Lana
Racer wants me in white. He wants me walking down the aisle to him, in white … and he wants me to have everything I could have ever dreamed of.
We’re having the whole enchilada. Church wedding, and then a reception with about 120 guests at the largest ballroom in the city’s top hotel.
I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of her wedding when she was little. I think it’s been a while since I even allowed myself to think, to hope, that I would one day be dressed in white … and the man I love with my whole being would be waiting down a long church aisle for me, ready to make me his.
My mom showed up for the wedding. We’re not friends, and I know we never will be, but it’s nice to have her here on my big day. She made sure my hair was perfect, and my veil was draped behind my head with no wrinkles or creases, and that I looked as beautiful as could be.
“You’re a vision,” she whispered when our eyes met in the mirror, and I could see she wanted to cry. All the guilt maybe of the years she has missed, of me and my brothers growing up.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. Because today I’m getting married and it’s not a day I want to hold onto the past. I’m leaving the past in the past, where it belongs, because my future is staring right at me—and I’ve never loved what I see as much as I do now.
We head to the church, and my father looks dashing with his shaven head, and his gorgeous smile, and his loving brown eyes.
“The most beautiful bride ever,” he says.
I am tempted to say there’s no way, but I’m his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, and I know that to him, it’s true. And I know that to the man who sees me now at the altar, it will be true too.
My brothers kiss my cheek. “Don’t make him return you. No returns or exchanges,” Drake says.
“You’re the one who’ll be returned as defective,” I say, as he chuckles and allows Clayton and Adrian to come kiss me too.
“He’s right. No exchanges,” Clay says, patting the back of my head to smack a wet one on my cheek.
“Clayton! My veil!” I protest, waiting for Adrian to hug me.
“Be happy, Lana,” Adrian says. He’s the sweetest of my three brothers, but he speaks this as a command and it makes me laugh.
“Yes, sir.”
I feel my mother fix my veil. She’s not talking to my brothers, or more likely, they’re not talking to her, but I know they’re here—together—for me, and it just makes me value my family more.
I slip my hand into the nook of Dad’s arm, and I whisper, “Thank you, Daddy.”
“No need to give thanks. It’s been my pleasure being my girl’s dad.” He chuckles and kisses the back of my hand, and we both halt at the doors, my heart hammering in my chest, my whole body buzzing because I can feel him, right behind the church doors. Waiting for me.
The music begins, and the doors swing open, and it feels like gravity is what pulls me forward. My eyes scan the length of the red carpet and look for the familiar blue of his, and when they lock together, that’s where they stay.
He looks hot enough to melt the candles.
So young, so strong, and in that dark tux and crisp white shirt, still so him …
His dimple keeps deepening as his smile keeps widening as I approach, and a part of me even wonders why I need to say the words when I’m already his.
