19. Vinnie
What should have been a five-minute drive to St. Sebastian’s takes us nearly twenty thanks to a fender bender blocking a lane, causing NYPD to have to direct traffic. It seems appropriate that I’d be late to my own wedding.
An omen, some would say.
As we pass the collision, the morbid thought of wishing it was me in the car that crashed passes through my mind.
The drive has been quiet as I stare straight ahead—other than to look at the accident—laser focused on the closed partition as Cecilia and Raina each hold one of my hands in their lap. The air is thick with the summer heat and unspoken words. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“Look, I know I’m basically on my way to my own emotional funeral right now, but marrying August won’t change me, you guys. We’re going to go in there, grit our teeth through the ceremony, then enjoy the reception. It’s an open bar, so we’re going to utilize it.”
Drinking away my sorrows doesn’t seem like the best of choices considering where I’m expected to sleep tonight, but there’s no way I’ll make it through everything without a few drinks in my system—and I’m not a drinker.
Truly, a glass of wine, maybe two, is my limit. There’s nothing I hate more than the feeling of being hungover.
Well, that’s a lie.
I hate August more.
“It just feels a little hard to celebrate—” Cecilia begins, but Raina cuts her off.
“—but if getting wasted is what you want, getting wasted is what you’ll get, babe.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze both of their hands at the same time and turn my head to each of them to give them a small smile. “Your support means the world to me.”
“We’ll always support you,” Cecilia stresses. “Even if we don’t agree with the decision, remember?”
“That being said,” Raina interjects again. “There’s still time to hijack this limo and make you a runaway bride.”
My thoughts drift to Sly and the time we spent in my hotel room—moments that I’ll always treasure. Though, I hope one day I’ll forget the look in his eyes and the way the light extinguished when I told him again that I was still going through with the wedding. Seconds later, a startling visual of Sly in an open casket plagues my mind and I immediately start shaking my head.
“No. I have to do this.”
When the driver pulls the limo alongside the curb in front of the church, I look out the window at the magnificent structure, sighing deeply. I’ve always admired St. Sebastian’s. It’s tall, pointed pinnacles, the stunning stained glass windows that decorate the front. Even the cross that rests on the highest point of the building sparkles against the summer sun.
Under any other circumstances, I’d feel a sense of peace knowing I was about to marry in the church I grew up in.
Our driver comes around to open the door, and Raina slides out first, accepting his hand for assistance. Cecilia leans forward and grabs the bouquets, handing them to me one at a time. I pass both mine and Raina’s to her as she stands outside the car, then slides forward on the seat to follow her out.
Cecilia is out of the car faster than I can stand up straight, helping me smooth and fluff my gown on the dirty New York sidewalk. Taking my bouquet from Raina, I silently walk up the stairs that lead to the entrance.
Two men from my father’s security team stand in front of the doors in tuxedos, their hands crossed in front of them. Clear, coiled earpieces sit in their ears and I can see one of them is speaking into the headset he wears, likely announcing my arrival.
When I stop in front of them, the one who was talking tips his head in greeting, wordlessly opening the door.
The moment I’m over the threshold, I see my father waiting in the foyer. The heavy wooden doors leading into the church are closed, but even the dense oak that blocks us isn’t thick enough to hide the chatter of excitement from the guests that are inside.
“Sunshine, you look stunning.” He kisses the side of my temple. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I answer honestly, but he misses the sarcasm in my voice. Looking over my shoulder, he gives a curt nod to someone, and within seconds I hear music from inside the church begin.
In my peripheral, I see a man push off the wall and approach my friends. “Miss Lancaster, Miss Burns—they’re ready for you.”
One at a time, they come to give me a hug.
“I love you,” Cecilia reminds me as she squeezes me tight.
“I love you, too.” The look on her face is solemn as she backs away and takes her spot in front of the doors.
