Chapter 22 #2
As I walk up with Abi, I can hear Vanessa’s too-loud whisper. “Ooh, did you see that redhead? I’m telling you, that was a Harvard ring I saw on his finger!”
“And?” Marissa giggles. “Mine’s got a big Marine Corps tattoo on his shoulder.”
“Wait, how’d you see John’s tattoo?” Courtney asks, sucked into the conversation. “Or do I want to ask?”
“Not in a church you don’t,” Estella says before blushing as she looks at Father O’Flannigan.
“I’d hand out Hail Marys, but I doubt they’d be useful,” Father O’Flannigan says with a smile. “Perhaps you ladies would like to head up to the choir loft and prepare? Ah, Violet, there you are.”
“Where’s Papa?” I ask worriedly, and Mom waves me down.
“Papa was getting a bit hot, so he’s sitting down just inside the sanctuary,” Mom says. “He’ll take your arm as you step in . . . kinda like Kate Middleton, right?”
I sigh in relief and turn to Abi. “Okay, what now?”
She smiles sweetly, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Now, you go marry my brother and have your happily ever after, one way or another. You deserve this, Vi.”
I know what she’s saying. She’s probably known for longer than I have, but I need to say the words to someone, even if I can’t say them to Ross. “I love him, Abs.”
She nods. “I know you do. You always have. And he loves you too. He’s just a bit slow on the uptake. Sorry about that, but no take-backsies. He’s your problem now.”
If only that were true.
She takes a big breath and switches into boss mode.
“Okay, ladies, you heard Father, get upstairs. Ave Maria and then the wedding march. Courtney, head around to Ross’s room and tell him to line up at the front.
Father, you know what to do. Ms. Russo, you’ll walk in first, then the kids, Archie, and me.
Last, but certainly not least, Violet with Papa.
” We all nod along after receiving our assignments.
“And break! I’ve always wanted to say that,” she says with a chuckle.
I hear the music change, something slow and driving, and through the doors, I hear the crowd die down. I didn’t realize how loud it was until it got quiet. “How many people are in there?”
Archie pats my hand. “It’ll be fine, Vi. Hold your head up and slow march yourself down there. It doesn’t matter if there are five or five hundred. The only one that matters is the hottie at the front.”
I laugh a bit. “A tad bit more than five and a lot less than five hundred, I’m sure.” He makes a face, but I think he’s kidding. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell with him.
The wedding planner, Sarah, sticks her head out. “Mother of the bride?”
Over her shoulder, as Mom slips through, I get my first peek of the crowd.
“It’s . . . insane,” I whisper, fear gripping me tightly as I squeeze my beautiful bouquet when I see the new mass of humanity.
The church is designed to hold five hundred, and I figured that would be way more than enough.
My family is ridiculously large, but Ross only invited a few college friends, his immediate family, and the people at work.
Now, the church, which was plenty big enough in my plan, is swollen to overflowing. Folding chairs have been set up on the end of every pew, and I get a glance of men standing along the walls in suits of every shade of grey.
“That’s not a wedding crowd. That’s a convention!”
Abi glances over, smiling a little acidly.
“Sorry. Mom invited basically everyone we know from every social club and circle she’s ever been in, and no one at the office was willing to piss Dad off with the way he’s been acting, according to Courtney, so the entire company is here.
From the mailroom to the board. And with your family . . . guess it’s gotten pretty big.”
“Fire Marshall’s gonna shut us down,” Archie whispers, but before I can fully freak out, the music changes again and I can hear the triplets singing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria with harmonies that blend perfectly.
At least that’s going well. “Our turn. Let’s go, Abi.
She’ll be fine.” Archie glares at me, daring me to prove him wrong. Abi pats my hand and smiles.
They go in, Michael and Anna leading the way, and leave me alone in the hallway. It’s then that I hear it. The Wedding March.
My throat tightens up, and as the double doors of the church swing open for me, all the worry drops away. Papa’s right where he’s supposed to be, standing next to the second pew to take my arm and walk me down the aisle, and as he kisses my hand lovingly, I know this has all been worth it.
Ross stands at the altar, with Kaede and Courtney next to him.
I have a vague impression of lush greenery surrounding the altar, but my eyes are locked on Ross. He’s standing tall, like a prince, my knight in saving armor. Except . . . wait . . . is his tuxedo green? I smile, delighted that he’d do something so unique and surprising.
It’s perfect.
It’s my wedding day.
But I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t what it looks like. This is a charade, a performance . . . it’s not real. Except to the man already standing by my side.
I look at Papa, my reason for all of this. He’s openly crying, smiling so broadly that I feel better. All of this stress and drama were worth it.
“Violet, my beautiful one, you make this old man happy,” Papa whispers as we reach the end of the aisle and I turn to him, exchanging cheek kisses.
Turning to Ross, Papa gives him my hand. “Protect and love her the way I’ve loved her, young man. And you’ll never go wrong.”
“I will, sir,” Ross says, taking my hand, and Papa steps forward to kiss Ross on both cheeks too. He surprises Ross, and there are a few laughs from the audience, but it’s perfect for today, and as Papa sits, I’m struck with how perfect everything’s been.
