Page 11 of No Vow Broken

Suddenly, Basia, Amanda, and Jennifer were looking at me like I had the answer. This had never come up before, and I’d assumed Amanda or my mother had already taken care of it.

“I’m sure this seating issue must have come up before,” I said cautiously.

“It has,” Amanda agreed. “We’ve had several discussions about it with your mother.”

“My mother? Oh, that’s great. What did she say?”

“She said it was your wedding and you’d make the right decision.”

“What?” My eyes widened. Mom expectedmeto make a decision of this magnitude? What was the world coming to?

I blew out a breath, trying to calm myself. If Mom thought I could make the decision, I could. It couldn’t be more difficult than a coding problem…I hoped.

“Okay, Jennifer, given your experience, what would standard protocol suggest?” I kind of felt proud about coming up with that question on the spot.

“Typically for a wedding, we defer to the bride-to-be,” Jennifer replied.

Ugh. No help at all. Where people sat at a wedding was apparently important and rooted in tradition. So how did that work when the people I was trying to seat were the president and his wife?

At first glance, it made sense to have the pope sit with Slash’s family. He was literally part of their family. But to stick the president with me? I had only met him a couple of times. At least Slash sort of worked for him. It seemed more logical to have the president and his wife sit on Slash’s side than on mine.

Was there a right answer? I glanced between the women, but everyone remained silent. I felt like a protocol trap had just been set.

“Basia, can I get your opinion on this important question?” I asked. When in doubt, get more information. I just hope she’d throw me a lifeline.

She shrugged. “It’s a tough one, Lexi. If there was some way that neither would be associated with a side but could be matched to you as a couple, that would be ideal.”

Suddenly the solution presented itself. “Thank you so much. Okay, I think I have a solution. The pope isn’t sitting on Slash’s side of the aisle since he will be up next to Father Armando in the chancel. I’m concerned it might look like the first family was picking sides if we seated them on one side or the other. So, my recommendation is to seat President Paulson and Shannon in the balcony.”

Astonished, everyone turned at the same time to look up at the small balcony that hung above the entrance.

“It’s safe to go up there?” Jennifer asked.

“Sure, it’s small and only has four rows of pews, but there are just the two of them, so they’d have plenty of room, as well as privacy. You can certainly have the Secret Service check it out if you have reservations.”

Jennifer didn’t seem convinced. “Usually, the president and his wife are seated near the front for most events, even when they aren’t being honored.”

“I understand that,” I said. “But let me explain my thinking. Both the president and the first lady have repeatedly assured Slash and me that they want to do everything to keep the focus off them and to not be a distraction on our big day. Sitting in the balcony achieves that goal and it also gives them the best view in the house. Secondly, seating them there provides balance. The pope is up front in the church where he belongs, leading us. We are also being supported both physically and symbolically by the president of the United States and his wife literally having our backs. Lastly, and I’m kind of going out on a limb here, but I think the Secret Service will feel as if the balcony is a much easier location for them to secure and protect.”

All heads swiveled back to me.

“Wow,” Basia finally said. “Like I said, you’re the perfect bride-to-be.”

After a moment of consideration, Jennifer shrugged. “It’s hard to argue with that logic. I’ll run it past President Paulson and the first lady, but I don’t foresee a problem with it.”

As they headed back inside, I turned to Basia with a grin on my face. “Nice try, guys, but trap foiled. Still, who knew that ‘the bride knows best’ applies to when popes and presidents are in attendance?”

“Touché.” Basia laughed, and it was the happiest I’d seen her all week.

Since Slash had texted it would be another thirty minutes until he got to the church, I wandered inside where Amanda was talking with Father Armando and Father Mulroney near the altar. She pointed at a chair and then referred to her ever-present clipboard. Managing the little details, I guessed, which is why she made a great wedding planner. I also suspected she had a great skill at managing personalities. Having a job that required dealing with overexcited and anxious clients on the most important day of their lives sounded horrific to me. I would rather debug a 1960’s-era government mainframe COBOL code for six weeks than sign up for that social quagmire.

St. Michael’s was bigger on the inside than it looked. It had a wide center aisle with pews and outer aisles on either side. The chancel was raised, with the altar located in the center rear. There was a choir loft in the back left corner of the chancel separated by a low railing. The loft would remain empty, although Father Mulroney had offered his choir for the ceremony. We’d politely declined, because the thought of all those strangers watching me at my wedding freaked me out.

I walked casually down the aisle looking around. Amanda and my mom had brought lacy white skirts to cover the end of the pews on the aisle. It was supposed to create an atmosphere of a river of white carrying the bride to her promised destination, or something fluffy like that. There were already empty waist-high flower stands at the end of every other pew on both sides of the aisle. I had been assured, not that I really cared, they’d be filled with flowers for the wedding. Right now, to my inexperienced eye, they just looked like something I could snag my wedding dress on.

I imagined walking down this aisle in a few days, music playing, and everyone’s gaze focused on me. Then I quickly pinched myself to make the nightmare go away.

Right now, everyone but me seemed busy, and I wanted to stay out of the way. I ambled past the two priests who were deep in conversation that almost assuredly didn’t involve or need me. I looked back at the entrance of the church and the balcony where the president and first lady would sit. It seemed closer than I expected. In fact, it would be easier for Slash and me to see them than if they had been in the regular pews. I was satisfied with my decision.

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