LAYLA
We arrive at the ceremony with minutes to spare.
The wedding is being held in the hotel’s ballroom; a massive, high-ceilinged hall lined with fat marble pillars. Long swathes of white gauze hang around the ceiling, and huge bunches of pink and cream flowers spill out of patterned vases arranged decoratively through the room. Rows of white chairs have been set up instead of pews, and a soft pink carpet has been rolled down the aisle. At the end, an officiant, dressed in white, stands behind a fabric-covered table, smiling benignly at the guests as he flips through a thick book.
I take Luke’s hand, squeezing his fingers. As we walk down the aisle towards an empty row, I see people turning and staring. An old man looks at Luke pityingly, shaking his head. A grandma in a lilac blazer
