“I have something to give you before we go in.” He lifts his hips up, and my eyebrows disappear into my hairline at the bulge in his pants.
He chuckles at my reaction as he fits his hand into the pocket of the suit pants.
“Not that gorgeous. This,” he pulls out a small velvet box, and my mouth falls open.
“We might not have chosen eachother but they aren’t going to steal this moment from us.” He flips the lid open, and a beautiful solitaire glitters up at me.
“Rosario Battle, will you marry me?” My voice cracks as I fight back tears again.
“Yes,” I manage finally as he pushes the ring up my finger.
“You honor me.” He kisses my hand right above the ring, and my heart leaps.
It’s such a smile gesture, but the warmth and intimacy of it make it feel like so much more.
“Let’s get you inside so you can change. We’ve got less than an hour.” I nod as he rushes to get my door.
Once I’m inside the church, I’m led to a small changing room with a handwritten sign on the door reading “Bridal Suite.” I unzip the dress and sigh in relief when I find the simple chiffon dress wrinkle-free. The babydoll design is easy to step into and zip without help. I touch up my hair, which I pinned up after curling it, and step into my shoes to look at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed pink, and my eyes look red from crying, making me perfectly resemble the namesake of my wedding dress style. The bodice of the dress has tiny white rosebuds, and I run my fingers over the design. A detail I’m sure my abeulo picked.
My fingers run into the only imperfection in the dress. The small hole the knife left in it. The same one that stabbed me. It’s a miracle Bruno was able to get his blood out, but I learned he’s been getting those types of stains out of fabric for longer than I’ve been alive.
I jump when someone knocks on the door and give myself a stern talking to before opening it.
You are brave, strong, and can handle being a married woman. Now go out there and say I do.
I grab the veil and place it over my face before I open the door.
“I’m ready.”
Bruno
“I’m not ready,” I pace in front of the altar as I wait for Rosario to come down the aisle.
“What was that, my son?” The priest, who was quietly reading his scripture, as I mumbled to myself.
“Nothing father. My apologies.” He nods politely and palms his rosary beads as he begins to pray.
Probably for my fucking sanity.
The church is empty today per my request, so when the music starts to play, I jump at the sound of the organ booming and echoing through the pillars.
Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" in C major plays perfectly as Rosario comes into view, and my whole world narrows to her. She is all that matters in this moment. Not how we got here or what is expected of us. This moment is our no matter how we came to it.
I can barely see her face through the lace veil, but I can feel the way her eyes are locked on me, too.
When she finally stands in front of me, the priest starts to speak.
He’s under strict instructions to keep this as simple as possible. Classic vows, no blessings or extras for an empty church. So it seems like I blink and we’re repeating words that will bind us forever. Not only in front of God, but also in front of the Famiglia, which, at the moment, is my true concern.
The entire ceremony is a blur.
I heard myself say I do. I’m one hundred percent sure she did because I ripped the fucking veil off as soon as the words had left her mouth, and I’m kissing her way before the priest gives me permission, but I don’t give two fucks.
This woman is now my wife.
“Congratulations, if you’ll follow me, we can sign the paperwork in my office.”
