The Vows, The Veil and the Very Extra Sister

The sun rose over Dubai like it had RSVP’d to the wedding itself. Golden rays spilled across the skyline as the penthouse buzzed like a hive full of over-caffeinated bees. Jamila, in her final trimester and glowing like a goddess dipped in sunlight, stood in front of the mirror in a simple ivory gown that hugged her baby bump like a second skin.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe you’re pulling off an entire wedding with twins and no bridesmaids,” Jasmine said from behind her, eating cake off a fork like it was breakfast. “You’re basically Beyoncé.”

Jamila turned. “Where is Aayan?”

“Locked in his suite. Zara’s guarding him like it’s The Crown and he’s King Charles.”

Jamila raised a brow. “You sure she’s not trying to slip him a designer tux from Paris and force a couture ambush?”