Page 116 of Under His Protection
“Hear, hear!” everyone chimes in.
There’s not a dry eye in the room.
* * *
After the rehearsal dinner, we walk through the ceremony. Ian is Jason’s best man. Mr. Alexander walks Layla down the aisle. The rest of us practice how to walk in and where to stand. The highlight of the evening is watching Jason’s four-year-old niece, Camille, practice her role as the flower girl. His nephew, Kyle, who’s six, practices the job of ringbearer.
It’s a wonderful evening. Layla is absolutely beaming, and Jason watches her with a contented smile on his face. It’s obvious he dotes on her, as does her family. Her mother and father seem stoked their daughter is about to tie the knot. So does her big brother, Ian. I’m sure Ruth and Martin are thrilled that they will have both of their children happily married.
I can’t help thinking about my own future, when I might walk down the aisle one day. I know it’s premature to even think about it, but I can’t help it. I find myself watching Philip as he interacts with our friends, with Jason’s family, and with Layla’s parents and brother. I love how social he is, how he fits in so comfortably with everyone.
My love for him seems to grow by the day, as if that’s even possible. I didn’t think I could love him more than I already do.
“Hey,” he says as he joins me and pulls me into his strong arms. “Are you having a good time?”
“The best.”
“Jason’s so happy. I’ll bet you my next paycheck he bawls when Layla walks down the aisle.” He chuckles. “I don’t blame him, though. I would, too, if I saw you walking down the aisle toward me.”
I smile. That wasn’t exactly a proposal of marriage, but it sure felt like one.
* * *
The next day, Philip and I arrive dressed our wedding attire—me in my sage green bridesmaid dress and Philip in his tuxedo. As soon as we arrive, we’re sent upstairs to wait with the bridal party and groomsmen.
Layla’s mother ushers me into Layla’s childhood bedroom, where I join Jasmine and Erin. A beautiful blonde hairdresser named Daphne is putting the finishing touches on Layla’s hair. She’s wearing her dark hair loose, with the ends curled and a few curling tendrils hanging down the sides of her face.
“Layla, you look stunning,” I say as I watch Daphne tuck delicate sprigs of white baby’s breath into a wreath on the top of Layla’s head.
Layla is already dressed in her wedding gown. It’s a simple, yet gorgeous gown made of soft white silk, sleeveless, with spaghetti straps holding the beaded bodice in place.
Her bridal bouquet—featuring predominantly cream and sage green roses, intermixed with ferns and baby’s breath—rests in a box on her dresser.
“Where are the guys?” I ask.
“Down the hall in a guest suite,” Layla says. “They’re already dressed, so I think Liam and Philip are doing their best to keep Jason calm. He’s been a nervous wreck all day.”
Layla tilts her head back as Daphne applies some mascara to her lashes.
Ruth returns to the room. “All ready?” she asks her daughter. She walks up behind Layla and lays her hands on her daughter’s shoulders as she leans down to kiss the top of Layla’s head. “Darling, you look beautiful.”
Layla smiles. “Thanks, Mom.” She seems pretty relaxed, all things considered.
We can hear voices downstairs as a few more guests arrive.
The house is plenty large enough to hold the small crowd expected today. It takes up an entire block, and with its whitemarble façade, it looks more like a museum from the outside than a house.
The house, which was built in the early twentieth century by Layla’s paternal grandfather, resembles a museum inside, too, with all the antique oil paintings covering the papered walls, the fancy burgundy floor runners, and antique cherry furniture. When you see the grandeur of this house, you can understand why Layla and her brother, Ian, inherited so much wealth from their telecommunications tycoon of a grandfather.
Soft classical music floats up the curved staircase to fill the second floor. Layla’s parents hired a professional quartet to provide the music for the ceremony.
Martin Alexander pops his head through Layla’s open doorway. “It’s time. The guys are heading downstairs.”
“Close the door, Martin,” Ruth says. “We can’t have Jason getting an early peek at the bride.”
A short while later, Martin returns, knocking on Layla’s door. “All right, ladies. You’re up.”
We three bridesmaids lead the way down the stairs, with Layla behind us. As we gather at the doorway leading into the living room, we have a clear view of Jason and the rest of his party, along with the pastor who’s presiding over the ceremony. All eyes are on Jason, who’s clearly struggling to maintain his composure as he stands at the front of the room. His jaw is clenched tightly, and his eyes are tearing up. Ian stands beside him, patting his back.
