7. Adriana #2
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and move to stand in front of him.
Lachlan comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body.
He's changed into dark slacks and a button-down shirt with no tie, the forearms rolled up.
I can see the light copper hair on his forearms, the corded muscle that wasn't there ten years ago, and the ink that wasn't there either.
He sprayed on a little cologne, too, and that makes him feel even more foreign.
It's not the cheap spray he used to wear; it smells expensive.
Father Brennan clears his throat. "We are gathered here today," he begins. His voice is mechanical and rehearsed, just reciting words he's probably said a thousand times before. "To join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
This doesn't feel holy, though. It doesn't feel anything like I imagined in my girlish daydreams about Lachlan and I being wed.
I didn't even picture a priest most of the time—we were supposed to run away together, so I imagined a Vegas chapel or a justice of the peace, maybe a preacher we managed to talk into doing a religious ceremony for us.
The official channels of the Catholic Church were never factored into those elopements.
The priest continues talking, something about love and commitment and the sanctity of marriage.
I let the words wash over me without really hearing them.
None of this is real. This is just a performance we're going through to satisfy whatever legal requirements Lachlan thinks are necessary to protect us.
To protect his claim on us.
"Do you, Lachlan Gallagher," Father Brennan says, his voice pulling me back to the moment and making me focus on what's happening, "take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? "
"I do." Lachlan's voice is calm and certain.
When I glance at him, I see that he's looking at me, not at the priest, his blue eyes intense and focused.
He's looking at me like I'm a priceless jewel, like I'm something worth revering.
Like I'm not this broken, hollow thing that can barely hold itself together.
"And do you, Adriana Santoro," the priest continues, turning to me now.
I can see the question in his eyes, and I know he's wondering if I'm going to say no and make this difficult.
"Take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? "
The words stick in my throat. This isn't how it was supposed to be. It feels like something precious is being ripped away from me, another thing I wanted that's being twisted into something unrecognizable. I can't say them.
But Matteo is somewhere in this penthouse, and I need to see him, to know he's safe. And if this is what it takes—
"I do," I whisper. The words feel like the final piece of myself that I'm giving away, like the end of something I can't quite name.
Father Brennan looks relieved. "By the power vested in me," he says quickly, like he wants to get this over with as fast as possible, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
He doesn't say anything about kissing. I'm grateful for that, that I don't have to pretend that this is something romantic or tender, or anything other than what it is.
A transaction. A cage with different bars.
"Congratulations," Father Brennan says. He's already gathering his things to make his escape. "I'll have the paperwork sent over in the morning."
Then he's gone, and it's just me and Lachlan standing in this enormous living room with the city spread out below us.
I'm married. I'm his wife. I'm bound to him, and it feels both terrifyingly permanent and completely unreal.
"Adriana." His voice is careful, like he's afraid I'm going to bolt. "Are you—"
"I want to see Matteo." The words come out flat. I don't look at him. If I do, I'm afraid I might see something in his expression that will break me completely. "You promised I could see him after the ceremony. The ceremony is over."
He's quiet for a moment. "Of course," he says finally. "He's this way."
He leads me through the penthouse, down another hallway. I try to memorize the layout and map out where everything is in case I need to know later—in case I need to find a way out.
We stop in front of a door near the end of the hall. Lachlan opens it quietly, and I push past him before he can say anything or do anything except get out of my way.
Matteo is sitting on a bed that's too big for him, his legs dangling over the edge. His face is pale and frightened in the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand. When he sees me, his expression crumples, and he's off the bed and running toward me before I can take another breath.
"Mama!" His voice breaks on the word, and then he's in my arms, and I'm holding him so tight I'm probably hurting him, but I can't let go.
"I'm here," I whisper into his hair. My voice is shaking—my whole body is shaking—and I sink to my knees on the floor so I can hold him better. I want to wrap myself around him and shield him from everything. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here."
"I was scared," he manages through tears. "I didn't know where you were. They took me to this room and said you were coming, but you didn't come, and I thought—I thought—"
"I know." I pull back just enough to look at his face, and I cup his cheeks in my hands and wipe away his tears with my thumbs. "I know, and I'm so sorry. But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
"What's happening?" His eyes are wide, searching mine for answers I don't know how to give. "Who is that man? Why did he take us? Where are we?"
How do I explain this? How do I tell my nine-year-old son that we've been kidnapped by a man I used to love, that I just married that man to keep us safe, and that we're in Chicago now and I don't know what happens next? That I don't know if this is better or worse than what we left behind?
"We're safe," I say instead. That's what he needs to hear right now. It will help him sleep tonight, and keep him from being more terrified than he already is. "That man—his name is Lachlan. And he's going to keep us safe."
"From Uncle Gio?" Matteo's voice is small.
"Yes," I say quietly. "From Uncle Gio. From everyone. Lachlan is—" I hesitate, trying to find words that will make sense to him. "He's going to protect us. That's why we're here. That's why I married him." I gesture to the white dress I'm wearing.
Matteo's eyes go even wider. "You married him?" He looks past me to where Lachlan is standing in the doorway, and I can see the confusion on his face. "But you don't even know him."
"I do know him." It's true and not true at the same time. I knew the boy he was, but I don't know the man he's become. "I knew him a long time ago, before you were born. And he's—he's a good man, Matteo. He's going to take care of us."
I don't know if I believe that. I have no idea if Lachlan is still good, or if he's just another version of the violence and control I've been living with for ten years.
But I need Matteo to believe it. I need him to feel safe enough to sleep tonight and eat tomorrow, and not be consumed by the terror of everything that's happened.
"You don't have to be afraid," I tell him, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance I have into my voice. "I promise you, baby. Everything is going to be okay."
"Adriana's right."