Chapter 83

Layla

The morning of our wedding—our second wedding, that is—dawned crisp and clear. Warm but not hot. Sunny, but not too bright. Dry for a New York day.

Perfect. It was the perfect day for a wedding.

Late summer sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over the lawns and gardens of the estate. The occasional cloud flitted across the sky, tempering its perfection with wispy tufts of white. A light breeze stirred the trees, the flowers.

Over the past week, the staff had worked tirelessly to transform the grounds into an ethereal haven—flowers in full bloom, soft white drapes fluttering in the breeze over rows and rows of chairs, a white terraced altar settled at the back of the largest garden.

I stood in my bedroom, staring at my reflection in the floor-length mirror. My gown was simple, yet elegant—a tribute to the one I’d worn nine years ago on our last attempt at a wedding.

The soft ivory silk hugged my figure, exposing my collarbones and curves. White daylilies twined through the circle of my blonde hair in a gilded golden crown, a few curled tendrils escaped to frame my face. Soft kohl lined my eyes, and light pink tinted my lips.

The changes from my normal appearance were so subtle, yet so dramatic. And yet, that woman in the glass—strong and beautiful and sure—she was me. Through and through, in every cell and fiber of her being.

She was Aldo Marcello’s queen, and the whole world would soon know it.

“Beautiful.” Melissa stepped into the room behind me. Her voice wavered slightly, and when I turned, I noted the moisture in her eyes before she blinked it quickly away.

Behind her, my Nonna slipped quietly into the room. She didn’t speak, and her face was so much more lined, weathered, than it had been the last time she’d been invited to my wedding.

But there was no denying the joy that radiated from her dark eyes.

“I know I haven’t always been kind to you,” Melissa said, her voice trembling. “But you’ve given Aldo something I never thought he’d have—peace. Happiness. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

She blinked back tears again.

“Thank you.” I took her hands in mine, squeezed them lightly. “For everything.”

“They’re waiting for you.” My Nonna spoke for the first time, tilting her head towards the door. “There’s a lot of people here.”

But that was expected, wasn’t it? When you had not one, not two, but three families that wanted to come pay their respects.

Standing in front of that mirror, I might have looked like the girl from the last wedding—but in reality I was so much more.

I was a granddaughter of the Orlov family. I was a daughter of the Bennetts. I was the mother of Eli Marcello.

I was the keystone of three powerful families.

And I was surrounded by friends.

Past the French doors leading to the backyard, our property sprawled in a breathtaking expanse of rolling lawn and manicured gardens. A white-stone path wound its way through rosebushes and daylilies, brushed alongside oleander and cherry blossoms fringing the edges of our fields.

Behind it all, a backdrop of skyscrapers and city buildings tore through the sky with the cold silver violence only man can achieve.

“She’s here!” A child’s squeaked voice drew my attention from the skyline—so vastly different from my Alaska—to the first small group of people assembled beneath a copse of flowering magnolias. “Layla!”

A smile bloomed over my face at the sight. My feet carried me down the white stone without hesitation towards the waiting group. “Hi! I’m so glad you’re all here!”

It had been so long since I’d embraced the Bennett family. There was my childhood best friend, Danielle, with her now-teenaged kids and husband in tow. My older cousins, Nikki and Braden, each with their own crew of teens and preteens.

Many of my hospital coworkers and other medical friends from my outreach work had come, too. Some still wore colorful scrubs like they’d rushed straight from work. Ethan Smith, still in police uniform, had even made an appearance.

I blinked back tears at how much their efforts meant.

Then, of course, there was the Marcello family—a massive conglomeration of grinning, cheering, laughing folks who hadn’t been here for the first installment of our celebration of love. They were here now—en force and en masse.

Melissa joined them, her own smile adorning the sea of white crescents.

My heart bloomed.

The third family in attendance was, of course, the Orvlos. Smaller in numbers, quieter in demeanor, they still beamed at me from across the lawn. Perhaps a bit awkward and unsure, thanks to our still-new relationship. But here.

With me.

With us.

My heart gave one little jolt of sadness at the thought of the two people who would never be here, who’d never get to meet my husband or our child. My throat tightened against a sudden wave of sadness. My late parents would never know their grandchild.

“Here’s your flowers!” Nikki’s fourteen-year-old daughter thrust a bouquet of white lilies up over her head. The wispy blonde was starting to look more and more like her big-bad-buff mama every day. I heard she spent summers tearing through upstate New York on a dirt bike.

“Thank you.” I lifted the bouquet from her fingers to inhale the sweet scent of my favorite bloom. Vasco, I’d no doubt, had picked these specially. “They’re beautiful.”

And then, at long last, I tilted my gaze up to the altar.

Aldo stood beneath it, his brown eyes filled with love. An immaculate black tux clung to his body, accenting the breadth of his strong shoulders and the narrow cut of his waist.

Beautiful. He was so beautiful. And beside him, dressed in a matching tux, stood our son, Eli Marcello.

The rest of the world faded away. I forgot what we’d rehearsed, what I was supposed to do. Laughing, I tossed my flowers into the crowd and raced down the path towards the altar, towards my family, towards the only things in life that truly mattered.

“You look stunning,” Aldo whispered as I reached him.

“And you look nervous,” I teased, lips curving into a smile.

“Maybe I still can’t believe you said yes.” His grin blossomed wide and white. “I’m still waiting for you to run away.”

I didn’t even hear any of the officiant’s words. Frankly, they didn’t much matter; I had eyes and ears only for Aldo.

“Layla,” Aldo murmured, and it was only that low hum of his familiar voice that told me we’d moved on to vows. “You’ve shown me what it means to truly live, to fight for something worth protecting. I promise to stand by you, to protect you and Eli, and to give you the life you deserve. You are my heart, my soul, my everything.”

Tears spilled from my eyes, and I made no effort to rein them in. Let them flow, let me cry, let me feel.

Let me live in this moment, wholly and truly, so I might cherish it forever.

“Aldo,” I murmured, and I knew that of all the vows I might have made, all the words I might have spoken, there was truly only one thing that mattered. “I promise to love you, from now until the end of time. You are my past, my present, and my future.”

Tears slid down Aldo’s cheeks, and his hand lifted to my cheek to stroke away my matching display of emotion. “I love you.”

“You may kiss the bride!” Eli bellowed, effectively ending what might have been the most tender and sentimental moment of my life.

Aldo leaned in to press his lips against mine.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Aldo backed up to lift Eli up onto his shoulders—to an uproar of cheers and laughter from the crowd. I leaned into Aldo’s side.

“This feels like a dream,” I whispered against his neck.

“It’s real,” Aldo said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And it’s just the beginning, my love.”