Chapter 7 ~ Alexander
I am pissed. That’s all I can say. I look down at her as we line up to go into the banquet hall.
Her funeral? Her fucken funeral!
That’s what she compared this wedding too? Her marriage to me? The doors open and we all head in. I smile at the crowd like I did when I had to pose for all those dumb photos my mother insisted on taking. Like I need a physical reminder on a desk somewhere of the day Isabella went to her ‘funeral.’
I pull out her chair, and she sits, her back straight, her icy hands clapped in her lap like a fucken princess. Sitting down, I reach for the wine, filling my glass and then I fill hers. I catch a glance at her in my peripheral vision. She still has that automatic smile on her face.
And as much as I was looking forward to kissing her at the church, I feel far from it right now. Everything feels far from how I had imagined today going. My stomach is in ropes, my chest hurts, and I’m trying to contain my rage. I’m not going to put myself through kissing her.
Fuck that!
I grab my wine glass and stand up. I make my little witty speech about her being shy and how hungry I am, which is the only truth in that speech. So, keep your spoons for eating assholes.
I grab my wine and down the whole glass. Picking up the bottle, I fill it again and take another long swallow. Screw it!
I sit back and smile at the crowd, but inside I want to take this table and flip it over and smash every plate and glass in front of me. I don’t know how she can sit there beside me so serenely when all I can think about is shaking the shit out of her and demanding an answer.
I deserve an answer, damn it! My chest hurts and I rub that spot again.
I’m her husband now.
She cries in the dark at night. She tells me she’s heartbroken. That today was my wedding, not hers. Today was her funeral.
Who says shit like that? I’m not a nice guy and I never will be. But I don’t think I have been that much of a monster to her to make her say that.
I take another swallow of my wine and examine her. As much as I want to choke the life out of her right now, she is rather beautiful tonight. I need to have her breath on my lips, slide my tongue into her mouth, and taste her again surfaces and I groan inwardly.
Fucken wine, I drink the rest of my glass and pour another. Salute!
The meal comes and goes; the speeches are read, not that I really listen. I fill my glass and take a sip of wine and put the half-empty bottle on the table. I'm pretty sure that's my second bottle or... is it my third? Who cares, it's MY wedding, so fuck it.
I tilt my glass at Isabella and give her a half grin. She has barely touched her plate and the ache in my chest is getting lighter the more wine I drink, so what the hell.
She hasn’t said a word to me all night. Actually, the last time I heard her speak was at the ceremony. I take a sip of my wine and look at her. I really should learn that technique. Isabella and my father have it down verbatim. Passive aggressive silence.
I take a long swallow of wine, and they wheel the cake out in front of us. Christ, it looks hard as a rock and it’s four feet tall. Holy shit! That’s a big cake.
Anna comes over to Isabella and takes her hand. She wobbles a bit, and Anna steadies her. Is she ill again? I’m pissed, but if she is really sick and more than likely not saying anything, I’ll feel like a dick.
Concern takes over that pissed-off spot in my chest and I stand up and toss my napkin on the table.
She’s mine to care for, and if she doesn’t feel well, I’ll be the one to help her.
She didn’t eat at all, not that I really paid attention.
But It’s been a long day and if she didn't eat, no wonder she feels ill.
I take her hand out of Anna’s and she follows behind me as I lead us around the table to stand in front of the giant cake facing the room. Isabella takes a step to steady herself and out of some protective reaction or my half-drunken mood, I pull her back, circling her in my arms.
She feels good there. Her back is warm against my chest, her lily scent fills my nose, and I breathe deeply.
God, she always smells so good. I reach out and grasp the knife, wrapping her small palm around the handle and wrapping it in my much larger one.
Moving the braid off the base of her neck, I rest my chin on her shoulder as I press forward to cut the cake.
As we cut the cake, I let go of the knife as it slides through the hard shell of frosting and placed my hand over her lower tummy, pulling her back to snuggle in my hips.
I splayed my hand wide, the silk of her gown warm on my palm.
Isabella cuts a piece of cake and lays it on a plate, licking the icing off her fingers and smiling at the crowd of onlookers.
The photographer wants to take pictures, and I have to let her go so we can pose.
