Chapter 14 - A Vow Without the Screen
The projection was still on behind us. A frozen frame of that storage room, the garment bags hanging in a row under fluorescent light, lit the whole altar with a cold white glow that didn't belong with the chandeliers. The guests had settled but they kept glancing up at it, like it might start playing again.
I could feel it on my back, that light. I had used it to tell the truth, but I didn't want to get married in front of it.
I looked off to the side of the altar where Jenna, our coordinator, stood with her headset pushed back, her hand over her mouth. She caught my eye.
"Can we turn the screen off?" I asked. My voice was low. I wasn't on the microphone anymore; I'd set the handheld down on the little table beside the floral arrangement after I'd stepped out of the crystal gown. "Just dark. All the way dark."
She nodded right away. She lifted her wrist and spoke quietly into her cuff mic. A second later the image stuttered and then cut to black. A soft click came from the projector above the balcony. The warm gold from the chandeliers came back and the marble floor stopped reflecting that harsh white. Someone in the second row exhaled, audible in the quiet.
He was still standing across from me, my husband. His boutonniere had shifted a little. He kept his hands at his sides, then lifted them, then let them fall again. He didn't reach for the microphone either.
"Is that better?" he asked me.
I nodded. "I can breathe now," I said. And I did. I let a breath in slow enough that I felt my ribs expand against the satin. The ivory was smooth and cool against my skin. Without the outer weight, I could stand straighter.
He smiled a little, just at the corner of his mouth. "I was holding mine too."
The officiant, who had stepped back near the piano to give us space during everything with the footage and the invoices, came forward again. He was an older man we'd chosen from my husband's family church. He looked at both of us and asked with his eyes if we were ready. I nodded. My husband nodded.
We didn't pick the microphones back up. The room was so quiet we didn't need them.
My husband started. His voice was not loud. He had to pause between sentences. I could hear him inhale.
"I've known you four years," he said. "And today I stood up here and I didn't notice your dress had been changed. Right in front of me. I told myself it was details, that it didn't matter. But it was your dress. And I should have noticed."
He looked down for a second, then back at me. His eyes moved slowly, like he was actually seeing me now.
"I'm sorry I didn't notice," he said. "And I'm sorry I let my mom answer for me when you were trying to tell me something was wrong. I won't do that again. I'm going to ask you first. Before I defer to her. Before I just go quiet to keep things smooth. I'll ask you."
I felt my throat tighten. I took another breath before I answered. Victoria was in my peripheral vision, in the front row, holding the crystal garment bag across her lap now like she had been given a task and was going to complete it correctly. She wasn't speaking. Lila sat beside her, hands folded, watching us. But I kept my eyes on him.
I had rehearsed vows for months. The cards were still folded in the little pocket of my get-ready robe back in the suite. I didn't want them now.
"I've been thinking about the right moment to be honest," I said. My voice caught and I paused. "I kept telling myself I'd find a private moment. A better time. And then I was up here and I decided to show everyone at once because I didn't know how else to be heard."
I swallowed.
"I don't want our marriage to live on a screen," I said. "If something feels wrong again, I'm going to tell you that day. In our kitchen. Not at an altar. I will speak sooner. Even if my voice shakes."
He nodded, his breathing a little faster. "I want that," he said.
We had written that we would say the traditional lines after our personal words. The officiant stepped closer and spoke them quietly, phrase by phrase, without a microphone, and we repeated them.
"Do you take this man," he said to me, and I said, "I do," and the satin didn't rustle, it just held.
"Do you take this woman," he said to my husband, and he said, "I do," and his voice was steady this time, with a pause right before it where he inhaled and I could hear it.
When we exchanged the rings, my hands were not shaking. I slid his on and he slid mine on and the metal was warm from being in his pocket.
The officiant didn't need to project. He just said, "You may kiss," in a normal speaking voice, and it carried because everyone was listening so hard.
May you like
He leaned in and I met him. It was brief and not performed. I could feel the pearl accessory at the back of my chignon and his hand lightly at my waist over the satin, not over beading.
When we turned, the screen behind us stayed dark. No invoice. No footage. Just the faint reflection of the chandeliers in its black surface. The guests rose. I heard chairs move on marble, a soft wave of sound, and then applause that started small and stayed small, respectful, not the loud cheer of a reception. Victoria stood too, still holding the bag, and Lila put a hand on her arm. But I was looking at the aisle and the open doors at the back of the ballroom where the evening light was coming in, and at his hand in mine.
