The way he's looking at me makes it clear he's thinking the same things, seeing the same impossible future becoming possible, feeling the same overwhelming gratitude that we found each other despite all the obstacles we put in our own way.
"The couple has written their own vows," Father Parisi announces, and suddenly my heart is racing again because this is the part where I have to find words big enough to contain everything I feel.
My turn comes first, and I take a deep breath, looking directly into Santino's dark eyes that are suspiciously shiny with unshed tears he's too stubborn to let fall in front of everyone.
"Santino," I begin, my voice stronger and steadier than I expected it to be, carrying clearly through the hushed sanctuary. "Only a few weeks ago, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted independence and control over my own life and future. I was willing to do anything—including driving you absolutely insane with every trick I could think of—to get it."
Quiet laughter ripples through the church at the memory of my antics, of all the ways I tried to make him hate me enough to walk away.
"But somewhere along the way," I continue, squeezing his hand, "somewhere in all that chaos I was creating, I realized something that terrified me. I didn't just want freedom. I wanted a partner. Someone who saw the real me. Not as property or a business deal or a means to an alliance, but as myself. As Liana."
My eyes fill with tears but I keep going, needing to get these words out.
"You gave me that. Despite all my attempts to push you away, you saw past my games and my manipulation and my desperate attempts to make you hate me. You saw the real me hiding underneath all that performance, and you loved her anyway." A tear slips down my cheek but I don't care anymore about my makeup or looking perfect. "I love you, Santino. Not because a contract says I should or because it makes political sense. But because I choose to. Because you're the partner I didn't know how to ask for. Because you make me laugh and challenge me and support my ambitions and never once tried to make me smaller to fit into your life. I choose you. Every day. For the rest of my life."
Santino reaches up with his free hand to gently wipe away my tear with his thumb.
Then it's his turn, and I watch his throat work as he swallows hard, gathering himself to speak.
"Liana," he begins, his voice rougher than usual, thick with the emotion he's always been so careful to control in public. "I thought I knew what I wanted too. I thought I had my whole life planned out perfectly. I wanted power and control and a wife who would fit seamlessly into the life I'd already decided I should live. I wanted someone who would follow the rules and meet expectations and make everything easy. And then you jumped out of my moving car because I wouldn't slow down, and you ruined every single one of my plans."
More laughter echoes through the church, louder this time, because everyone here knows that story by now.
"You made me question everything I thought I knew about what I wanted and who I should be," he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "You made me realize I'd been living my entire life according to other people's expectations, following traditions without understanding why, accepting rules without asking if they made sense. But you refused to follow any rules. You were chaotic and infuriating and absolutely perfect."
I laugh through my tears, unable to help myself.
"And you made me see," he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, like we're the only two people in this sanctuary, "that what I actually wanted wasn't control at all. It was you. Exactly as you are. Brilliant and fierce and brave enough to shoot a man in the kneecap without hesitation when he threatened what you were protecting."
The church erupts in genuine laughter now, even Father Parisi is trying to hide a smile at the reference to my less-than-traditional skill set.
"I love you, Liana Costa," Santino says, squeezing both my hands now, holding on like he's afraid I might disappear if he lets go. "I love your refusal to be anything other than completely yourself. I love your ability to drive me absolutely insane while simultaneously making me fall more in love with you every single day. I promise to be your partner and your equal. I promise to support your dreams while building my own beside yours. I promise to never try to take away what's yours or make you smaller to fit into my life. And I promise to always, always protect you."
Father Parisi smiles at us both, clearly moved by vows that break from tradition in the best possible way. "The rings," he says simply.
Santino's father, Vincent, steps forward from his position as best man, placing my ring in Santino's palm with the careful reverence of passing along something precious.
Gia moves forward from her place beside me, pressing Santino's ring into my hand with a squeeze that says she's happy for me.
We exchange rings with hands that tremble slightly—Santino's shaking as he slides the platinum band with its single perfect diamond onto my finger, mine somehow steadier as I slip the matching platinum ring onto his.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Father Parisi declares, his voice booming through the sanctuary with joy and authority and blessing combined. "You may kiss your bride."
Santino doesn't hesitate, or worry about who's watching or care about anything except getting to kiss his wife for the first time.
He pulls me against him with both hands, one cradling my face and the other wrapping around my waist, and kisses me with everything he has—all his love and relief and joy and promise pouring into this one perfect moment.
I kiss him back, my bouquet dangling forgotten from one hand while the other tangles in his hair, pouring everything I feel into this kiss because words aren't enough to contain the magnitude of this moment.
The church erupts in thunderous applause and cheers, our families and friends expressing their joy for us in the only way that feels adequate. But I barely hear any of it through the rushing in my ears and the pounding of my heart and the taste of Santino's lips and the feeling of his arms around me. All I hear is my own heart pounding with a happiness so complete and overwhelming that I feel like I might burst from the sheer joy of it.
All I feel is Santino—his arms around me, his lips on mine, his love surrounding me like the most precious gift I've ever received.
I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Mrs. Liana Marcello.
The woman who gets to spend the rest of her life with the man who saw past all her defenses and loved what he found underneath.
