Page 17 of All In

At fifteen, Cash had seen enough to know what came next. The polite applause. The staged smiles. The way everybody pretended it was a fairytale when really it was just a chess move. This was already the fourth Nikah he’d sat through that spring, and he was pretty sure his would be next. He sat toward the back with Zambia, both dressed for the occasion but restless. Cash had known since he was five that Zambia was supposed to be his wife. Their families were too intertwined for it to go any other way.

Her older sister, Fatima, was scheduled to marry his older cousin Najee, but their ceremony had been pushed back, both of them wanted to finish school first. Najee was pre-med at Penn; Fatima had a full ride at MIT. The move was unorthodox, but because those two were considered “academically exceptional,” the community let it slide. Which only meant more pressure was about to land on him and Zambia. If Cash had a choice, it wouldn’t be her. Sure, she was beautiful, maybe the prettiest girl at the masjid, but she was a fucking monster underneath. Entitled. Annoying. Vindictive.

However, he’d accepted a long time ago that she would be his wife, but he wished their connection was like Najee and Fatima’s, who actually liked each other. That wasn’t the case here. The crowd clapped as the vows were read in Arabic. A harp played somewhere off to the side, soft and almost sad.

Zambia leaned closer, her voice low enough for only him. “Welp… her life’s over.”

Cash’s eyes slid toward her. “They’ll probably make her quit school, homeschool or something stupid. And before you know it, she’ll be barefoot and pregnant. Won’t even see eighteen without a baby on her hip.” There was no malice in her tone—just quiet defiance. “Maybe she wants that.” Cash responded quietly. “She don’t,” Zambia said, still watching Zainab’s face. “She wants to study law… and eat pussy.” Cash huffed a laugh under his breath. They sat in silence a while longer, watching hennaed hands exchange rings, families hug, photographers crowd in for the perfect shot. Then Zambia turned to him again, eyes steady. “I know this’ll be us soon. My Ummi said she’s asking my Baba to let me finish school first, the same way they did with Fatima. But who really fucking knows.” She shrugged.

“If they ever try to do that to us, marry us off young—I’m agreeing to it in name only. No love. No babies. No fake happy couple shit. Just… business. You do you and I’ll do me…separately.” Her voice hardened. “I got shit to accomplish. A world to see. And I’m not letting tradition stop me. You’re cool and all Cassius, but the barefoot-and-pregnant shit? Dead.”

“Zamb, it don’t gotta be like that,” Cash pushed back. “It’ll be our marriage.

We can do shit our way. If you don’t wanna have babies straight away, you don’t have to.” She turned to him, eyes sharp. “Cassius, respectfully, I appreciate you saying that. But be very fucking for real. You and I both know how shit goes in our world. I’ll absolutely be pregnant within the first year ofour marriage. And if I don’t… I’ll be seen as defective.” Cash’s jaw worked, but he didn’t argue.

“And don’t get me wrong,” Zambia continued. “Being your wife probably wouldn’t be so bad. But I want more. And I think you do too. I see the way you look at Jennah, and I think she likes you back. And why shouldn’t you be able to have her, and anyone else you want?”

“Because that’s not part of the plan,” he said quietly. “Fuck the plan.” Zambia’s voice was low and fierce. “The plan is outdated and restrictive. This is our life, Cassius. We deserve to live it.” Then her mouth curled into a half-smile. “I do still wanna fuck you sometimes though.” Cash stared at her for a long moment before his lips tilted into that slow, dangerous smirk. “Bet.” Neither of them knew back then, just how far that promise would stretch… or how heavy it would feel years later, with both their families watching and waiting.

Present Day

CASH, 29

Zambia was already in his passenger seat by the time Cash finally shook the memory out of his head. Still, his father’s words clung to him, bout setting a date, living together,“rising to the occasion.”About how the Muhammad family was getting impatient. And how this wedding wasn’t just a formality, it was about alliances, about securing future opportunities. Cash started the engine, jaw tight. Zambia glanced over, oblivious, or pretending to be. “So, I was thinking,” she began, flipping open her phone, “we could do those crystal charger plates for the Walima. And maybe Platinum flatware, like in that Dubai wedding I showed you. Oh, and I found a florist in L.A. that does these crazy hanging installations—” He drove in silence, knuckles flexing on the wheel. She didn’t notice.

“Also, we should lock in a photographer by next week. I mean, unless you wanna go cheap, but—” Cash’s patience snapped. He jerked the wheel, pulling over hard to the curb.

She stared at him, startled. “What the hell”

“You remember Fairmount Park?” he cut in.

Her eyes flickered, just for a second. “What are you—”

“This not what we agreed to.” The car went quiet. “No love,” he said, eyes locked on hers.

“No babies. No fake happy couple shit. Business only. That was you, remember?”

She swallowed, sitting back a little. “You’re the one breaking the rules, Z.”

For once, she didn’t have a comeback. Then she laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Cash… we were kids whenwe made that stupid agreement. Fifteen. Sitting at somebody else’s wedding talking shit like we knew what life was. You don’t think people grow up? Change their minds?” His jaw ticked. “No.” His stare was ice-cold. She angled toward him, voice soft but precise. “Well, I’ve had a change of heart.” Cash’s eyes cut to hers, flat and unreadable. “Well, I clearly haven’t. You and I made a deal, and for years we’ve honored it. I never blew up your spot about everything you were doing in New York. You done had niggas, bitches and everything in between.” Her lips parted, but he kept going.

“And you haven’t, Cassius?” she shot back, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been more than active on the dating scene in this city the past decade. Just because your shit is low-key and discreet, and temporary, don’t make you better than me. Do not make you cleaner.”

“Zambia, you were a fucking sugar baby to several rich white dudes. Might still be. Don’t think I don’t know about the condo in King of Prussia. Your parents ain’t paying for that.” His voice was cold now. “You said it was just about the trust fund a few days ago, what happened?”

“Nothing happened. I just decided I wanted both,” she said coolly.

“The man and the money.” Cash leaned in, voice dropping low, heavy with finality.

His eyes cut into hers, face stone hard. “Well, let me make it real clear,” he said, each word sharp.

“This shit between you and me? Business only. I’ll never love you. I’ll never touch you again. And this marriage gon’ be exactly what we said it was.Business.Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

“Well, we need to at least make it look good,” she shot back, voice clipped.

“Me living separate from you? Looks suspect.”

“I’ll call my father’s men. They’ll have you moved in within a few days.”