Epilogue
One month later…
Haley
The imposing white structure, with its marble pillars, takes up an entire residential block. It looks more like a museum than a private residence.
Philip pulls around to the rear of the house, where there’s a small parking lot. We enter through a rear door that leads into a huge kitchen, which is a bustling center of activity.
Layla greets us and introduces us to Margaret, the silver-haired housekeeper; Charles, the butler, a middle-aged man wearing a suit; and André, the Alexanders’ private chef. He’s supervising preparation of the rehearsal dinner, which smells absolutely divine.
I must be staring because Layla smiles bashfully. “Come on, guys. I’ll show you where the ceremony is going to be held—in the living room.”
We leave the kitchen and head down a corridor with polished dark wood floors and fancy paintings on the wall. I feel like I just stepped into an art gallery.
I’m in awe of the wedding preparations. There are fairy lights strung throughout the house, down the curved staircase, along the hallway, and in the living room.
Every table top features a crystal vase filled with freshly cut cream-colored and sage green roses.
The house is lovely, very classy, and sophisticated.
All members of the wedding party are here, including us, Jasmine and Liam, my dad and Erin. Besides the bride and groom, and their respective families, Layla’s older brother, Ian, and his husband, Tyler Jamison, are here.
The highlight of the rehearsal dinner is meeting Jason’s family, who came from Michigan. His parents are here, his two older sisters and their families, and his younger brother.
We’re seated for dinner first. A three-course meal is served to us at a long mahogany table that seats a small army. Champagne and whiskey are offered to the adult guests, and the rest of us, including Layla, who can’t drink alcohol because of her medications, drink a nonalcoholic option.
After the main course, Layla’s father, Martin Alexander, stands at the head of the table and raises his champagne flute.
“I’d like to make a toast to Layla, my beautiful, beloved daughter, and to Jason, the only man worthy of her hand.
May you both have countless days of joy and never know a moment of sorrow. ”
“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 white marble facade, 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.
Erin leads the way down the center aisle, with Jasmine and me following her. We take our places at the front of the room.
Camille is next, walking down the aisle and tossing cream-colored rose petals on the beautiful wood floor. Kyle is next. He takes his job of delivering the wedding bands to Jason with utmost seriousness.
When those tasks are completed, a four-piece string quartet—two women playing violins and two men on cellos—begins playing the classic Wagner tune known as Here Comes the Bride.
Layla comes forward, escorted by her father, Martin. She’s absolutely breathtaking.
I glance surreptitiously at Jason, who’s trying not to break down in front of an audience, but clearly he’s moved at the sight of his bride.
Jason’s family is seated in the front row, along with Ruth. Jason’s mother’s eyes are full of tears, as are his sisters’.
I glance over at Philip, who smiles at me, and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. Maybe one day it will be us standing in front of our family and friends, vowing to spend our lives together as husband and wife.
The wedding ceremony is short, simple, and sweet. As Layla and Jason repeat their vows, a hush falls over the room. We hang on their every word. And when the reverend announces them husband and wife, Jason kisses Layla, and the guests erupt in cheer.
After the ceremony, a photographer takes a ton of pictures of everyone in the wedding party, as well as all the guests.
We gather in a spacious sunroom—complete with an inground Koi pond—for the reception. I’ve heard plenty about Layla’s precious Koi, but this is the first time I’ve seen them in person.
The string quartet follows us into the sunroom and set up in a corner of the room. They continue playing classical music as the bride and groom have their first dance. Then Layla dances with her father, and Jason dances with his mother.
Finally, the floor is opened up to everyone.
Philip offers me his arm and escorts me to the middle of the room, where he takes me in his arms. He leans down to kiss my temple and says, “You are so beautiful.”
I run my hand up the lapel of his tuxedo. “And you look incredibly handsome. I think you should wear a tux every day.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’d be the prettiest surveillance operative around.”
We dance to a song I suspect is by Mozart. It’s lovely, and Philip guides me through a waltz like he was born to do this. “How did you learn to dance like this?”
“My sister once took ballroom dance lessons, and she made me practice at home with her.”
My dad and Erin come up to us, and Dad taps Philip on the shoulder. “My turn, pal. Fathers get dibs on their daughters.”