Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Sometimes, I’m positive I know how much love a heart can hold. I’m aware this cannot be possible, because I haven’t had kids yet, and I’m certain having children will change my perspective on a lot of things.

Watching the emotion roll through Gabriel’s gaze as I walk toward him, I cannot fathom a time in my life when I will love more than I do right now.

I’m almost there. Almost to him. He wears traditional black. I am equally traditional in my white. We reach the end of the aisle, and my dad has to tug me back lightly. I don’t think anyone notices. I was ready to float right into Gabriel, into the safety and calm I feel when I am beside him.

I wait, impatient, while the minister and my dad complete the ritual, confirming it is he who is giving me away. I look at Cam, standing as my maid of honor, and I can tell she wants to roll her eyes at the tradition.

My dad releases me, and this is my cue. Gabriel shakes hands with my father, and then it’s he and I, face-to-face. Nothing can compare to Gabriel in a tux, the way his shoulders fill the fabric. The shine in his eyes, the bob of his throat, these are moments I will remember forever. I already know it. And the way I’m feeling, not just the fullness of my heart but the energy in my limbs, the brightness of our future, it is right here in front of us. Palpable. Unseen, but sensed.

The ceremony is a blur. Ryan stands behind Gabriel, his best man. We make promises, and vow to love each other through it all. We exchange rings, kiss, and traipse back down the aisle amidst riotous clapping. Gabriel’s colleagues clap the loudest, their hands more like bear paws. It strikes me then that Gabriel may have lost his biological brother, but he went on to find a firehouse full of them.

With my hand gripped tightly in Gabriel’s, I’m also stricken by the realization that I was very wrong. I can love more. Each second that passes, I love Gabriel more.

My husband.

I whisper the word to myself. Husband . Through hugs and handshakes with guests, I whisper the word.

We do all the traditional wedding things. First dance, cut the cake, garter toss, and the Macarena. It’s seventy-two degrees, the sunset was the kind Arizona is known for, and the cake tastes nothing like fondant. There were very few things I was picky about, and the cake was one of them.

If my recently divorced aunt hadn’t come to sit beside me a minute ago, the night would be perfect.

“I’m glad I got you alone for a minute,” she says, in a harried growl.

“Hi, Aunt Francesca.” I hope I’ve hidden the dread I feel. She’s ten years older than my dad, and intimidating. Picture Bellatrix Lestrange from Harry Potter with a perma-scowl and a harsh haircut and you have Aunt Francesca.

I search over her shoulder for someone to save me. Gabriel talks animatedly to my dad across the room, hands flying to help him say whatever it is he’s saying. Camryn and Sabrina are doing the Electric Slide with Ryan and his wife, Carrie.

I turn my attention back to my aunt, resolute.

“A word of advice.” Aunt Francesca leans forward, resting her elbows on her spread apart knees. “Don’t lose yourself. Don’t let your life become about him.”

I try not to make a face. “Of course not. You know I graduated from college. I’m going to use my degree.”

“I’m not only talking about your career aspirations. Don’t lose what’s in here”—she pokes at my chest, and I feel it through the bustier I’m wearing to give my breasts a lift—“because, believe me, he’ll come after it. They all do. Over half of all marriages end in divorce, and the ones that don’t are just two people who’ve settled upon an acceptable level of unhappiness.”

I stiffen. On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it look if the bride tipped over the chair her aunt is sitting in?

Should I remind her I completed a research project about long-term marriage, and I can say with a good degree of accuracy the characteristics that define it? Probably not. She’ll be forming her argument the entire time I’m speaking. Instead, I opt for something short and sweet, that she can’t argue. “Gabriel is not Uncle Mitchell. He will not come after…” I look down at my chest, to where she pointed. She must’ve meant my heart. “…my heart.”

She scoffs. “I don’t mean your heart. Those can be broken and repaired over and over. And don’t call that man your uncle. I meant your soul.”

Annoyance flares. Forget the levelheaded response. Retorts float through my head, most of them containing expletives, but I hold them at bay. Aunt Francesca’s divorce became official three weeks ago. My dad warned me she was on a warpath, and that nobody, including me on my wedding day, was safe from her serpent tongue.

Gabriel approaches from behind Aunt Francesca. I must have a look on my face, because there’s a question in his eyes.

Gabriel stops behind my aunt. He places his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them affectionately. “Hello, Francesca.”

She bristles. I smile.

“How’s my wife?” Gabriel asks over her head. His eyes twinkle. Maybe my dad told him about my aunt, and he has come to save me.

“Better now that you’re here.” I stand up, which isn’t as easy as it sounds with all this silk and lace. I’d opted for a fitted silhouette, and as stunning as it is, it doesn’t allow for much flexibility.

Gabriel rounds my aunt’s chair and holds my elbow while I get my feet under me. Once I’m steady, he stays by my side and brushes two knuckles down my spine. I may be steady on my feet, but his touch unsteadies all other parts of me.

Ryan and two guys from Gabriel’s fire crew appear, jubilant and probably half, if not all the way, in the bag.

“Hero, hero,” Ryan shouts. The others join in. Raucous and rowdy, fists pulsing the air, they chant. It reminds me of a fraternity. The chant changes to, “Kiss her, kiss her.”

I’m laughing and watching Gabriel shake his head in amusement. His eyes lock onto mine and he shrugs resolutely. He winds an arm around my lower back, and one around my neck. “We’d better give them what they want,” he whispers. Then he bends me backward, and I hold on.

My eyes close as I settle into the kiss. When else in life are we going to be celebrated in public for being this affectionate and romantic? Probably never, so I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

The guys cheer, and holler, and one of them yells, “Get it, hero.”

Gabriel smiles against me. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. A perfect space in time, a?—

What is that sound? I open my eyes as Gabriel rights us.

Fake retching.

Aunt Francesca’s shoulders hunch, her tongue sticks out. She looks like a bizarre salt and pepper haired child.

To keep myself from saying the words on the tip of my tongue, I turn my back on her. I am the luckiest person in the history of ever to call Gabriel my husband.

Aunt Francesca can go fuck herself.

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