In the past, Laila had never really understood why brides—or their families—would cry at weddings.
Sure, maybe if the bride were moving far away and wouldn't see her family for years, it might be a little sad. But most people these days get married locally. Some even lived right down the street. If you missed each other, couldn't you just drive over?
Tons of young people moved out after college to work in different cities, and you didn't see families bawling their eyes out then. So why was it that weddings so often turned into scenes of emotional breakdowns?
She never got it before.
But now, standing on the brink of her own wedding, she finally understood.
She had always had a good relationship with her family. Sure, she lived in Hollywood while they were based in New York, and sometimes they went months without seeing each other. But whenever someone said they missed her, Laila would drop everything and come home.
After marriage, nothing was really going to change. She'd still live in Hollywood. She'd still bring Roy and little Eli to New York whenever they had time off. The only real difference was that instead of being an engaged couple, she and Roy would officially be husband and wife.
That's it.
Yet even knowing all this, the moment she saw Janet's eyes start to redden, Laila felt her own nose sting.
It took a lot of effort to keep her tears at bay. If she cried now, who knew how much her makeup would get ruined?
So, she had cracked a joke to make Janet laugh, using laughter to push back the growing heaviness in the air.
Because the sadness didn't come from any change in their circumstances. It came from something deeper, something within—a shift in identity. Getting married. Growing up. Becoming an adult. Becoming a wife. A mother. No longer the little bird protected under her mother's wings, but a fully-fledged creature ready to take flight—soaring into her own sky.
It was only natural that she felt a bit lost, a bit nostalgic. Tears came from the heart, and Laila finally understood why weddings moved people to cry.
Just as everything was ready, someone came in to notify them that the ceremony was about to begin.
Janet gently lowered Laila's veil, patted her hand, and led her outside.
Laila walked slowly along a stone-paved path, her high heels clicking against the ground. The veil in front of her eyes blurred her vision slightly, so everything around her appeared soft and dreamlike.
She wasn't sure whether to be grateful that Roy hadn't arranged the wedding on the beach. Walking in heels on sand sounded… interesting, to say the least. What if her heel got stuck in the sand and she ended up flat on her face in front of the entire guest list?
The image popped into her head and made her laugh quietly.
She couldn't even tell if she was laughing because she was too nervous to think straight, or because she was so relaxed her thoughts had completely taken flight.
Golden Isle was a luxury resort owned by Qualcomm to host their top-tier clients. A chapel was, of course, essential to meet such guests' needs.
But this wasn't just any chapel—it was one of the most beautiful, most ornate buildings on the island. Famous murals adorned the walls, and sculptors had left their masterpieces throughout. And now, thanks to Roy, there was a breathtaking rose tunnel leading up to the entrance.
Thanks to the island's unique climate, roses bloom here all year round. The tunnel, formed entirely of living roses, was so beautiful it felt like a path straight into heaven. Pure white and deep crimson roses wove together overhead, petals falling gently to the path below. Even from a short distance away, the air carried a soft, fresh floral scent.
Laila remembered visiting this chapel before. Back then, there had only been a few climbing rose bushes on the wall—nothing like this tunnel. It had to be Roy's doing. He must have commissioned all of this just for the wedding. It boggled her mind how he'd managed to bring so many roses to the island.
Soon, Old Master Oswald appeared at the center of the path, taking her hand from Janet's.
Today, he wore a crisp, perfectly tailored suit and looked remarkably sharp. Even in his seventies, he was in excellent shape—no sign of the usual age-related paunch, and his hair was still thick. Aside from the silver at his temples, no one would believe he was already in his seventies.
Laila didn't have a father, so Oswald would be the one to walk her down the aisle and hand her off to Roy. Janet had explained the tradition to her earlier on the way over.
Laila had to admire her mom. Normally, wouldn't something like this be told to the bride in advance? If she remembered right, most brides even practiced walking with their escort before the ceremony. But all in the name of secrecy, they had really gone all in on the surprise.
"Laila," the old man suddenly spoke, voice low and steady as he held her hand. "If that kid ever treats you badly, come tell me. Don't you dare suffer in silence."
Those warm words made Laila smile. "Don't worry, Grandpa. He won't even get the chance to treat me badly. If he does, I'll drop him before he can blink."
Oswald let out a cold snort. "That's more like it. I know you're not like your mother—so foolish as to lose her head over some man. But even smart people make mistakes sometimes. Just remember this: you're a Moran. No matter what happens, your grandpa has your back."
Before Laila could even thank him, Janet called out from behind, "Excuse me? Who are you calling foolish? Dad, if it weren't for me, would you even have such an amazing granddaughter like Laila?"
She knew full well she'd made a mistake in her youth, one she wished she could erase. But she also knew that she had gained something precious—Laila. Her daughter was her life's greatest masterpiece, a divine gift. For that reason alone, she didn't curse Reynolds to hell.
Oswald snorted again, proud and sharp. "That's the only right thing you've done in your whole life!"
Their bickering was surprisingly cheerful, but it made the ceremony coordinator nearby both anxious and embarrassed. Finally, seeing a pause in their banter, he squeezed in with a polite reminder: "We're almost out of time. Should we head to the waiting area?"
Of course. No problem. What else could they do?
Laila gave a soft laugh and continued walking down the path, her arm still linked with her grandfather's.
The bridal waiting room was spacious, but it was still packed full of people. The makeup artist used the time to do some final touch-ups—reapplying here, adjusting there. The same went for the wedding dress—Janet was still tweaking the details down to the very last second, not even allowing a single pearl or gemstone to be out of place.
Then, she heard the music begin.
"It's starting?" Laila's heart jumped to her throat. A sudden wave of nervousness—something she thought she wouldn't feel—washed over her, stiffening her body.