“That’s what I hear.” she chuckled. Neither one of us said anything for a moment and I just listened to her breathe, picturing her standing next to the wall in the kitchen, twirling the phone cord around her finger.
“I never meant to push you about the wedding, Leila.”
My heart clenched into a fist. “You didn’t?”
“I just couldn’t stand that woman railroading you with the ceremony,” she continued. She let out another sigh, one full of sadness of regret. “I tried to help and I ended up railroading you too.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said weakly. “Really.”
“No it’s not. I’m kinda overbearing.” She snorted. “Hell, I’m being overbearing now and won’t even let you finish a sentence.” She was quiet, giving me the stage to finally speak, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“When you were little, you used to come to me and tell me all about how the girls in your class picked on you.”
I sat back in my chair, a frown pulling the sides of my mouth downward. A childhood of bullying and my mother’s ‘turn the other cheek’ response was the last thing I wanted to think about.
“It broke my heart to see how hurt you were. To see you doubting yourself and wondering if what those little monsters said was true. And I debated how to tell you to handle them.”
Her response had always been pacifist, sticks and stones and whatever. The kind of ‘Just ignore them’ approach of someone that never had to deal with bullies attacking them, day in and day out.
I was about to cry all over again, and not tears of happiness.
This call was a huge mistake. “Mom, I should probably--”
“I should have told you to fight.”
My mouth fell open. “W-What?”
“Not beat them down, because that would have opened up a whole new world of problems. I’d be lying if I said I’d get no satisfaction at ringing their skinny little necks though.” She cleared her throat, getting worked up.
It made my face burn warm, a smile creeping in to replace the frown. She hadn’t just shrugged it off. She cared, all of this time.
“I should have told you to stand up for yourself,” she continued. ‘To look them right in the face and tell them that you were beautiful and kind and someday, you were going to do amazing things. Like finish top in your high school and college graduating classes with a full schedule of clubs and honor societies under your belt. That you’d get your dream job and work with actresses like Rachel Laraby and save the lives of young stars who were as lost as you once were. That someday you’d fall in love with a billionaire and his love for you would be so great that it shone in every picture.”
The tears came one after the other as I gripped the phone.
“Don’t ever apologize for standing up for yourself, Leila,” she sniffed. “Because I couldn’t be prouder of you.” She let out a thick laugh, each note coated with tears. “I hope I’m not messing up your makeup.”
I avoided the mirror, smiling. “That doesn’t matter right now. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, hon. Now go marry that man and give me lots of grand babies.”
****
The sky was a swirl of ebony and charcoal as Naomi pulled the mule to a stop in front of the wooden bridge that would take me to the sand where Jacob was waiting.
I turned to her, feeling a rush of excitement that made my heart race and my mouth to dry.
"How do I look?"
She fixed a curl and gave me a big grin. "Fantastic, of course."
I flashed her an unsteady smile. "Thanks again. For everything."
I stepped out of the tiny vehicle and took a few steps before I stopped and turned back, panic gripping me by the throat. She flashed me a thumbs up and I relaxed a little, swallowing the golf sized knot lodged in my throat.
This was really happening.
I’m really getting married.
I took it one step at a time, remembering everything that brought me to this beautiful place. Bumping into Jacob Whitmore on the way to my interview. Mouthing off then realizing with horror that I'd just given the boss lip. Following him to the corridor and realizing that he had no intention of giving me an interview.
I bit my lip, the warmth of all those feelings rushing back to the surface. I had no idea that tryst would lead to the contract. And that signing on the contract Jacob used to keep people at a distance would have the opposite effect and I'd fall in love with him. And he'd fall in love with me.
I'd almost run out of bridge and I could see the warm glow of tiki torches near the water. A sheer white tent rose out of the sand, the fabric billowing in the breeze. I made out the outline of Jacob and another figure, assuming it was the officiant.
The person who would make me his wife. That would make Jacob my husband.
We’d come so far and braved so many obstacles. Tearing down the wall Jacob built to prevent being hurt. My self consciousness and doubt that a man like him could ever live happily ever after with me. Even She Who Will Not Be Named--fate didn't make it easy for us and there were moments when I wondered if we'd make it. But we did. He was waiting for me.
I stepped on the sand, the coarse grounds squeezing between my toes. I clutched the hem, hiking it up as I tried to maneuver to him and moved slower, sinking and fighting the wind and thick sand. The picture of me gliding to him like some beautiful mirage was quickly being replaced by the reality of a sweaty, flustered, red faced bride. When I got closer and saw him watching me like he didn't see the frustration or splotchiness, everything faded to black except for him. His dark, windblown hair, the white linen shirt and tan slacks. The look of pure adoration on his face and when I got closer and took his hand, the glassy sheen of tears in his eyes.
"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said softly, holding tight to my hand as his lips curved into a smile.
I moved closer, breathing in his warmth. His love. I looked up at him, giving him a playful smirk. "You're not too shabby yourself, Mr. Whitmore."
His deep blue eyes went serious, searching mine. "Are you ready?"
I brought a hand to his cheek, staring into the eyes that knew me. That loved me. "I'm ready."
The man that was to marry us stepped up, flashing a toothy grin that shone like the top of his head as he shook both our hands. "I'm Scott Douglas." His British accent was thick and welcoming. "Thank you for making me a part of your day. Shall we begin?”
We moved past the warmth of the torches, the flames whipping back and forth, creating shadows on the cool, white sand. The tent was sheer enough to see the stars twinkling in the dark night sky. Fragrant tropical flowers lined the floor around us. It was like we were standing in our own slice of Eden.