Page 6 of My Only

I glanced at my mother just as she turned to me, pride and love shining in her brown eyes.

“With all my love,” she said, her voice steady. “I do.”

I had to press my lips together to keep from completely losing it. It had always been hard for me not to cry when I saw my mother crying, and today was no different.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek, then gently placed my hand in Hassani’s, smiling at him even bigger than she had at me before stepping aside. She moved toward her seat in the front row, settling in beside Mrs. Franklin, with Aunt Laurie to her right.

Our guest list was small. Intimate.

We’d only invited those we loved and who could fly out of the country on short notice. One of those people we loved included my best friend, Sunni, and her husband, Josiah, who sat just behind my mother.

The soft caress of Hassani’s thumb over the back of my hand had me turning my head to focus on him. The second our eyes met, I smiled so big my cheeks ached.

“You look so beautiful, my God,” he whispered as we faced forward. “Like… damn, A.”

My dress was one my mother had closed all her bookings to create. She worked morning, noon, and night to make it perfect.

I told her I didn’t know exactly what I wanted—just that it had to be white and that it couldn’t make me hot.

She came up with a plunging neckline, floral, flowy lace design. Spaghetti straps. Delicate patterns of subtle palm leaves. Very boho and beachy, with the most stunning train—just enough, not over the top.

My mama was a genius.

And I knew I could trust her to make a dress that would do me justice.

She had insisted I pair it with a floral crown. Had insisted I pull my hair back into a bun, too. The final result?

Hassani only saw me at the altar.

“Marriage is not just a partnership,” Reverend Harte said, his gaze sweeping over us. “It is a covenant. A sacred promise to love, honor, and cherish each other in all seasons of life.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Franklin said from her seat.

“There will be sunny days like today, filled with laughter and light,” he continued. “But there may also be stormy ones.” He lifted a finger. “On those stormy days, when the clouds gather and the waters rise, it will be your love, Ayla and Hassani, and your commitment that see you through.”

I nodded.

“Marriage is not built in a single day.” Reverend Harte smiled. “It is like the finest of homes. It takes patience, care, and a strong foundation to stand the test of time. And when the cracks appear, as they sometimes will, it is up to you both to repair them, to rebuild together, and to never stop adding new layers of love.”

He paused.

“Because, as they say, home is where the heart truly is.”

Reverend Harte held his hand out toward our small gathering of guests.

“To all who are gathered here,” he began, “you are not just witnesses, yuh know?! You are part of this union. Ayla and Hassani have invited you here because you are their family, their friends, their village. Your love and support will surround them as they build their life together.”

His eyes scanned the faces of our friends and family.

“So, as they exchange their vows, I ask you to hold them in your hearts, to lift them up in your prayers, and to remind them, in moments of doubt and uncertainty, of the beauty we have all seen here today.”

Hassani had not let go of my hand once, and I couldn’t help but blush at that.

In every conversation leading up to this trip, he had told anyone who would listen that he was getting married. It always made me laugh.

At Reverend Harte’s direction, we turned to face each other to exchange our vows.

We had written them separately, promising to have them ready in time for our big day. And while the words had come straight from my heart, speaking them now—here, surrounded by the sea and sky, standing in front of him—made them feel even more charged.

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