Alissa comes over and looks up at me. “You look like a princess.”
“I do?” I gasp as I kneel in front of her. “Guess what? So do you.”
Alissa laughs as she runs over to her mom.
“Are you going to say thank you to Aunt Lyla for complimenting you?” Emery asks her.
“Thank you, Aunt Lyla.”
Hearing her call me “aunt” will never get old and makes my heart clench every time. It makes me want one of my own.
My hands go to my stomach instinctively. My own little wedding gift for my future husband. I found out this morning we are expecting. I couldn’t be happier. Come March, we will have a baby of our own.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” I tell her, trying to hold back my tears.
“Can I get a few more photos of you as a group?” the photographer asks.
For twenty minutes she moves us around, posing us how she wants before there is a knock at the door.
“Thank God, I don’t know if I can smile anymore,” Peyton mumbles as she goes to answer the door.
I can’t help but laugh at her comment. She’s not wrong.
Peyton slams the door shut and leans against it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, suddenly feeling nervous.
“Nothing, but your brother is out there, and he wants to talk to you privately. Do you want to see him?” she asks.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” I wave her away from the door.
“We will meet you out there,” Grace says as she squeezes my shoulder as she passes by me.
“Come on, Elise. This is for just them,” Emery tells the photographer, ushering her toward the door.
“I’ll see you out there,” Cora says.
“See you,” I murmur.
Once the girls are gone, Will steps in. When he looks up at me, his eyes go wide and he freezes.
“I kind of wish I asked the photographer to stay to catch your reaction,” I say nervously as I run my hands along my hips.
“Lyla, you look…like Mom.”
I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the tears. It’s hard mourning, barely remembering because they died when you were little. I thought I had buried those pieces of me a long time ago, but this whole wedding process reminded me that not only am I fatherless, but motherless as well.
“Seriously, don’t make me cry. The makeup artist said my mascara would hold, but I don’t want to chance it,” I mutter, making him laugh.
Will shuts the door completely and walks over to me. I wrap my arms around his waist as he pulls me into a hug. For a moment, we just hold each other.
Will clears his throat and steps back. “I have something for you.”
I watch as he pulls a necklace out of his pocket, and he hands it over.
“What’s this?” I ask as I take it.
“It was Mom’s. She wore it on her and Dad’s wedding day,” he says, blowing me away.