Raina steps forward and grabs my face in her hands, not caring about my makeup. She holds my gaze as she keeps her voice low. “You will get past this. You are a strong, amazing, selfless woman, and your sacrifice will not go without praise. Keep your chin up, babe. I’ll be right beside you—today, and always.”
Unabashedly, she kisses me on the nose. I hear my father”s deep chuckle beside us, and my heart races, though I know he couldn’t have heard her. She walks away to go join Cecilia, standing behind her as they line up to enter.
My father steps toward me, arm extended with his elbow bent for me to take.
Like the dutiful daughter I am, I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and we line up behind my bridesmaids.
Then the doors open.
Emotion clogs my throat when I see how full the church is. My vision blurs as I take it all in—not a pew is empty as a sea of faceless bodies fills every inch, with some people even standing in the back.
My stomach rolls.
A violinist begins to play the soft melody of Bach’s “Arioso” as August’s brother, Orlando, steps out from the right, offering Cecilia his arm. She takes it and they begin to walk down the aisle where I know August waits. I refuse to look that far, not wanting to see him until I absolutely have to.
What’s the point? I have to look at him for the rest of my life.
When they reach the halfway point, Joseph steps out and offers Raina his arm. As she takes it, he looks over his shoulder at me, his expression giving nothing away. Our gaze meets, and his eyes harden. There’s not an ounce of the boy I once knew left in him—my big brother, my best friend. In his place is a man I don’t recognize, playing the part of my brother. The moment is fleeting before he turns back around and faces the church, and he and Raina begin to walk down the aisle.
My father and I step forward. All eyes turn to us as though I’m a magnet, and suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe.
Standing there, with everyone looking at me, I mentally black out, slipping so deep into the recesses of my mind, I don’t realize my father is squeezing my hand with his free one until I hear his voice cut through the silence my mind has created.
“Sunshine…Sunshine, it’s our turn. This is it.”
Whipping my head toward him, I search his face, looking—internally begging—for some indication that this is all just a bad dream. But as a bead of sweat drips from his forehead I know that it’s not. The tuxedo he wears, the heavy gown I wear, the church full of people…this is real, and I’m very much about to metaphorically end my life for the man I love.
“Let’s go,” I say, and take the first step forward.
Before my heel even touches the ground, the gentle whoosh of bodies ripples through the air as every single person stands and turns toward us.
Beaming smiles and soft whispers line the rows as we pass by, every step numbing me more. I look around at the church I was raised in, taking in the sight of the evening sun dancing through the stained glass windows, the colors settling on the marble floor.
When I finally look up at August, I’m met with a smile that overtakes his face. A smile I would think was genuine, if it were on anyone other than him.
Stopping in front of him, he takes a single altar step down so he is level with us, standing before me and my father. They shake hands, and after, August clasps his in front of himself, waiting for his next cue.
My father and I bow in front of the altar before he reaches for August”s hand and places mine in it.
Stepping forward, I cast a glance at Raina and give her my bouquet as I turn to stand beside August. She takes it and goes to sit with Cecilia and my family in the first pew. Across the aisle from them, the groomsmen—my brother Joseph included—sit with August’s family.
As the music comes to a close and the chatter of the guests quiets, the Monsignor readies himself to speak.
Monsignor Jacoby, who has been the same man whom I have listened to every Sunday since I was old enough to sit through mass, wears a white vestment instead of his usual black with purple trim, and his circular bifocals rest on the bridge of his nose.
“We welcome everyone here today to share in the joy of the union and celebration of Vincenza Mae Paladino and August William St. Jean. We begin in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May the Lord be with you.”
“And with your spirit,” hundreds of voices repeat.
Recognizing our next cue, August and I turn toward each other and he takes the hand he isn’t already holding so that he’s clutching both. My palms begin to sweat under his gaze, but I refuse to give him any eye contact.
Instead, I stare at the knot of his tie and allow my mind to drift to Sly.
Sly and his striking hazel eyes. The soft smile he reserves just for me.
