside, my mother and three bridesmaids were waiting to whisk me away so I could change into my second dress, which was a white, formfitting sequined number that stopped just above the knees.

Inside the designated bridal suite were all my bridesmaids. They all looked so beautiful in their lavender satin off-the-shoulder dresses. The ivory sashes tied around their waists gave them a very elegant, regal look.

I surveyed the room. Everyone seemed to be in their own little world, discussing the pleasantries of the wedding. The decorations, the single men . . .

“Allyson, you looked exquisite today,” my mother said.

“Thanks, Mom. You looked beautiful yourself.”

“Well, I did not want to outshine you on your day, so I decided to take it easy on you.” She laughed.

I did not.

I wished I could believe that she was just joking, but I knew she was not. My mother had been in competition with me ever since I had had my first NFL boyfriend. She had made a mess with her own life and enjoyed living vicariously through mine. She was infuriated after each of my failed relationships with a ballplayer, a politician, and other persons of wealth and status. Somehow every breakup was my fault. At least in her mind it was.

“I'm glad you took it easy on me, Mom. We all know who the real beauty queen is,” I said sarcastically.

“Glad you know it, baby girl. There is no mistake that you are strikingly beautiful with your model-like features, long jet-black hair, and hazel-green eyes. But it was your mama who made that possible.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was indeed beautiful. If it had not been for the almost twenty-year age difference, we could have passed for twins. I looked just like her. “Why don't you come and help me get into this dress? I'm sure Byran will send someone looking for me soon if I do not hurry and get changed.”

“Yes, dear. And you certainly don't want to keep that gorgeous man waiting.”

“Right.”

“Girls, let's all help Allyson into this dress so we can go and enjoy the party.”

Each of my bridesmaids rushed over to offer their assistance. Before long we were exiting the suite. In the hallway Byran and his groomsmen were standing there looking as debonair as any men could. As I neared Byran, I had to admit, I had landed a good one. Handsome, talented, and yes . . . rich. I was accustomed to dating men of status, but my previous relationships had never got serious enough for me to graduate from being either the side chick or the occasional lay if they came to town. Byran had been different. He was set on what he wanted shortly after meeting me. On the three-month anniversary of us dating, he popped the question.

“You look stunning. I'm going to enjoy taking that dress off later,” Byran whispered into my ear. “So proud of you. Just enough seduction mixed with class.”

“You speak as if I wasn't that way when you met me.”

“You were okay. But this dress takes you to another level.”

“Glad I can make you happy,” I said, proud that I had finally done something right.

“No, I'm not happy yet. But I will be tonight. On our so-called honeymoon,” he said playfully.

I smiled.

I knew they shouldn't have, but his words had slightly tugged at my heart. I had no idea why he kept feeling the need to remind me of what we both knew already. None of this was real!

The doors opened to the reception. Applause rang loud in the building. Byran and I, along with our wedding party, made our grand appearance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please help us welcome our pastor and his lovely new bride, Pastor and First Lady Byran Ward,” said the master of ceremony for the evening.

And for some reason it all suddenly hit me. The emotions I had pretended not to have for so long had chased me and caught me, and I was now feeling some regret about my decision.

As we walked to the center of the floor for our first dance, the startling truth was now a little difficult to swallow. While everyone stared at us lovingly, inside the moment had arrested my heart, and I secretly wished I had married for love.

Instead, I had actually become someone's . . . wifey.

Almost a wife.

But not quite.