1. Gabriella
Gabriella
T he halls of the hospital were quiet in the middle of the night—more accurately, in the early morning hours of Sunday. Within the small chapel, that eerie silence was but another element increasing my apprehension.
I’d made a proclamation upon our arrival to the hospital. The circumstances hadn’t changed. Derek Sinclair was still in surgery. What was changing felt like an out-of-control locomotive.
Within my ears, I heard the buzzing of the warning signal.
Caution.
Caution.
It rang out, warning that we were moving too quickly.
I peered around, curious if others heard the alarm.
My mental fog lessened as I concentrated on the words of the woman before us. She held no special place in our lives, and yet she was the clergy on call—the official who would change our lives.
“…being as today is Sunday, we will have the license issued first thing Monday morning,” Pastor Becky Abrams said. “In many cases, the clerk’s office will postdate the license to correspond to your ceremony. Hospital weddings are a special entity—a class by themselves. Assuming the clerk’s office will accommodate your wishes, your marriage will be legal as of today.”
Our marriage.
“Today?” My once-strong voice was barely a whisper.
My attention went to Damien’s stare, assessing the churning waters of his blue orbs. There were too many emotions swirling within the murky sea to pin down one or even two. While he had the greater burden of concern regarding his father, I wasn’t a stranger to the sense of uncertainty. Within me, a conflict raged, prickling my skin and speeding my circulation with each passing minute. Contrasting emotions and feelings made my flesh taut, the tiny hairs along my skin stand on end, when all the while my insides boiled, and my skin chilled.
Damien reached for my trembling hands, holding them to his wide chest. “Ella, look at me.”
My gaze moved from where he held my hands, up to his tightly clenched jaw, prominent cheekbones, protruding veins throbbing near his temples, and finally to his navy-blue stare.
“I promise a better wedding—one you deserve.” His tone was deep, his promise reverberating through me as he squeezed my hands. “This one—tonight—it’s just for legal purposes.”
I looked around the small chapel where the three of us stood. There were no more than five rows of pews on each side. The altar was basic. A wooden cross hung from the wall, highlighted by indirect lighting. Along the side of the room was a table with candles, some lit and others not.
Biting my lip, thoughts of those I cared for flooded my mind. There was my mother, father, sister, brother-in-law, and niece. Friends also came to mind: Niles and Jeremy, Rosemary, and so many others who knew both Damien and me. I’d never dreamed of a grand wedding, yet I had imagined more than a hospital chapel in the middle of the night.
“Miss Crystal,” Pastor Abrams said, her soft brown eyes taking in more than my exterior, as if she could see through to my confused soul. “If you have any reservations about going through with this ceremony...”
“It’s just a ceremony? Right?”
She nodded. “The ceremony is symbolic. Once the county clerk’s office opens, I’ll file for the license. Signing the paper is what will make the two of you married.”
My mouth and throat dried as I tried to swallow. Again, I looked up at Damien, sensing the stress that hung around him like a cloud. It was visible in the small lines around his eyes, the way his chiseled jaw tightened, and the taut muscles showed beneath his skin.
“Your dad?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We don’t know. He’s still in surgery.”
“Sinclair Pharmaceuticals.”
His nostrils flared. “The wedding could be moot.”
“Or it could secure your position,” I said as a new thought occurred to me. I longed to call Niles to ask him if he could hear me, if I was still present.
This marriage had been my idea.
I’d been the one to announce our engagement.
“Aruba?” I asked, recalling what he’d recently confessed.
“I still have the ring, in Indianapolis.”
Sucking in a breath, I spun toward the sound of the opening door at the far end of the small aisle. Dani came rushing toward us, still wearing the clothes from hours before. She handed me a red rose tied with a ribbon and gave something to Damien.
“Surely the gift shop is closed,” I said, taking the rose.
“I pulled some strings. It seems hospital security isn’t unaccustomed to wedding emergencies.”
Damien looked down into the palm of his hand, closed his fingers around an object, and shook his head. “No.”
Dani laid her fingers over his balled fist. “Mom said she wants you to use it—to have it.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
Damien forced his closed hand toward his sister. “We don’t need a ring to make this legal.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Your mom can’t offer her wedding ring.”
Dani forced a smile. “She didn’t. It isn’t. The band was our grandmother’s. Since Nana passed, Mom has always worn her ring on her right hand. She wants you to have it, Ella. She wants to be here, but she can’t make herself leave the waiting room.
“We know this wedding is rushed, but you can’t erase the years you were part of our lives. My brother is the one who needs to make this right.” She feigned a smile. “Like they say, you don’t only marry the person, you marry the family. Our family loves you.”
I would guess Dani’s new sister-in-law wasn’t a fan, but maybe she wasn’t including Amber in the overall family umbrella.
Sniffing, I worked to keep my emotions at bay as I looked up to Damien. “If you don’t want to use it, we don’t need a ring.”
