Chapter 9 #2
None of my potential dreams for how this day would go matter because this is what is happening.
I’m marrying Rosalie, and this wedding has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with my family.
My attention is pulled back down to the aisle as the music changes, and carved oak double doors open up once again.
They reveal Rosalie, in all of her white-gowned glory.
A long veil covers her face and most of the top of her dress, but the bottom half is sleek and bouncy, it flows effortlessly with each of her steps.
At her side, is, unsurprisingly, Soren. I had wondered for a moment if Eivor would have been walking her down the aisle, but I knew that she would likely choose her own brother over her uncle. That, I don’t blame her.
Rosalie walks as though she was meant to be a bride. Her steps are even and align with the tempo of the music. She has one arm in Soren’s and the other holds her bouquet of full and lively flowers daintily.
All eyes are on her, but as she grows closer, they’re on me too. Expecting a reaction.
I think about my mother.
That brings a glossiness to my eyes. Just enough.
Inside, though, as she gets closer to me, my smile hides nothing but numbness.
Soren hands Rosalie off to me, I take her hand and step up closer to the priest with her. Then, I move her veil behind her head for her.
Her hair is curled and pinned behind her head in an overly ornate and elegant fashion. Ringlets grace the side of her well made-up face, and her cheeks are a rosy red. She smiles at me, soft, warm, feminine.
The act is a good one. She even squeezes my hand and keeps her eyes locked to mine for several moments longer than she needs to.
I squeeze her hand back, even though I don’t have to.
I look to the priest. A man I don’t even recognize, who looks far happier about the event than I can even pretend to feel.
“We are gathered here today to unite Alessio Dresvanni and Rosalie Fiorelli in holy matrimony,” the priest starts, voice loud but gentle. Likely able to be heard by even the back row of pews.
“If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest adds. Then waits.
There’s a part of me, a large part, that wishes someone would stand up and give a reason why Rosalie and I shouldn’t be—can’t be—married. There’s no real reason though. None that matter.
Still, my eyes shift to the side, and I catch his gaze.
Damian.
There he is, standing to the side of the bride’s procession, near the back wall. Just close enough to run over if something happens, but not close enough to ruin the photographs by being a big blinking security guard.
I swear his gaze meets mine.
Just for a second or two, then he’s looking at Rosalie. I look at her too, and I notice that she’s not looking into my face. She’s looking to the side, behind me, at the pews.
I wonder who she is looking at. Maybe that ex-boyfriend that she had been seeing until a few weeks before.
When no one speaks up, the priest continues. Going on and on about love, affection, acceptance, and the importance of tying souls together.
I zone out for half of it, but remember to keep a calm and collected look on my face. Trying not to let my eyebrows furrow down.
My head is dizzy as the vows begin. Traditional vows, of course, because we barely know each other. How could we possibly say something about each other that wouldn’t sound like it?
“Alessio, do you take Rosalie Fiorelli to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, and promise to honor her?”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I squeeze Rosalie’s hand and take the ring from the ring barrier—one of her cousins.
“I do,” I say, and it sounds like someone else’s voice entirely coming out of me.
Nevertheless, I slide the ring onto her ring finger, where it had just been hour before, and then look back up to her.
“Rosalie, do you take Alessio Fiorelli to be your lawfully wedding husband, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, and promise to honor him?”
Rosalie feigns tears, takes a shaky breath, and says, “I do.” Then she slides the ring onto my finger.
There are a few chuckles from behind us.
“With the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride,” the priest waves a hand excitedly.
It’s all show to me. We’re already married, none of this really mattered. It was all for the crowd, all for the media. All for Eivor.
Still, my role in all this is not over, and it won’t be for quite some time.
I step closer to Rosalie, grab her by the waist, and lean down to kiss her. She leans up to meet me in the middle, and I kiss her firmly. Her mouth melts against mine, warm and tasting like strawberries.
I feel nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
To the tune of cheering and clapping, Rosalie and I disappear down the aisle and into the hallway of the cathedral.
“You’ll have pictures, then ten minutes to yourselves before you need to leave for the reception,” Soren tells us.