Sure, there’s been stress and craziness.
But the orchestra has been lovely so far, the triplets sound beautiful, the video crew is discretely moving about the room, our families are here, and Papa walked me down the aisle just like I wanted.
I’m going to ignore that Giovanna had to drag her kids to the pew to sit them down because I don’t want to know what they were doing before I walked in with Papa. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the smile on Papa’s face.
But then I see the smile on Ross’s face and my own blooms. His smile. That’s important too.
Father O’Flannigan clears his throat, and we start the ceremony.
After our first hymn, he launches into his opening comments, and I’m shocked at the emotion and power pouring from his words.
I can barely keep up with everything he’s saying.
I’m still in so much shock, but this isn’t the cookie cutter speech I was expecting.
“A lot of people think that being a priest for weddings is easy. Stand up here, don’t mess up the vows, read from a book, and bam, seal it with a kiss.
And my work is done. But it’s so much more than that.
It’s helping couples find their way to the altar in a manner that will create not just a wedding, but a marriage.
Creating a life together, a love together, two truly becoming one.
Some say that takes time, as if there is some hourglass of sand and a particular number of grains have to fall before you’re ‘ready’, whatever that means.
And I could have politely said that this couple standing in front of you today hasn’t done enough to ‘prove’ their relationship to satisfy the church. ”
“But then I thought a little harder, and I’ve watched how this young woman and young man have jumped through every hoop the world’s put in their way to get to today.
I’ve watched as they’ve become unwitting celebrities and how they’ve endured the scrutiny, and yes, the occasional doubt from those around them. ”
Damn, if that isn’t Father O’Flannigan bitch slapping Morgan Andrews, I don’t know what is.
“But yet, they’ve persisted, sacrificed, and shown an utter devotion to each another. Their love has stood steady, resolute against those who would put their union asunder before it is even blessed, as I intend to do today.”
“Though stories and movies tell us otherwise, love is not a fire. Sure, it flares up, and yes, it can have passions that don’t get talked about a lot within the walls of a church.
But there are also tough times, and low times, and sad times.
Love is about walking through the fires together, withstanding the rain together, breathing in the present together, and creating a foundation for the future together. And that takes hard work.”
“Work that Ross and Violet have already shown they are capable of tackling, and I have faith they will continue to do so. As we begin the ceremony that will unite you in marriage, I praise you both. May your commitment be a shining beacon to everyone about what love actually is.”
I blink, stunned by the words from the normally calm Father O’Flannigan.
Beside me, Abi sniffs, and I see her wipe away a tear.
I can hear people sniffing behind me, but before I can check to see if they’re crying or if it’s just really, really dusty in the church, O’Flannigan starts in on the ceremony.
I let myself be carried away by the rehearsed words, caught up in my own thoughts. Devotion? My stomach twists as I think about what he just said and how I could be making a mockery of his praise.
My worry increases when Ross reaches out, taking my hand, and I can feel him tremble for the first time. He’s nervous too, probably just waiting for someone to jump up and call us out right here and now.
FAKE!
FRAUD!
LIAR!
I expect all of these words to be brought up, but instead, there’s nothing but soft, happy murmurs as O’Flannigan says, “If anyone should have reason for these two to not be wed, may they speak now or forever hold their peace.”
Nothing. Well, Papa and Nana are now openly crying, and Mom’s sniffing like a coke fiend, but nobody objects.
“May we have the rings?”
Giovanna releases Michael, doing the two-finger thing between her eyes and his that says ‘I’m watching you, mister,’ and he solemnly walks the pillow of rings toward us. Ross unties the rings and hands them to Father O’Flannigan as Michael runs back to sit beside his mother.
The vows feel like bitter sawdust on my lips as I look up into Ross’s smiling face. Not because I don’t mean them but because I can’t shake the feeling that we’re lying to everyone.
But I don’t want to lie.
I want him.
I want to be his wife.
And maybe that’s the biggest lie of all . . . the one I’m telling Ross by not telling him the truth. That I love him. That I mean every word I’m saying, every vow I’m making.
Suddenly, it’s time.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Ross leans in, and for a moment, I feel my fear rise up. I want to pull back, to plead forgiveness and go running down the aisle, away from all of this madness.
And then I want to walk back down for real and marry Ross. But that’s even crazier.
But then his lips touch mine, and magic blooms. In his kiss, I can feel him, his heart, and I respond with my whole heart, kissing him back until Father O’Flannigan has to clear his throat. “Save some for the honeymoon, folks?”
We pull back, both of us chuckling. “Sorry, not sorry,” Ross whispers to Father O’Flannigan, who smiles knowingly.
We did it.
As we walk down the aisle and the entire church breaks into applause, each clap is a fresh wave of relief.
But the reason this whole crazy idea even started is wiping fresh tears from his own eyes. Papa, standing with Nana, gives me a nod, pride and happiness in his teary smile.
It’s going to be okay. Nobody knows our secret. Nobody called us out. Nobody is going to wreck this.
It’s time to celebrate successfully giving the sweetest, most loving man I’ve ever known his dying wish. “Thank you,” I whisper . . . to Ross, to Papa, to the universe for giving me enough time with him for this dream to come true.