We place our hands' side by side and I look down at them. Our hands are crossed, our rings are gleaming in the light, and I’m feeling.
.. miserable ... ish. I’m not exactly sad, but?
... fuck, I don’t know what I’m feeling besides trying not to get hard.
I just want to stop fighting, and stop being angry. We use words and silence to cut and slice each other. I just want to stop the bleeding for one night.
I have no idea how to fix anything. I don’t know what she needs or why she is so unhappy with this marriage, but I can try for her.
For one night, I can try to not be a dick, and make an attempt to be normal like Christopher and Sebastian.
Put my need for control in the empty wine bottle I drank and put a cork in it.
Isabella shifts to move out of my arms and I pull her back tight to me, my hands tightening on her tummy and moving her hair away from her neck again with my chin. I can hear my whiskers scraping on the lace by her neck and the lights begin to lower, setting the mood for the evening’s festivities.
“One night, Isabella? Can we not have just this one night?” I don’t think my voice has ever in my life sounded this tender. But I want to give it a shot, make something work between us for once.
She turns into my arms and scrutinizes my face. And I try to not look anxious. She lifts her hand and softly runs her finger along my brow, following the deep crease.
Her touch feels so good. Soft, almost as if it’s a feather stroking my skin, and I close my eyes as she trails her icy finger over my jaw. I open my eyes and look into her jade-green ones. They are lax; no creases of annoyance around her eyes, and no red rims that make my chest hurt.
Her finger trails down my temple. I take her hand, cup it on my cheek, kiss her open palm, and observe her reaction.
“Just one night, and then you can go back to hating me tomorrow.” I implore her.
I wait, holding my breath as I watch her analyze my face. Her eyes are darting all over it, and I can’t read her expression to know what she’s thinking. Carlos says she needs me to love her, but I don’t love, I own.
When I own something, I defend it and take care of it.
I want to own her, but no matter how I try, she fights me.
How the hell do I tell her love is not in the equation, but my loyalty and security are?
And I will be loyal to her even if she never lets me fuck her.
The thought of cheating on her now just makes me feel like less of the man my father taught me to be.
I’m probably half-drunk, but a song comes to mind in my drunken state, and it’s perfect. I don’t know how to speak the words, or even the right words, but this song can.
I hold my hands up in her face. “Wait. Don’t answer. Just wait here.”
She looks confused as I turn and run over to the DJ. I take out my phone and scroll through till I find the song. He has it and I tell him to announce the bride and groom dance.
Fuck, playing whatever my mother picked out. I want this one.
He looks at the song, and back at me, and says, “Okay man, it’s your wedding dude.”
I trot back over to Isabella, take her chilly hand in mine, leading her to the middle of the dance floor, and wait for the lights to go out. The mic clicks on and the DJ’s voice rings out over the crowd.
“The bride and groom will have their first dance as a couple. I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Russo.”
The room erupts into applause. The lights dim further, and the bang of a spotlight coming on shines down, encircling us. She is shining in the light and she looks like a little angel all lit up in my arms.
Everyone stops clapping as the strings of a guitar solo breaks the silence and echo around the room.
I take her in my arms and start to dance, leading her around the dance floor. I watch her face as she listens to the song. I smile down at her as we flow together, our steps seamless. She understands the song, I can see it in her eyes.
A range of emotions cross her face, a mingling of accepting my declaration and the anguish of knowing I can only give her what I am able to. I don’t know how to love, but if I did, this song is as close as I know how to say it.
I make the last turn of the dance and we stop. I hold her and we lock eyes for a moment. The silent unspoken words I can’t say, the ones she wants to hear, but realizes she never will.
I want to kiss her so badly, why I don’t know, so to stop myself, I take a step back and entwine her fingers with mine as I take her back to our seats.
The room is alarmingly quiet as I pull out Isabella’s chair. No one claps in the usual manner after a bride and groom dance. I look out over Isabella’s head as I push her chair in and glare at them all.
Fuck them.
I am doing the best I know how too. I want to give her this one night, one night where I try. Sitting beside her, wrapping my arm around the back of her chair, I put my hand under her long braid, and run the tip of my fingers over the warm silk of her dress on her back.