Chapter 25
Emmeline
Sweet music.
That’s the way the words affected me. His words.
The man I was about to marry.
Donatello took his time securing the weapon, ensuring that it wouldn’t suddenly drop off during the adventure we were about to take a leap into.
“A promise made to me?”
Before answering he stood, taking the opportunity to rub his hands along my legs and hips, slowly crawling his fingers along my arms. “No, one to myself.”
“And what’s that?”
His almost sheepish expression was a pleasant change. “That I’d marry you one day no matter the difficulties or the odds.”
Wow. Just… wow.
The way he was looking at me was entirely different.
He intertwined our fingers, his hold possessive and his stride long and full of purpose.
Once inside, I was struck by the instant moment of concentrated silence.
In my mind, the tiny chapel was a quiet refuge where redemption was made possible.
I could sense how many sinners had walked through the massive set of ornate wooden doors seeking redemption.
I was allowed to take a step away from Donatello who was watching my reaction. The ceilings were low with dark wooden beams that seemed to perfectly embrace the hallowed space. Raised Catholic, I’d been taught that no matter the ugliness and severity of the sin, absolution was always possible.
As long as my heart revered the word of God, rebuking all acts of Satan. Here I was, ignoring the simplest rules of my family, all for the sake of fulfilling my own passion and desires. A subtle laugh slipped past my lips when noticing the confessionals.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’ve fallen in love with a man considered all wrong for me, but he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted.
Those were the words I’d speak if there was a priest and if I was still a good, practicing Catholic girl. I’d left the church the day my father had been murdered without a single regret.
So why was being here so troublesome?
With slow and reverent steps, I moved between the ancient pews toward the altar, all while staring at the magnificent artistry of glass presented in a window display of opulent color.
I brushed just the tips of my fingers from one pew to another. The lonely church was a place of rustic beauty, where time had slowed to the pace of a ticking clock, and the scent of incense clung softly to the worn velvet kneelers.
Once directly in front of the altar, the teachings from my youth pushed me into making the sign of the cross.
Hearing Donatello’s steady footsteps behind me created a surprising and blasphemous response.
Desire.
How inappropriate.
“My mother always told me that no matter what I was going through, I would find answers inside the church,” I said with continued quiet reverence, immediately noticing my voice echoed. Maybe the good Catholic girl still existed inside.
He said nothing, merely moving beside me.
“She reminded me that we all have a finite time on this earth and whatever choices I made would affect the rest of my life.”
“Your mother is a very wise woman.”
“Yes, she is. She had more courage in her little finger than most people do in their lives and her love of my father was the very reason romance novels will always be popular. Each would die for the other.”
“Is that what is bothering you, il mio bellissimo angelo? Are you worried that I won’t die for you if necessary?”
My beautiful angel. “I’m no angel, Donatello. To answer your question, no, that’s not what’s bothering me.” I turned to face him. “I’m terrified that you’ll need to make good on that promise.”
He took my hands into his and by the expression on his chiseled face, I sensed he was trying for the right words.
“And I would do so without a second of remorse. I love you, Emmeline. I want you as my wife. For better, for worse. For richer and poorer.” He pulled me even closer.
“In sickness and in health. To love and to cherish until death do us part. And even then, I will never leave you. I’ll be right by your side. ”
Hearing the words coming from such a gruff, dangerous man left me with butterflies in my stomach and hopes for the future.
“We can’t get married today.”
“Why is that?” The twinkle in his eye deepened.
“Because it takes months in Brazil and we don’t have our passports. Plus, we need rings, which we also don’t have.”
“Those are the only reasons we can’t get married today?”
Why did I know he had something up his sleeve? “The only ones.”
Footsteps drew my attention coming from a small alcove off to the side. At least three sets.
As he reached into his pocket, he arched a single eyebrow. “You underestimate both my skills and my connections. I’m hurt.” When he pulled a small velvet bag into his hands, I pressed my fingers against my mouth.
The rings were nothing special in the sense of what so many couples had begun to choose, but the simple gold bands were all that was needed.
Jewelry didn’t make a marriage. Only the two people involved and their willingness to do whatever it took to make their relationship work could keep their union happy and sacred.
Whatever it took. A promise he’d already made to me.
And one he would never ignore.
“Você já encontrou as respostas que procura, minha crianca.” The deep voice was comforting, a peaceful yet knowledgeable tone that drew my attention.
You’ve already found the answers you seek, child.
As usual, although I wouldn’t admit it, Donatello was right. Someone had been here. So where had they parked or had they walked here?
“Como assim, Padre?” With Donatello taking my hand into his, I turned my head toward the priest, his simple attire including his clerical collar giving no illusion to his position within the church.
How so, Father?
