38. Deirdre
Deirdre
I don’t have much time to process what just happened with Elio, because as soon as he leaves the room Valentina and the other bridesmaids storm back in like a cloud of anxious bees.
“Jesus, look at the mess!” Valentina says, stopping short when she sees all the hair and makeup stuff that Elio knocked to the ground.
“Sorry,” I say softly, seeing that many of the various jars and bottles are now broken.
“Oh, God, don’t be! Elio paid for all this shit,” Valentina says. “And I can pretty much guarantee you weren’t the one throwing it all down on the floor.”
Well, that is true, I suppose. But I was still complicit. He swept it all off the table to get me up on there. So he could fuck me. Because we both needed it so badly. Sticky wetness pools in my panties as I look down at the items in disarray on the expensive floor.
Elio did it. He broke these things.
But he did it with me. For me.
Just like what he did to Brian.
I haven’t seen him on campus lately. I assumed it was just because Elio had hit him that other time and told him to stay away from me.
I shot his fucking dick off.
He said it so casually. Like he took Brian out for ice cream.
And the worst part of it all? The thing that really made me want to throw up?
It wasn’t feeling bad for Brian, who probably would have raped me that night.
It was the instant, toxic squeeze of pleasure I felt, learning just how far Elio would go to protect me.
If someone tries to hurt me, he will hurt them twice as much.
And then the guilt had crashed in, a sickly green tidal wave, because who the hell thinks like that? Who feels protected and treasured when they find out their fiancé permanently disfigured their ex in one of the most horrific ways?
I didn’t want to let Elio turn me into this. Or maybe this is already who I was, and he’s just revealed that inner ugliness.
But no matter how many layers Elio has pulled back, no matter which parts of me he’s exposed, he’s never once turned away.
There’s relief in that so palpable that it nearly knocks me over, but also pain, because I have turned away from him. Over and over, I’ve pushed him away, told him I would run. Even this morning, when he told me about Brian, I compared him to the tyrant king of that old story.
But not now. Not anymore.
“I’m ready.”
There’s a calm conviction in what I just said. Valentina’s fingers stop poking and prodding at my hair.
“Alright,” she says. She picks up the veil, the sheer fabric rippling in the air as she secures it above the pins at the back of my head. “There. Now you’re ready.”
I turn to look at myself as the veil settles around my shoulders. I feel at peace. Maybe even happy, if I can let go of all the fear and the guilt and just let myself be.
Two of the event coordinators are waiting outside the room with Robbie when we emerge again. One of them speaks hurriedly into a headset about how she’s “got the bride” and I feel like she’s treating this like she’s escorting the Prime Minister somewhere instead of just me.
But I’m not just me anymore, am I?
I’ll be a Titone now.
We all get into an elevator, but even the elevator is spacious, so it doesn’t feel cramped with my skirt and the seven other people clustered around me.
Robbie heads out first, casting his gaze critically over the lobby before he nods and the rest of us come out.
The two event coordinators arrange us into a line – the bridesmaids first, then Valentina as my maid of honour, then me at the end.
People in the lobby stop and stare, their eyes big and their voices hushed as we pass.
A little girl with bouncy curls tugs against her mother’s hand, crying out, “Princess!” I wave at her, acknowledging that in a way, that little girl is right.
Elio is the closest thing this city has to a dark prince.
Once through the massive, beautiful lobby, the coordinators lead us down a large hallway with champagne-coloured walls. Two heavy wooden doors are propped open at the end, and it looks like they lead into a sort of antechamber with another set of doors beyond, those ones closed.
Inside the antechamber are our bouquets.
Valentina helps hand them out, the blooms pure, glorious white with accents of blue and greenery springing out at artistic angles.
My bouquet is the largest. I expect my hands to shake when I take it, but they don’t.
I clasp my fingers around the cool stems and watch first Annabelle, then Lucia, then Giulia pass through the doors into whatever lies beyond. I can’t see into the room yet.
“Alright, now Valentina!” one of the coordinators says, peering through the slightly ajar door before holding it wider for my maid of honour.
“Holy shit. Ah! OK.” She turns around to give me a quick, reassuring smile. “You look so beautiful. See you in there!”
And then, in a flounce of dark blue silk and a click of high heels, she’s gone.
And now I’m alone.
I mean, not entirely. Robbie and the coordinators are here, both of them keeping hawk-like gazes on whatever’s happening in the room beyond so they’ll know when it’s my turn. But I feel alone. For the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.