I nod and follow Rosalie outside, where we are photographed in several different poses, along with family. Even my brothers get in on the pictures, despite Tommaso hating his picture being taken.
By the time we’re back inside I feel a chill to my bones despite the whiskey I had before the ceremony. Rosalie’s cheeks are pinker than what the blush intended to be.
“Ten minutes,” Carmine reminds us.
Again, I nod and simply take Rosalie’s cold hand, allowing her to lead me to the room where we can speak and sit in private. For ten whole minutes. Great.
Rosalie steps in first, and I close the door behind me. She doesn’t speak to me, at least not right away.
I sigh and sit down on a loveseat in the corner of the room while she begins to take her veil and several pearl accented pins out of her hair.
“I need your help with my dress,” she admits.
I glance toward the window, it’s covered by curtains, but it still makes me nervous. Anyone could know we’re in here and try that stunt again.
“Damian is outside the door, and there’s four guards watching the perimeter of the cathedral,” Rosalie tells me, as if reading my mind. “So, don’t worry. Besides, I don’t think they’ll try that shit again.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the way she words it.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I agree. I stand up and step over to her.
I help her undo the ribbons at the back of her bodice, before helping her out of her wedding gown.
She’s far from naked. She has a knee-length slip on, and undergarments under that.
Still, I look away from her as she pulls on a different simpler but still elegant white dress that stops at her knees and has a square scalloped neckline.
She keeps her jewelry on, and replaces her white high heels with silver kitten heels.
All for me to stay in the same tux I got married in. It’s odd how that works.
Rosalie even changes her hair. She pulls it halfway down in the back so it’s not all behind her head. I keep mine as it is, not wanting to bother with it. I’m sure it’ll become a bit of a mess as the night goes on.
“You look great,” I tell her with a tight-lipped smile—attempting to be cheerful despite the numbness still surrounding my emotions.
Rosalie looks me up and down and raises a brow, as if to tell me that she is well aware of how good she looks. Then steps closer to me and fixes my bowtie.
“You look good as well,” she compliments me. “Though I wish we could have done a first look.”
I scoff. “It wouldn’t exactly have been genuine,” I remind her. “Those kind of things…they, well, require emotion.”
Her face falls and she looks to the side. “I know,” she speaks quietly. The silence that follows is deafening.
Maybe she wishes I felt something more. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t. Not right now anyway. If I allow myself to feel…I think all I would feel is sadness that my mother wasn’t here today, mixed with relief that she wasn’t here today.
My mother wouldn’t want to see me marry a woman I don’t love just for the sake of allying our family with someone like Eivor.
Soren…well, he’s not such a bad guy, but Eivor? I think my mother would hate him more than she hated her own husband.
She would know what it’s like to marry someone you don’t love.
I have vague memories of her telling someone she used to love our father but realized what kind of man he truly was.
I wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation, but despite my young age, I had understood it very well. As I had already begun to learn what kind of man my father was as well, and he wasn’t the type of man I wanted to follow in the footsteps of.
I had hoped Carmine would do better than him.
That’s harsh. I don’t care. Right now, he’s acting quite a bit like our father when it comes to this whole marriage thing. It’s exactly what he would have done if he hadn’t despised the idea of giving Eivor Fiorelli any more power than he already had.
That’s the difference between them, I guess. A difference of two lines next to each other. They don’t touch, but they’re awfully close.
“Are you ready?”
Damian’s voice cut through the silence. I didn’t realize the door had even opened.
“We’re ready,” Rosalie speaks for me.
I grab my coat and watch as she puts hers on before we follow Damian out of the room and down the hallway to the back entrance of the cathedral.
Damian checks the back parking lot before we pile into a small limo that Eivor paid for to get to the reception. Damian isn’t the driver.
He sits in the seats ahead of us, though, and keeps an eye on things.
“Are we sure about using the same reception hall after what happened?” I ask. Honestly, I’m asking both of them, not just Rosalie.
“The window has been repaired,” Damian explains. “You’ll both stay away from the windows for tonight.”
“Besides, they got one of the guys who was in the car,” Rosalie reminds me. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get something out of him.”
“We?” I ask with a chuckle.