“I want you to have the best. A seventy-year-old band isn’t the best.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
Slowly, Damien opened his fingers. The ring lying upon his palm looked too small. Yet as I reached for it, I realized that it was the size of his hand that dwarfed the band. In my fingers, the band looked as if it would fit. I twisted the golden circle, rolling it between the tips of my finger and thumb. I squinted my eyes. “There’s an inscription.”
“Really?” Dani questioned, reaching for the band. “I never knew that.” She took the ring toward a light and turned it until she began to read, “It says: Don’t let the flame extinguish. Always rekindle.”
For a moment, the words of the inscription hung heavily in the air.
Finally, I admitted, “I never knew your grandparents. Rekindle.” The word settled into my psyche.
To relight.
To revive—something that has been lost.
“Rekindle,” I repeated the word and looked at Dani. “Does Marsha really want me to have it?”
Dani nodded. “She does. Who knew Nana and Papa were romantics?”
“They sound practical,” I replied. “As if they knew what it took to keep a relationship working.”
“If you ask me,” the pastor said, “I think they are giving timely advice from Heaven. Flames aren’t difficult to ignite, whether of love, desire, or lust. A spark can turn an entire forest to ash. However, that flash is incapable of igniting the forest fire alone. The striking of metal and flint creates a flicker, yet without fuel, the spark dies. To truly ignite the blaze requires other elements. I think your grandparents’ inscription means they understood that to keep the flames burning, it takes work.” Her smile broadened. “All relationships ebb and flow. That is life. Taking the time and making the effort to rekindle the fire—that is what is required for a successful relationship.”
The buzzing in my ears stilled as I held the wedding band. When I looked up at Damien, there were tears in my eyes.
His palm gently came to my cheek. “Ella.”
On the plane to LA, he’d asked me what I would have said if he’d proposed in Aruba. My honest answer was I didn’t know. That didn’t mean I would have said no or yes. I truly didn’t know. There was a time I imagined my forever with the man before me.
My leaving him was because I felt as if when with him, I disappeared. Maybe if he had proposed, I would have known that I wasn’t invisible—that he saw me.
“Five months,” Damien whispered. “If what we shared isn’t rekindled, we’ll agree to amicably part ways.”
Part ways.
Is that possible now that we’ve both remembered the passion?
The clergy spoke. “I don’t encourage contingency plans at a wedding.”
I scoffed. Of course, she didn’t. Then again, she didn’t know our history. I feigned a smile. “Maybe you should. It sets a goal.”
Damien nodded, the storm inside his orbs settling. “Are you ready?”
The tips of my lips curled upward as I leaned into his touch. “No, I’m not.” I inhaled. “Let’s do this.”
Releasing my cheek, Damien’s strong arms surrounded me as with a sigh, he dropped a kiss to the top of my head. Reaching for my hand, we turned to the clergy.
“Shall we begin?” the pastor asked.
Damien and I nodded. At the same time, the doors at the back of the chapel opened. We both turned. Damien’s grip of my hands intensified as his spine straightened. There was no attempt at masking his displeasure. His once-supportive voice boomed, echoing through the chapel. “You’re not invited.”
Amber and Darius came to a stop.
“You need a best man,” Darius said, “if you want to make this legit.”
I turned to the minister. “Are witnesses required?”
“Not by Florida law. However, it is recommended to have two besides the notary.”
“You and Dani.”
Dani moved to my side. “I can be both best man and maid of honor. Just remember this, Damien, when you’re sending out thank-you gifts.”
While I’d hoped that Darius and Amber would leave, they took a seat in the second row. Damien, Dani, and I faced the clergy.
Pastor Abrams’s voice was steadfast, a calming melody to the storms brewing in our periphery. “It brings me great joy to exercise my ability to bring two people together in matrimony. The timing isn’t as important as what is in your hearts. One last time,” she said, nodding toward me, “Gabriella Crystal, are you present of your own free will?”
“I am.”
She nodded and turned to Damien. “Damien Sinclair, are you present of your own free will?”
“I am.”
The rest of the ceremony faded into the buzzing of my insecurities and doubts. What held me tight, anchoring my feet and giving me hope, was the pastor’s discussion of the inscription in the ring. It was as if Damien’s nana and papa had anticipated and planned for the multifaceted being of their grandson.
Damien wasn’t a man who fit into one box.
At one time, I’d feared I wasn’t strong enough to be his other half.
Looking at my hands in his, I realized I was.
I was strong because I’d survived loving this man, endured remembering him, and was determined to do my part to not only rekindle our earlier love, but also our desire for one another. I wasn’t going into this marriage blindly.
Damien was a man I knew well.
The usual words were spoken.
Love.
Devotion.
Desire.
There was no mention of submission, but I knew it would come—but not only from me.
Damien promised me five months.
As he slipped his nana’s wedding band on my fourth finger of my left hand, I knew in my heart of hearts, I wanted forever.