250. THE WEDDING

250. THE WEDDING
ZALEY STOOD AT THE END OF THE AISLE, WAITING.
His eyes were blue, sharp, storm-bright, the kind of blue that could cut and cradle all at once. His dark brown hair was neatly combed back, catching the light as though it had been touched with bronze. Clean-shaven, his strong jawline was laid bare, and for once, there was no shadow of war, no weight of blood or business dulling his expression.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he carried himself with the commanding ease of a man used to being obeyed, but there was something different in him now. He wasn’t just Zaley the ruthless, the feared. Today, he was a man stripped down to the core of who he was: the boy who once loved recklessly, the man who had lost, and the one who had finally found his way back.
Every line of him was composed, yet his hands betrayed him, curling and flexing at his sides as if he couldn’t wait another second to reach for her.
Spencer stood behind him as the officiant.
Kirill and Remi had taken their places as best men.
Eli was busy wrangling the girls.
Zahara, Seline, and Raya were with his bride—and he hated them for it.
Why couldn’t he be with her? Why couldn’t he help her dress?
He and Layla had been through things no one could imagine. They had survived together, bled together, lived through hell side by side. And now—when it came to their wedding—suddenly there was a rule that the groom shouldn’t see the bride before the ceremony?
Unbelievable. Whoever made that rule, he was going to find them, tear them into peices and—
“Mamma. Dada. Mommy. Daddy…”
The tiny voice crackled through the speakers, halting his thoughts and drawing every eye in the room. Zaley’s head snapped up.
After a series of “mamma” and “dada” babbles, Luna finally managed words.
“Lilly said… it’s mama-dada day. An’ I give fwowers.”
A ripple of laughter ran through their family and friends.
“But… I like fwowers. Don’ wanna give.”
The guests laughed harder. A second later, Lilly’s more composed little voice came through the mic, half a mutter, half exasperated:
“That’s what flower girls do, Luna. We scatter petals on the floor.”
“Nooo. I don’ wan’ thu.” Luna whined.
“If you do it, I’ll give you a candy,” Lilly whispered, forgetting they were right in front of the microphone. Everyone chuckled.
“…Okay.” Luna decided quickly, then raised her voice again: “Mamma said… I wuv you. We all wuv you. We all wuv boo… like Dada eyes.”
Zaley froze, his chest tightening.
“And… and… and…” Luna dragged out, stuck mid-thought.
“If you promise to take—” Lilly prompted from behind.
“Yes!” Luna picked it up eagerly. “If you pwomise thu take us… thu big exsibishun… we send Mamma fast!”
The hall erupted in laughter again, while Zaley fought the burn in his throat. Trust his daughters to steal the entire ceremony before it had even begun.
"Hey, Daddy?" Spencer called through the mike. "Do you promise to take the girls to the exhibition?"
Zaley chuckled and said, Yes.
And his little flower girls walked in.
The music shifted, sweet and soft. Every head turned toward the aisle.
First came Lilly, her six-year-old steps measured, careful, just as she had practised. She clutched her basket of petals with the seriousness of someone carrying the fate of the whole ceremony in her small hands. Her dress, a cascade of pale blue tulle, floated around her like a cloud.
Behind her wobbled Luna, all two-and-a-half years of her, clutching her own handful of flowers with fierce determination. The skirt of her dress was nearly as big as she was, the soft layers brushing the floor with each unsteady step. Her hair, crowned with a tiny silver headband, glittered under the lights.
Gasps and chuckles rippled through the guests as Luna paused halfway down the aisle to lift her skirt dramatically, showing off how “pweety” it was before scattering a tiny handful of petals. Lilly sighed, grabbed her sister’s hand, and tugged her gently forward, whispering instructions that only the microphones picked up.
Together, they made their way to the altar, blue dresses glowing under the lights like reflections of their father’s eyes.
And for a moment, Zaley swore nothing in the world had ever looked more perfect.
In the middle of the aisle, Luna’s steps faltered. Her eyes lit up, and suddenly she pointed her tiny finger across the crowd.
