Epilogue Emma #2
His eyes never leave mine as he speaks. I can see everything in them—the love, the promise to be the husband I deserve and to protect our family.
When it’s my turn, my voice shakes slightly on the first few words but then steadies.
“I, Emma, take you, Leonardo, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward…” I squeeze his hands tighter, willing him to understand how much I mean this.
“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
The priest blesses our rings. They’re simple gold bands that feel more right than the enormous diamond Tony gave me ever did. Leo slides mine onto my finger, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
When I slide his ring onto his finger, he brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly.
“By the power vested in me,” the priest says, smiling at both of us, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Leo doesn’t wait for permission. He pulls me in and kisses me with a tenderness that makes my heart ache, and our daughter kicks hard enough that Leo definitely feels it against his stomach. He smiles against my lips.
When we pull back, we’re both crying. His mother is outright sobbing in the front row. Valentina is trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even Dante looks suspiciously emotional, quickly wiping at his eyes.
My mother is crying too, and when I catch her eye, I see the smile on her face. It’s sad but genuine. She’s trying and that’s all I can ask for.
We walk back down the aisle together, husband and wife, and I try not to look at the empty spaces on my side. I try not to think about my father sitting at home, refusing to be here for this.
Instead I look at Leo—my husband—and I let myself be happy.
The reception is subdued compared to what my father had planned for my wedding to Tony. That reception was supposed to be massive with a live band, five-course dinner, and dancing until dawn.
This reception is in a small private room at a restaurant. There’s champagne—sparkling cider for me—and toasts from Dante and Valentina that make everyone laugh and cry in equal measure.
The Santoro family celebrates loudly and joyfully, welcoming me into the family with open arms. Leo’s mother hugs me so tight I can barely breathe and tells me she’s so happy and grateful to have me as a daughter-in-law.
My small contingent watches warily from their table. My mother tries to smile when I look at her. My cousins are polite but clearly uncomfortable, clearly aware that they’re in enemy territory.
It’s not the fairy tale wedding I imagined as a girl. The big princess moment with my father walking me down the aisle and everyone I love celebrating together.
But as Leo dances with his mother and makes her laugh, I realize something.
This is better. It’s mine and exactly what I chose.
When Leo comes back to me, he pulls me onto the dance floor despite my protests about my belly and my swollen ankles and how tired I am.
“Dance with me, Mrs. Santoro,” he murmurs, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine.
Mrs. Santoro. My heart does a weird little flip.
“I can barely move,” I point out. “Your daughter is currently using my ribs as a jungle gym.”
“Then we’ll just sway,” he says, pulling me close. Well, as close as we can get. “I just want to hold my wife.”
My wife. God. I’m his wife.
We sway slowly to the music, my head on his shoulder, his hand on my back. Around us, people are laughing and talking and celebrating, but it all fades into background noise.
It’s just us. Just this moment.
“I love you,” Leo whispers against my hair. “I love you so much, Emma. Thank you for choosing me.”
“Thank you for giving me a choice,” I whisper back.
We stay like that until the song ends, then our daughter kicks hard enough that we both laugh. Valentina comes over to steal me away for pictures.
Finally, after I begged Leo that I couldn’t walk anymore, we leave the reception and are finally alone in our bedroom.
Our bedroom. Our home. Our life.
The house is quiet. It’s just us and the remains of the day. Leo’s jacket is tossed over a chair, and my shoes were kicked off the second we walked through the door.
Leo comes up behind me while I’m standing at the window, looking out at the dark garden. His arms wrap around me, his hands settling on my belly where they seem to naturally gravitate these days.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my neck.
“Hi,” I say back, leaning into him.
“How are you feeling? Tired? Do you need to rest? Should I—”
“Leo,” I interrupt, turning in his arms to face him and linking my arms around his neck, playing with the hair there. “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”
His brow furrows. “You’re seven months pregnant and you just stood through a wedding and reception,” he points out. “You have to be exhausted.”
“I am,” I admit. My whole body hurts. “But also…I don’t want this day to end yet.”
His eyes soften. “It doesn’t have to.”
He kisses me then, soft and sweet, his hands sliding up to my face. When he pulls back, he starts slowly working the buttons on the back of my dress.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs. “Please.”
I let him undress me with painstaking care, his fingers gentle on each button and bit of fabric. He kisses each new piece of skin as he reveals it—my shoulders, my back, the curve of my neck.
When the dress falls away, I’m left in just my maternity underwear, and I suddenly feel self-conscious.