Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Rosario
Iam in way over my head!
I managed to avoid making eye contact with the rest of the morning, but we’re pulling up to the church now, and the way I’m crushing the garment bag in my hands is going to leave me standing in a wrinkled mess of a dress for my wedding.
WEDDING.
My eye drifts to Bruno, who’s driving us carefully down the mountain into town after another massive snowfall. He’s already dressed in a suit with the jacket hanging off the back of his seat, and all I keep thinking is that this man is about to become my husband.
In a suit that’s not wrinkled.
I frown at my own thoughts and relax my hands, taking a deep breath. It’s natural to be nervous, right? I’m just like every other normal bride, except I didn’t have a choice and could end up dead if I don’t do this.
No pressure.
“Hey, your thinking is getting mighty loud.” Bruno tries for levity but fails.
“This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. We shouldn’t be doing any of this.” I look out the window again and sigh.
“I know, sweetheart, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it.” The amount of anger and sorrow in that one statement makes my eyes fill with tears.
I want to place blame, but this isn’t his fault either.
“I know you will,” I whisper as I wipe away my tears.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, and he hesitates getting out of the truck to help me, drawing my attention back to him. He seems like the nervous one now, and somehow that calms me slightly.
“What is it?” I ask, reaching for his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The gesture catches us both off guard, and we have an awkward moment that leads to laughter before he finally allows me to take his hand.
“I have something to give you before we go in.” He lifts his hips up, and my eyebrows disappear into my hairline at the bulge in his pants.
He chuckles at my reaction as he fits his hand into the pocket of the suit pants.
“Not that gorgeous. This,” he pulls out a small velvet box, and my mouth falls open.
“We might not have chosen eachother but they aren’t going to steal this moment from us.” He flips the lid open, and a beautiful solitaire glitters up at me.
“Rosario Battle, will you marry me?” My voice cracks as I fight back tears again.
“Yes,” I manage finally as he pushes the ring up my finger.
“You honor me.” He kisses my hand right above the ring, and my heart leaps.
It’s such a smile gesture, but the warmth and intimacy of it make it feel like so much more.
“Let’s get you inside so you can change. We’ve got less than an hour.” I nod as he rushes to get my door.
Once I’m inside the church, I’m led to a small changing room with a handwritten sign on the door reading “Bridal Suite.” I unzip the dress and sigh in relief when I find the simple chiffon dress wrinkle-free.
The babydoll design is easy to step into and zip without help.
I touch up my hair, which I pinned up after curling it, and step into my shoes to look at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed pink, and my eyes look red from crying, making me perfectly resemble the namesake of my wedding dress style. The bodice of the dress has tiny white rosebuds, and I run my fingers over the design. A detail I’m sure my abeulo picked.
My fingers run into the only imperfection in the dress. The small hole the knife left in it. The same one that stabbed me. It’s a miracle Bruno was able to get his blood out, but I learned he’s been getting those types of stains out of fabric for longer than I’ve been alive.
I jump when someone knocks on the door and give myself a stern talking to before opening it.
You are brave, strong, and can handle being a married woman. Now go out there and say I do.
I grab the veil and place it over my face before I open the door.
“I’m ready.”
Bruno
“I’m not ready,” I pace in front of the altar as I wait for Rosario to come down the aisle.
“What was that, my son?” The priest, who was quietly reading his scripture, as I mumbled to myself.
“Nothing father. My apologies.” He nods politely and palms his rosary beads as he begins to pray.
Probably for my fucking sanity.
The church is empty today per my request, so when the music starts to play, I jump at the sound of the organ booming and echoing through the pillars.
Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" in C major plays perfectly as Rosario comes into view, and my whole world narrows to her. She is all that matters in this moment. Not how we got here or what is expected of us. This moment is our no matter how we came to it.
I can barely see her face through the lace veil, but I can feel the way her eyes are locked on me, too.
When she finally stands in front of me, the priest starts to speak.
He’s under strict instructions to keep this as simple as possible.
Classic vows, no blessings or extras for an empty church.
So it seems like I blink and we’re repeating words that will bind us forever.
Not only in front of God, but also in front of the Famiglia, which, at the moment, is my true concern.
The entire ceremony is a blur.
I heard myself say I do. I’m one hundred percent sure she did because I ripped the fucking veil off as soon as the words had left her mouth, and I’m kissing her way before the priest gives me permission, but I don’t give two fucks.
This woman is now my wife.
“Congratulations, if you’ll follow me, we can sign the paperwork in my office.”
Well, almost.
I pull away from her lips and stare into her eyes. They shine brightly at me with wonder. The sound of clapping from the back of the church straddles us both, and we both look to see three men in suits.
“Congratulazioni, Don Romano. We are here to witness and deliver this gift for your bride.” The man standing closest to the door approaches with a large white box with a red bow and tries to hand it to Rosario.
I push her behind my back and point to the front pew.
“We have some paperwork to take care of. Thank you, but your presence is no longer needed.” I try to keep my voice civil, but the priest picks up on the tension and steps forward with his hands up.
“There will be no violence in the house of God. Go now in peace.” The guy with the box drops it on the pew and purposefully adjusts his suit jacket so that his gun harness shows before he buttons it.
“Your grandfather sends his regards, and he wishes you a fruitful union.” He winks at my wife before turning to leave, and it takes everything in me not to follow them out of the church.
“What did that mean?” I take her hand in mine and notice her shivering worse than when I found her half frozen.
“The clock has started.” I nod at the priest, and we follow him to his office, where I rush him through the paperwork while avoiding all his questions about the men who got into his locked church.
I need to get my wife home and figure out what’s in that fucking box cause the Famiglia doesn’t just give normal presents. Rosario must be thinking along the same lines cause as soon as we get back in the truck, she rips the bow off the box and tears into the package.
Eleven white long-stem roses with red tips, tied with a red ribbon, with a rattle hanging from it. Rosario runs her fingers around the tiny silver toy before letting out a little snort.
“Subtle,” she slams the lid back on the roses and sighs.
She only gets half the meaning, but I got the message loud and clear.
We have an heir to make.