“Gwanpa!” she squealed, spotting her grandpa. Without hesitation, she veered right toward him.
“Luna!” Lilly hissed, tugging at her arm. But Luna was determined.
“Gwampa Kai gives mooney,” she announced proudly, sending the whole room into laughter.
With much effort, Lilly wrangled her sister back to the path, dragging her along by the hand like a reluctant puppy. By the time they reached their spot, Lilly’s face was red with embarrassment, but Luna looked entirely unbothered.
That was, until she noticed her flower petals were gone. Her little gasp was audible. “No more…” she muttered, staring at the empty basket.
Before anyone could stop her, Luna toddled back down the aisle, bending to scoop up the petals she had already scattered. Giggles bubbled from the guests as her tutu-like dress puffed and swayed with each determined wobble.
Halfway through her rescue mission, another familiar face caught her attention. She froze, raised her hand high, and waved.
“Kady!” she shouted with glee.
And when Luna finally reached her father, she tugged on his trousers with a dramatic frown.
“Raya baby not coming out, Daddy,” she complained, her tiny voice grave, as if she were reporting a national emergency.
The guests chuckled.
The light blue gown shimmered in the light, each embroidered petal a promise of the fairytale Layla had always deserved. But what held every gaze, what stole every breath, was not just the dress.
Above the delicate neckline, just over her heart, ink glimmered against her skin — bold and unashamed. Leon’s.
It was no secret anymore. No hesitation, no shame. Layla had chosen to wear her love like armour, her devotion marked for the world to see.
Zaley’s steps faltered for the first time that day. His chest tightened, a storm breaking loose behind his eyes as the sight of it struck him.
Who would walk her down the aisle? No one knew.
But today, the answer silenced them all.
Zaley moved. He left his place at the altar, every step deliberate, until he reached her. For a heartbeat, bride and groom stood face to face, not bound by rules or traditions, but by the bond that had survived fire, war, and memory itself.
Without hesitation, he bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to her hand. A murmur rippled through the guests.
“Hey, hey,” Spencer, standing as officiant, called over the microphone with mock sternness. “No kissing the bride until the vows.”
The laughter that followed barely covered the sound of Zaley’s next move. He ignored the warning completely, lifting his head to brush his lips against Layla’s forehead, gentle, reverent, unshakable.
And with her hand in his, Zaley walked Layla down the aisle himself, as if the world had always meant for them to arrive together.
Layla waved at her father, Kai, and he waved back, smiling.
Spencer teared up.
"You are the officiant. Control that damn river," Kirill hissed.
And he tried.
Raya started to bawl.
Suddenly, Kirill doesn't seem as strong as he appeared.
"Please don't cry," Zaley warned. "I want to throw up."

Spencer hadn’t stopped crying.
Only God knew how he’d managed to marry them in the first place.
Now, at the reception, he was still a mess, red-eyed, voice breaking as he clutched the microphone.
“And last but not least,” he sniffled, “you hurt her, I’ll kill you. Or I’ll die trying.” With that, he stumbled off the words that ended his speech.
Zaley’s jaw flexed. His gaze slid to Layla, heated and unflinching.
“If I ever hurt my wife, Spencer,” he said, voice sharp as a blade, “I’ll kill myself. I don't need you to do the deed.”
And everyone in the room knew that it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
Finally, the microphone was passed to Layla. She rose, her cheeks aching from all the smiling, her heart too full for her chest.
“I don’t have much to say,” she began, voice warm, steady. “But I wanted to tell this to my thirteen-year-old self.” She drew in a breath, her eyes finding her husband, her grin spreading wide.
“Layla… we made it. We married our first crush. Our first everything.”
The room blurred into nothing. There was only him, only her—only forever.
"Please don't blush," Kiril warned Zaley. "I want to throw up."
"If you are planning a honeymoon, I will look after the kids." Raya offered.
But the newly married couple shook their heads in unison.
Luna was already asleep in Zaley's arms.
"I don't think we will go to our honeymoon anytime soon," Layla said, holding Lilly's hands in hers.
"We are going home."
"With my girls," Zaley added.