Page 95 of Rescued By Four Alphas
After ending the call, I bring up the weather forecast and check it for the fourth time since midnight—clear skies, moderate temperature, perfect for an outdoor ceremony. At least something cooperates.
By noon, I stand in the garden, personally overseeing the final preparations. The stone altar Dahlia chose sits beneath the ancient oak tree, surrounded by wildflowers in blue and violet hues. Fairy lights twine through the branches, ready to create a magical canopy when the sun sets.
Only four rows of chairs face the altar - enough for our fifteen guests with room to spare. A small area to the side holds baby supplies: diapers, bottles, pacifiers, and comfortable seating for whoever needs to tend to our children during the ceremony.
"The flowers look perfect, sir," Oliver says, appearing silently at my side as he always does. "And security confirms the perimeter is secure."
"Thank you," I reply, noting the satisfied gleam in his eyes. Oliver takes tremendous pride in his work and today represents months of planning. "Any issues with the guests?"
"None. Dr. Vasquez arrived early to check on the babies. Miss Emily is already with the bride. The minister understands the... unique nature of the ceremony and seems quite progressive."
"Good." I adjust a vase of wildflowers that sits slightly off-center. "And the reception setup?"
"The terrace is ready. Simple but elegant, as requested." Oliver hesitates. "If I may say so, sir, this is quite different from your usual style."
I look at him, surprised by the personal observation. "What do you mean?"
"You typically prefer grandeur," he explains carefully. "The best of everything, in abundance. This is... restrained."
"It's what Dahlia wants," I say.
"Of course," Oliver nods, but his eyes hold a question.
I sigh. "When you've nearly lost everything that matters, grandeur loses its appeal."
"I understand, sir." He straightens his already impeccable tie. "Will you need anything else before you dress?"
"No. Thank you, Oliver."
He withdraws as silently as he appeared, leaving me alone in the garden.
The reality of today suddenly hits me with unexpected force. In a few hours, we will stand before people who matter to us and declare our commitment. No legal documents will recognize this union. No government agency will file our marriage certificate. Yet it feels more legitimate, more binding, than any official validation could provide.
"I didn't expect to find you nervous," Leo's voice startles me. He stands at the garden entrance, dressed in casual clothes, his formal suit for later hanging in a garment bag over his arm.
"I'm not nervous," I lie. "I'm ensuring everything meets our specifications."
Leo laughs. "Right. And that's why you've adjusted that same chair four times."
I step away from the offending furniture. "Everything needs to be perfect for her."
"Dahlia doesn't care if the chairs align perfectly," Leo says, walking toward me. "She cares that we're all here, healthy and together."
"I know," I admit. "But this is important. We are making it official, even if it's only among ourselves."
Leo places his garment bag on a nearby bench. "That's what makes you nervous, isn't it?”
I remain silent, unwilling to voice the vulnerability I feel.
"It's the same for all of us," Leo continues. "This makes it undeniably real. There's no going back."
"I never wanted to go back," I say firmly.
"Neither did I." He places a hand on my shoulder. "But there's something about saying the words aloud, with witnesses, that changes things."
I nod, relieved he understands without requiring me to explain. "Have you seen Dahlia?"
"Emily arrived early and barricaded them in the east wing master suite. She gave strict instructions that none of us is allowed to see her until the ceremony."
