24. Persephone
Chapter twenty-four
Persephone
Eoghan
I paced the church, waiting for her arrival. “Christ, I should have picked a time.”
“That’s what happens when you do last minute things, Eoghan,” Dairo said, sitting on the altar, his feet dangling off the sacred platform where a sacrament would be if we were doing this the good, Catholic way. “You’re half-assing this! Why? You're afraid the girl will run away if you don’t do it right now?”
That was exactly what I was worried about.
“Tell me, cousin,” Dairo chuckled. “Is she such a good lay that you would pledge forever to her?”
I clenched my jaw. My hands closed into fists as the reminder of my unfulfilled desires washed over my skin. I hadn’t so much as seen those gorgeous tits that haunted my dreams. I knew they’d be large, rounded and smooth to the touch. I knew they’d taste divine, the moment she let me take them in my mouth. But other than a stolen kiss…
“Good lord, you’ve never…” Dairo slammed a hand over his forehead and started to laugh - an uncontrollable belly laugh that made me want to punch him in the throat. “Not even a little? Just the tip?”
I glared at him, which made him laugh even more.
“When have you ever been so chaste?” He jumped off the altar so he could bend over and laugh with his hands on his knees. “If I had known this, I woulda told you to marry her sooner. Imagine, Eoghan Green, not getting between the thighs of a New York City woman! Did she rebuff you? Is that why you’re in love? Are you marrying her because she was the only one who wouldn’t put out for the famous…”
“I love you, Dairo, but I will punch you in this house of worship, I swear.” I was seconds from clobbering my best mate. “You can deliver my vows with blood running down your face, and I wouldn’t care.”
Dairo suddenly stood up straight, his eyes going past me to the church doors, his mouth open.
“What?” I asked him, still ready with a clenched fist to fight off an Italian posse if I had to. News of Morelli’s disappearance must have spread by now. Retaliation would be swift.
But Dairo didn’t say anything. He just grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me to face the double doors.
The vision standing there made my knees weak.
I placed a hand on my chest, as she walked towards me. A long bouquet of elegant orchids draped down from her hands at her waist, almost dragging on the ground.
Her train was long, sparkling, and of the most delicate translucent fabric. Her body was hugged by the draped, dreamy-looking dress, as if she was wearing the sparkle of evening clouds. Her dark skin against the crisp white fabric gave the sweetest hint of fullness, as her round hips and breasts tested the intricate bodice.
Her wild, black hair was loose to her waist, reminding me of the ocean waves at night.
I thought she would have shown up with a crown of diamonds, but I was wrong. She had a crown of the same white orchids and green leaves that matched the emerald on her finger.
I grabbed Dairo’s sleeve, pulling him close to me.
“My God,” I sighed. “I’m marrying Persephone herself.”
“Careful, cousin,” Dairo chuckled. “That would make you King of the Underworld.”
Dairo stepped away from me as my bride walked towards me, her dress floating along the marble floors of the Catholic Church.
Piano music floated in the air. I recognized it immediately. Just like my paintings had their own signature and appearance, so did Dairo’s playing. He was playing Reverie by Debussy, a song that encapsulated the moment perfectly.
Reverie , the French word for “dream”.
That’s what this moment was. A woman in white, her downcast eyes giving her the look of a humble Madonna - a saint among women.
I would rule the Underworld for eternity, if it meant I could keep her by my side.
The lengths I would go to keep her knew no bounds.
I could not have devised a more perfect bride in my imaginings. The orchids, the flower crown, the body that I longed to devour… When her eyes lifted from the ground and fell on me, I was ready to fall to my knees in joy. I wanted to bow to the ground, and kiss her shoe, and declare myself unworthy of her love.
When she got close to me, I reached out my hand. She took it, holding the bouquet to the side in one hand as she stood in front of me.
Dairo finished the melody and abandoned the piano to stand with us.
He smirked at me, but I didn’t care. I was enthralled by my bride.
“Dearly beloved,” he started, and I tuned out his annoying British voice.
Instead I concentrated on memorizing every eyelash on my bride’s eyes. The soft roundness of her cheeks, and the deep, warm color of her beautiful skin was buffed and shined to perfection without taking away from the allure of her sharp, intelligent eyes.