I think of his touch, and my body can’t help but react with a shiver.
The telltale sign of tears prick the back of my eyes, and I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip to keep myself from outwardly reacting.
As the monsignor continues on through the beginning part of the ceremony, I keep my view cast downward, looking at my hands still clasped in August’s. I hate it. The feel of his skin against mine. The knowledge of what’s to come as soon as this ceremony is over.
Briefly, I think about how grateful I am that August’s family is not Catholic and our families decided not to do a full traditional mass, or make us suffer through Pre-Cana.
I would have never made it through the two hours it would have taken from beginning to end of a full mass wedding, and there’s no way I would have made it through six months of marriage classes through the church with August, pretending as though I’m actually invested in our relationship.
As it is, the words the monsignor is speaking don’t register in my mind. Neither do the readings given by our loved ones, or the time that passes during the ceremony. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience, and it isn’t until August squeezes my hands to the point of pain to get my attention that I realize what is about to happen.
It’s almost time to recite our vows of consent.
“Vincenza and August. Have you come here today, before God, your families, and each other, to enter into a marriage freely, wholeheartedly, and without coercion?” the monsignor asks.
We’re meant to answer together, but as August recites, “I have,” the words taste like bile on my tongue. I can’t get them out—my voice is barely above a whisper as I attempt to say the same.
August squeezes my fingers again, and I clear my throat, willing my voice to stay strong. “I have.”
The way my heart crumbles after I utter those two words is beyond explanation.
“Are you prepared to join in Holy Matrimony as you come together to follow the path of marriage, united as one, to love and to honor each other as long as you both shall live?”
“I am,” August and I repeat in unison.
It feels as though he’s physically ripped my chest open and is clutching my heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter with each declaration the monsignor speaks.
“Are you prepared to lovingly accept God”s children and bring them up according to the love and law of Christ and his Church?”
“I am,” we repeat, but mine comes out as a sob.
The thought of children with anyone other than Sly is the final nail in my metaphorical coffin. There’s nothing left of me to break.
A vision of Sly and I walking hand in hand with a toddler by our side appears like a flash of lightning in front of my eyes before it quickly swirls away, as though it was never there.
Looking up at August, my eyes meet his, and reflected, I see everything I’m losing by standing before him.
Every piece of me screams inside—the strong woman I once was begging to be set free again, trying to claw her way out. I don’t recognize myself, and as I glance down at the gorgeous white gown I’m wearing, every thought I’ve forced out of my mind over these last several months slams into me.
You’re a coward.
A fake.
Sly doesn’t deserve a woman like you, but you deserve a man like August.
You’re not the Vinnie Paladino you pretend to be.
I don’t realize a tear has fallen until August reaches up to brush it away, leaning into the role of the loving, doting groom he pretends to be.
“As it is your intention to enter into Holy Matrimony, it is time to declare your consent and commitment before God and His Church. August, recite your commitment.”
August smiles widely. “With pleasure. I, August William St. Jean, take you, Vincenza Mae Paladino, to be my lawful wife. I promise to have and to hold you from this day forward, for better and worse, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you through all the days of my life until death do us part.”
Reaching up, he wipes at his eyes, putting on a good show.
Then he glances at the monsignor, and suddenly it”s my turn. My heart pounds in my chest and my vision swims.
This is it. This is truly it.
“Amen,” Monsignor Jacoby closes. “Vincenza, recite your commitment.”
I can’t.
My esophagus feels as though it’s closing on its own, my chest rising and falling as I struggle to breathe.
“Vinnie,” August growls through teeth gritted in a charming smile.
He’s squeezing my hands so tightly, the tips of my fingers are as white as paper.
“I…” I begin, but the words I don’t want to say die on my tongue.
A sudden bang erupts through the church as one of the doors slams against the wall. My head whips toward the sound, and the sight of the man at the other end of the aisle is enough to have me falling to my knees.
What is he doing here?