Page 65 of His Relentless Angel

“I’d die first before leaving Isaiah at the altar,” I tell him honestly, though I don’t need to. He knows. “Did Grandpa ask Mom if she was sure at your wedding?”

His gaze turns dark. “I wanted to kill him when I found out he did.”

I snort. “You know, I get the crazy from you right?”

“That’s what you think.” He chuckles. “You got a double dose from us. Did your mom ever tell you about her pie scheme?”

“Ew, ew. Don’t remind me.” I gag, unsure if it’s the stupid morning sickness that I was exceptionally unlucky not to lose after my first trimester ended or if it’s thinking about the tricks Mom used to pull to reel in Dad—her much older boss at the time.

The string quartet shifts from their soft rendition of Concerning Hobbits to May it Be, both from the Lord of the Rings trilogy soundtrack. I shout, “Finally!” loudly enough for Dad to wince and cover his ear.

Isaiah had some interesting—and by interesting, I mean seriously nerdy—ideas when it came to picking out the songs for our wedding, replacing some of the cringier song selections I had written down in my wedding planning notebook. I didn’t mind one bit. I was ecstatic, actually, that he wanted to be involved every step of the way and was more than happy to let his geeky heart run wild…after I made him promise not to pick anything from Game of Thrones.

Two of the event staff, dressed in all black, rush to pull open the double doors, and there’s Isaiah, standing under the arch draped with gauzy, muted burnt orange fabric and enough flowers and greenery to empty Nicole’s flower shop. I grip Dad’s arm, nearly bowled over by the sight of the love of my life in a three-piece navy suit so dark it almost looks black. He lifts his glasses to dab at the tears in his eyes with his pocket square, and I can’t believe it—years of dreaming about this day…this exact moment…has finally come true.

And I lose it. Just absolutely lose it.

I clutch my bouquet to my chest, Dad holding onto me and slowly lowering me on the white aisle runner as soon as we step foot onto it, my knees having turned weak. Guests gasp and there’s a flurry of raised voices around us, but I can’t see through my tears—not until Isaiah is there, crouching in front of me and wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Love,” I gasp out, reaching for him and circling my arms around his neck. Thank god Eden took all my makeup off, or I would have ruined his suit when I lay my cheek on his shoulder.

“Are you ok, B?” Isaiah says, his voice breaking with distress.

“I’m just so happy, I can’t stop crying.”

Dad laughs from my side and reassures our guests that I’m ok…just a little emotionally overwhelmed—understatement. Isaiah scoops me up and helps me walk down the aisle with him on one side and Dad on the other.

We skip the old-fashioned tradition of the officiant asking, Who gives this bride away? I’ve belonged to Isaiah from the moment we met. I pass my now slightly squashed bouquet to Autumn, my maid of honor, and hold Isaiah’s hands as he recites his handwritten wedding vows.

“Bailey.” He drops one hand to dab at his tears, then grabs my hand again. “I vow to love you unconditionally, just as you have loved me”—drop, dab, grab—“unconditionally. I vow to be worthy”—drop, dab, grab—“of your fierce loyalty, and to”—drop, dab, grab. After that, I only catch snippets of words like angel, heart, soul, and deserve.

The only two words of my handwritten vows that I can speak aloud between body-wracking, joyful sobs are Isaiah and love.

When we turn after exchanging beautiful ivy-engraved gold wedding rings and kissing for what is probably an uncomfortably long time for our guests, most of them are in tears, and the others are trying to hold back their laughter. Like Aaron, who covers his mouth as his shoulders bounce, while Nicole cries into the handkerchief I gifted her all those years ago.

We pass Troy, who looks solemn but gives us a nod, sitting with his family in the first row next to Isaiah’s parents. Originally, Isaiah had asked him to be his best man and was crushed when Troy said no. I held Isaiah’s head in my lap when he lay in silence for a long time after hanging up the phone that night, and then I did it again when Troy called three days ago to ask if he was still invited to our wedding. Troy wouldn’t stand in the wedding party, but it’s an olive branch we jumped to take.

Isaiah has to support my weight throughout our first dance as the string quartet plays And I Love Her by The Beatles. I whisper-sing the lyrics to him, replacing every she and her in the lyrics with he and him just as I dreamed of doing at thirteen years old. Not wanting the song to end yet, I shout to the quartet to play it again before the DJ takes over the music for the rest of the reception.

Isaiah tips my chin up with two of his fingers and kisses me as we slowly sway side to side.

I whisper against his lips, “Do you know why I picked this song for our first dance, love?”

He nods and kisses across my jaw to my ear. “Because this is the song that was playing the very first time we danced together.”

My heart swells in my chest. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you, sweet angel,” he says, sliding one hand down to just above my ass. “About us.”

“Do you remember my cousin, Megan?”

He shakes his head.

“The one who you danced with afterward?”

“Oh yeah, her. Vaguely.”

“I didn’t invite her. I almost did, just so I could stick my tongue out at her like I wanted to at James and Shayla’s wedding.”

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