The priest offered a nod toward Donatello. “Donatello já comecou a curar sua alma. Em breve, ele preencherá seu corac?o com a alegria que você buscou durante toda a sua vida. Mas isso só acontecerá se você permitir que ele o faca como seu marido.”
Donatello has already begun to heal your soul. Soon, he will fill your heart with the joy you’ve sought your entire life. But only if you allow him to do so as your husband.
I fought a huge smile and laugh, reminding myself this was a reverent moment.
“Well, then we must not hinder what has been laid out in the stars.” And in the gris-gris I created.
In speaking English I already knew the priest understood every word.
After all, he’d been listening in on my conversation with the man he’d accused of healing my soul.
He was right.
Somehow, I knew that Donatello had orchestrated the entire setting as well as greasing several palms so we could bypass Brazilian law.
“Do you have everything you need, Father?” Donatello asked, barely offering the man a glance.
The priest motioned toward the two plain-clothed people to take their places.
“I do now. As required, there must be two witnesses.” The priest grinned when he noticed my gaze of amusement. “We do have our standards, Emmeline. Now, are we ready to proceed?”
When neither Donatello nor I answered immediately, the priest glanced from one to the other, obviously in no hurry.
Yet still amused at the crazy American couple.
“Yes,” I whispered for both of us.
“Ah, good. You have the rings. I’ll take them.”
In the next couple of minutes as we took our places, I thought about all the times I’d presented the wedding of my dreams in my mind.
There wasn’t a little girl out there who hadn’t at least once thought about what her wedding day would be like.
Perhaps for some, it would be a time of thought including violence given their hatred for holy matrimony.
I’d envisioned the white dress and the beautiful church, one similar to the St. Louis Cathedral located in the French Quarter. Deemed the oldest continually operating cathedral in the United States, my parents had mass there regularly.
My brothers and I had been baptized in the church.
Two brothers had gotten married within the hallowed halls.
It had been expected so would I, the well-attended celebration followed by a huge reception at one of the glorious hotels in the city. My parents would have gone all out, sparing no expense. Even in my father’s absence, Alexander had already earmarked money for the lavish event.
My, how things changed.
As the priest began with a Catholic prayer in Portuguese, Donatello and I remained silent, both staring into each other’s eyes. There were no gorgeous bouquets of flowers filling the church, the scent of roses filling the air.
There was no monarch train studded with Swarovski jewels to worry about tearing.
No restless audience to consider when planning all of what my brother Jaxon had called the Grand Poo-bah moments within the festivities.
And there were no four-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne waiting to be popped, served alongside six-hundred-dollar plates of food.
There were simply two people in hiding who’d tormented each other for years standing in front of a carved wooden altar located in a foreign country.
Two people who by all rights and family restrictions weren’t allowed to be together.
Two people who loved each other with all their hearts.
“Do you have the rings?” the priest asked.
“Yes,” Donatello answered and I could swear his voice was cracking.
“Then please proceed.”
As the love of my life placed the ring on my finger, I took a deep breath. Every nerve stood on end, seared from his touch as well as the understanding that we were no longer playing a game. We were getting married, forming a union that only death could alter.
But one that would exist far beyond the typical hands of time.
“I, Emmeline Prince, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit.”
When the ring was on my finger, I accepted his, still shaking all over when I placed it on the tip of his finger.
After saying his name and repeating the same words, he grasped my hand into his, pulling my fingers toward his lips.
In his usual deep, sensual voice, he whispered words that I’d never forget.
“Amore regge il suo regno senza spada.” Love rules his kingdom without a sword.
“E este rei amará, honrará e cuidará de sua rainha até o fim dos tempos.”
And this king will love, honor, and cherish his queen until the end of time.
As the remainder of the words were spoken, tears formed in my eyes. The wedding was absolutely perfect.
“You may kiss the bride.”
We both took a deep breath as Donatello brought me closer, lowering his head as he did.
“I do love you, sweet Ambrosia.” He kissed me with the kind of wonder and carefulness as if he were holding a butterfly in his huge hands. The surge of electricity left me feeling unraveled, his lips and hold demanding as always.
But his body stiffened almost immediately, a clear indication something was wrong.
He cupped my face, repeating an action that I’d come to expect when showering me with his version of adoration. He brushed his thumb across my mouth, but the action was rougher than usual.
“What is it?” I whispered, immediately turning my head and frantically scanning the front of the church.
His grin wasn’t one I’d expected. “Trouble. Father, you might want to run to safety. I’m sorry. I’ll send you a check for the damage.”
“What damage, son?” the priest asked.
A cold chill coursed down my spine.
I didn’t need to ask why.
Seconds later, the two doors burst open and a firestorm rushed inside.