And that really fucking hurts. My dad should be here.
He should have been a different sort of man.
I haven’t thought about him or his betrayal in a while now.
It was so easy to get swept up in all things Elio, to feel so overwhelmed by him and his world that I could almost forget about the painful way I was forced out of mine.
Tears rush to my eyes, and my throat works, and I will not cry over my father right now, goddamnit!
“OK! The song for the bridesmaids is ending! Time for the bride!”
Both the coordinators turn to me in unison.
I sniff and blink, squeezing the stems of the flowers between my fingers to give myself something else to focus on that doesn’t include my tears.
That doesn’t include the great big hole of pain opening up inside me at the thought of walking down that aisle alone.
But the tears come anyway, especially when I hear the song that starts up as soon as I walk through the doors.
It’s An Eala Bhàn. My mother’s favourite song.
I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that to Elio. How would anyone even know that?
I start walking, letting the tears roll down my cheeks because there’s no way for me to stop them.
I stare straight ahead and don’t get a full view of the wedding hall just yet.
After entering from the antechamber, I’ve come at this larger room from the side.
I’m walking behind the last row of seats right now, and I can see a sharp turn in the path ahead that will take me down the main aisle to Elio.
I hear wooden benches creaking, and gasps and murmurs, as people begin to turn their heads towards me, but I don’t look back at any of them.
I just stare at the floor ahead, focusing on putting one sparkly shoe in front of the other as the notes of my late mother’s favourite song swirl around me.
I’m almost at the place where I need to turn.
But, oddly, the floor here isn’t uniform.
There’s a pair of large feet encased in beautiful black dress shoes at the beginning of the main aisle.
I finally start to pull my eyes up from the ground.
Up over long legs and a pair of hands hanging loose at the side. Black gloved hands.
My teary gaze snaps right up to his face.
“Elio.” I mouth the word instead of truly saying it. I don’t think I could force a word out of my throat even if I wanted to right now.
He doesn’t reply right away. He just angles his elbow towards me, as if he wants me to take his arm. And I do it, because I’m not sure I can remain standing otherwise.
“Your father already gave you to me a long time ago,” he says quietly, his gaze fierce and heavy with meaning. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you walk down this aisle alone.”
His arm feels so hard and solid linked with mine. His touch tender as he dabs away my tears. Together, we turn towards the front of the room.
For the first time, I actually look up enough to take in the vast space. And it truly takes my breath away.
The walls in here are almost entirely windows, the glass panes arranged in arrow-like shapes that lead the eye upward, creating a cathedral-like effect.
That effect is only amplified by the high, arching ceiling, beams of wood adding a slightly rustic flare.
The sun has emerged from heavy winter clouds, and it pours through the glass, warming every surface, making everything shimmer in a way that feels almost sacred.
The benches are carved from the same wood the beams above are made of, and luscious flowers are draped along their backs, petals scattered everywhere.
The wedding guests, none of whom I recognize beyond the wedding party and Elio’s aunt and uncle, are standing, watching us, hushed as Elio and I pass them by.
But there isn’t silence in the room. An Eala Bhàn is still playing, and I notice the live string quartet just off to the side.
“This song,” I choke out. “How did you know?”
“Didn’t I ever tell you?” Elio says, looking down at me from the side. “This was the song I heard you playing the very first time I saw you. And then I learned that your mamma loved it. So it felt fitting.”
I shake my head, a tiny movement so as to not draw much attention from anyone besides my groom. I had no idea. I never remembered or thought to ask what song he heard me playing that summer day outside my father’s house.
But Elio remembered.
When we reach the front where the bridesmaids are standing in a row on one side, Valentina comes forward to take my bouquet of flowers from me, leaving both my hands free to be swept up into Elio’s.
Elio doesn’t have four groomsmen to match up with my side – it’s just Curse standing up there.
Elio and I step up onto the platform, standing facing each other beneath a banner of blooms. A single white petal from over our heads drifts down, fluttering like a feather between us.
I watch its floaty trajectory until it hits the ground.
And then my eyes meet Elio’s.
There’s ferocity in his gaze. Pure, possessive intention. His fingers may be closed around mine, but it’s his gaze that truly holds me there.
It’s a gaze that tells me, no more running. No more waiting.
I am his.
And it’s time to prove it to the world.