This was why I’d sent a letter to him through Brando. I said I knew he was at war within himself, and I didn’t want to get between it. Whatever decision he came to, he’d come to without me blurring the lines. He either loved me enough to keep me, to build a life with me, or… he loved me enough to let me go. Either way, I knew he loved me. Sometimes, in his case, love was not enough.
Which told me a lot about what Rocco still had to learn about love if he agreed with this sentiment.
Love was always enough.
Love was the entire reason.
It’s enough to die for. It’s enough to live for.
It was up to us to fight for it, even if it meant we’d sometimes get hurt in the process. Which meant that it was people who lacked, not love itself.
In the letter, I’d told him I’d still be at the church, same time, same place, where we had agreed to meet—walking down the aisle together, our footsteps in sync to the sounds of our beating hearts, more than ready to exchange them in front of God and family.
Sighing, I looked at Brando, who was staring at his wife. He stared at her with something akin to regret in his dark eyes. Scarlett and I had taken a long walk and talk on the beach about a similar time in their lives when—gasp!—Brando Fausti hadn’t thought he was good enough to marry her.
Sound familiar?
Yeah, to me, too.
Rocco wasn’t late, but…
“Brando,” I whispered, “I’m going to that building over there.” I nodded toward it.
He pried his eyes from his wife’s face and looked at the building I was referring to. It had chairs and doors that could lock from the inside, and it was in a shaded area. Temperature controlled. It seemed to house miscellaneous items from around the island.
Scarlett squeezed his arm, and after glancing at her, he nodded.
Picking up my gown, I made the walk alone to the building. And as if I was cursed or blessed, not sure at this point, I caught my reflection in a floor-length mirror leaning against the wall. It reflected the entire picture of me on what was my wedding day.
Makeup done soft and light, though the blush on my cheeks seemed to come from a place deep inside of me that reflected the love in my heart and the happiness that it had brought me. My hazel eyes were bright, even though the building was dimly lit. My chocolate-brown hair was pulled up on the sides, soft waves cascading down my shoulders and back. I wore the sweet but citrusy perfume that he loved.
My gown.
I sighed.
My gown was the physical representation of romance.
It had an A-line silhouette. The bodice was fitted, the waist cinched, and the skirt flared, creating that gorgeousAshape. The cut was off the shoulder, with sheer long sleeves that came to my wrists, but what had captured my attention was the delicate Chantilly lace fabric with lace flower patterns. It made me feel like I’d stepped out of a dream and into an even more romantic reality.
To me, it represented my relationship with Rocco.
Who I was to him.
How he made me feel.
I wasn’t drawn to the sexier designs. I wanted to save that for the wedding night. But this gown…it was magical in ways that I’d only dreamed of.
Timeless.
My veil matched the lace and was longer than the train. It floated around me, giving me an ethereal look. Even though the gown might have looked heavy, it felt as light as the veil on my body.
Stella had offered to let me borrow her veil, which had the Fausti family symbol embroidered on it, and I thanked her but politely declined. Our wedding wasn’t about the Fausti family, but aboutus. I had nothing to prove to them. I wasn’t marrying them. I was marrying Rocco. Who had a passionate heart that I knew this gown would speak to in a shared language.
It was a representation of me.
A representation of him.
Just as the ring on my left finger reflected.