“Do you, Eoghan Cillian Green, take Kira Kekoa to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Dairo finally said.
“I do.”
I tightened my hand on hers, as Dairo repeated the question to her.
It was uncanny how my cousin had memorized all of this so fast. It was even more irritating how his contacts were able to legally ordain him as a minister in two seconds flat. But beggars could not be choosers, and I should be grateful we were able to pull this off in time.
For the rings, I pulled out two matching platinum bands, engraved to be a celtic braid. Hers was smaller and delicate, sealed by a small emerald that could be worn with her enormous engagement ring. Mine was just metal all the way around, and I fancied that I’d get the birthstones of our children whenever we had them. Hopefully there’d be enough jewels to cover the whole thing by the time we were through.
I couldn’t look at her face during the vows because I was afraid that it would knock me over.
I was so full of joy and anticipation that it threatened to burst out of my skin and made me want to weep at the same time.
Was that a peculiar thing to think?
I was already mourning the loss of joy. That after the rings were on, and we were married, I would never, ever have a moment of pure happiness like the one I was experiencing now. No kiss would be sweeter, no lovemaking more complete, than what we have now, and on our honeymoon. This would be the height of my joy, and I was already aching for its loss.
There was something else there… fear. It was like the crackle of electricity in the air before a natural disaster. It was a warning that by my selfish act of seeking joy, I put her in danger.
Visions of my mum, her body and tears on the day of her death flashed through my mind. I flinched, holding Kira’s hand in mine even tighter. Tight enough, that she winced. But I didn’t let go.
She would not suffer my mother’s fate.
I brought her unscarred palm to my lips, kissing that sacred place before I took the ring, and hovered it over the tip of her index finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” I said, moving the ring from that position, to the middle. “With my body, I thee worship.” Finally, I lifted the ring, hovering it over the nail of the finger that would bind us, at least, within the Christian faith. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”
I had wanted those specific words because they had been written since the 1552 Book of Common Prayer in a section called “The Fourme of Solemnizacyon of Matrymonye”.
Did we read the bannes over three Sundays and holy days? No.
Was she Catholic? No.
Did we read the rest of that long-winded drivel? No.
But those three lines were what I wanted to say. A trinity of vows that gave her my name, my body, and everything I held dear. And that was what she deserved.
I placed the ring on her finger, and kissed her hand. Now, it was her turn.
I thought she’d hesitate. Hell, Kira might even toy with me, and make me sweat. But she didn’t. She said them outright, in a clear voice, and sound mind.
“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”
She wasn't looking at me either. Not in the eyes. She stared at my hand with such an intense concentration that I almost worried that she wouldn't go through with it. But she slid the ring on my finger, settling it below the last knuckle before her lashes fluttered and she looked at me.
“With the power vested in me by Caledonia’s hackers, and the State of New York,” Dairo said with a slight chuckle. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
I stared at our hands, and our rings. An image of her covered in emeralds, and nothing else, flashed into my mind.
The image grew, stroke by stroke - a painting of her, nude, in transparent silks of white, staring right at the beholder with an unashamed sense of her own beauty. The more time I stayed still, the clearer the image was until I finally glared at my cousin, and demanded, “Well?”
“What?” he said, tilting his head like a confused dog.
I wanted to punch him in the throat.
“Can I kiss my bride or what, you twat?” Jesus, my family was annoying.
Dairo placed his hand over his chest, as if he was clutching at pearls, before he theatrically gasped, “You’re in the house of God!”
He pointed to the stained glass over his head, depicting the Madonna with the baby Jesus.
“And you’re about to get punched, you gobshite!”
Dairo just continued to smile, giving my wife a wink, which made me want to lunge for his throat.
“You may kiss the bride,” he said, clapping his hands.
I didn’t hesitate. I lunged into her, cupping the back of her neck in my hand and pulling her to me.
I faintly heard her sigh of contentment, as her arms encircled my neck, and mine went around her waist so that I could pull our bodies close together.
But it wasn’t enough. Not until we could be together, alone, without these filthy, profane clothes between us.