It was a big, beautiful ceremony celebrated in St. Stephen's. Gayle wore a white gown with a massive train and a million tiny seed pearls, which she and Liz and Tina and Mary Richardson—Brent's housekeeper—had spent half the night sewing onto it. Brent wore a tailed tux and a ruffled blue shirt that emphasized his dark good looks wonderfully. Mary Richardson's grandchildren were a big part of the ceremony: Alexandra, her six-year-old granddaughter, was the flower girl, darling in pastel lavender satin and off-white lace, and Jason, ten—who had broken his arm on Gayle's first night visiting Brent—was a handsome ring boy in a ruffled blue shirt and tux. Chad and Brent's cousin, Gary, were the ushers; and naturally, Tina and Liz served as maids of honor. It was beautiful, Gayle thought. It was more than she had ever dreamed, more than she could have ever hoped might come true. The organist played “We've Only Just Begun” as Geoff escorted her down the long aisle to give her away.
