Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
A sense of readiness cloaks me as I look out onto the lawn. Armand’s staff has performed a miracle, transforming Thornhill into a wonderland.
The reception tent is a vast white bird poised in flight. Beside it is a canopied area for the main ceremony covered by a sort of lattice work dripping with wisteria. Guests are making their way to the chairs, escorted by men in tuxes.
“We toweled off the entire ceremony area,” Armand tells me.
“It looks perfect.” I motion him to push me forward onto the wheelchair ramp so I can see how they decorated the front of the house. There’s a green ivy canopy that wasn’t there when I rolled in last night.
A stream of men and women in tuxedos and lovely gowns keep coming and muttering reports to Armand.
“All guests seated,” one blue-haired woman announces. She gives me a thumbs up before walking off.
“This is it,” Armand murmurs as a young man runs up and stands at attention holding a bouquet of peach colored roses. My bouquet. “You ready?”
“Yes,” I touch the controls to direct the wheelchair. They built a ramp from the front door all the way to the wedding ceremony area, and sprinkled it with rose petals. My own red carpet.
Armand is still fussing with my hair, arranging each individual curl to his satisfaction. “The rose petals won’t be a problem? We can clear the ramp—”
“The rose petals are fine.”
“All right, babygirl.” One hand swipes at his eyes as he lays the bouquet in my lap. “You look beautiful.” He bends and air kisses either cheeks, ever careful to not smear my makeup. “Your mother would be so proud.”
“Thank you,” I whisper and he steps away, dabbing his own eyes.
My limbs feel weak as I face the long, long ramp to the ceremony area and the waiting guests. Soft symphony music wafts over the lawn.
There’s no one to escort me down the aisle, and I like it that way. I live my own life. I come to Logan of my own volition. I will navigate my own way into the life of my dreams.
I roll myself down the newly made ramp. As I get close, a hidden signal warns the musicians to end their song with a long, lingering note. And then a harp starts to pluck a delicate version of The Swan by Saint-Saëns. The heart-breaking melody flows out from under the hanging garden.
For a moment, the notes and the scent of flowers swirl together, like something out of a dream. This moment is so beautiful. So longed for.
The perfection is painful, and for a second I feel as if I’m going to crack in two.
My mother’s angel statue is off to the side. The way the sculpture’s face is angled, it’ll look like she’s watching the ceremony.
“Love you, mom,” I mouth. And as I roll the final few feet to the first row of chairs, the sun breaks from the clouds, warming my back.
I urge my chair faster. The guests all rise as one, but I can’t look to the left or right. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I see Logan. He stands, a monolith in black. I think he’s the only one not wearing a tux. He joked he was going to wear a lab coat, and he did. Armand almost had a heart attack.
There’s a sprig of green pinned to his jacket. I focus on it as I get closer. It’s a clipping from a bush, an evergreen of some sort, frozen in resin. Needles and a single red berry.
“Yew,” I whisper to myself, and am rewarded by my fiancé’s smile.
I reach the end of the aisle. The priestess motions for the audience to be seated. The harpist ends one song and starts another.
I take a moment to view the guests. There’s Armand, just settling into his seat. He was probably rearranging the final floral flourish himself.
Beside him, Cora Ubeli glows in a sky blue dress. Her two children sit straight and solemn between her and her husband. I give Cora a little wave and she beams at me. Her adorable young daughter tugs her mom’s sleeve and points at me, and Cora leans down to whisper in the little girl’s ear. Both mother and daughter have bright blue eyes.
I could have planned on rising out of my wheelchair for the ceremony—I am strong enough—but today is going to be long and I want to conserve my strength. I hesitate with my hands on the armrests, wavering on the decision. Sit or stand?
Logan makes it for me. Gracefully for a man of his size, he lowers himself to one knee. The look of love in his blue eyes washes over me, and I have to turn away. Judging from a few sniffles in the audience, I’m not the only one blinking away tears.