That’s not the way one should enter a marriage, right?
Finding Mother in the crowd only heightens the guilt.Wave of nausea.When I find Ren standing in the back waiting to escort Stella—who like Ren should burn all the yellow that she owns—down the aisle, I’m met with a smirk and two thumbs up.Stomach twisting.The other smiling faces in the crowd blend together, and my head begins to spin.
No. I cannot have a panic attack standing here in front of the world.
Smile.
Yes, I can do that.
I smile.
What’s next?
Put your shoulders back and tilt your chin up.
Done.
Breathe. In. Out. Subtle. Slowly.
I focus on my breaths and realize Ren and Stella are now at the altar and the wedding march has begun.
Everyone stands.
The wide double doors open.
Hayden stands with her chin tucked down, wearing a beautiful, pristine white gown that radiates brighter than her sunshine personality. It cinches at her waist, and the rest of the dress poofs out around her like she is actually a princess. Her hair is up in a bun, as usual, but this bun seems to have all her curls at the right places with yellow flowers dispersed throughout. It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed yellow as a color since my sister died. She isn’t wearing a veil, which, according to Mother, Hayden fought hard to win that decision.
No one escorts her down the aisle.
And when she is halfway to me, she looks up.
Her eyes scream, “Help me,” and I’m moved by a greater power to protect this woman who looks helpless in this situation.
The storm of anxiety raging inside me calms in the name of being needed by Hayden. My breath hitches, and my feet make their way to her. I loop my arm with hers and bend down to whisper in her ear.
“I’ve got you.”
She smiles, and her eyes widen with happiness; she is genuinely grateful. The expression warms me.
I can’t look away from her smile as I walk her down the aisle. Everything else seemingly fades away. Her smile declares she trustsme, and that is all I need to guide us forward to stand before God, our friends and family, and the world to say, “I do.”
Like the preparations, the ceremony passes in a fuzzy haze. Hayden’s gentle, warm smile, the sincerity in her eyes, and the soft squeeze of her hands keeps me rooted.
Trust. This is why I am marrying her. I trust her to carry me through, and I will carry her through.
And that thought eases the guilt of this marriage of convenience. Love might not exist between us, but mutual trust and respect do.
That’s enough.
We repeat the traditional vows and say those two words.
“You may now kiss your bride, Mr. Marshall,” the priest says, and I swallow a lump.
How could I forget that I would have to kiss her? Why didn’t we discuss how we would kiss beforehand? Why didn’t we at least practice?
As the thoughts keep me frozen in place, Hayden’s face draws close as her arms wrap around my neck.
She pulls me down to meet her without hesitation.
