The masked man watched me quietly. The truth settled over me, and I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it sooner.
“You stole me so you could marry me yourself.”
“Was that a question?” The devil cocked his head. “Or did you just figure that out?”
“Unbelievable.” I trudged forward. To the priest, I snapped, “I’m doing this under duress. That doesn’t make it legal, I hope you know.”
“The law of man has no authority here, but I’ll take your words into consideration.” The priest held the door open.
This was a madhouse! And I was the nut in the straightjacket for marching down the aisle. Fuming, it took a good minute for me to take in the scene. That and the fact that my eyes took just as long to adjust to the change from sunlight to gloom.
But not depressed gloom.
Oh, no. Gothic, eerie,enchantinggloom. Hundreds of candles illuminated the shadowed sanctuary and they lined the aisle. Taller settings glowed along the sides. From somewhere, the mournful strings of a cello played Sonata No. 7 in D minor.
Vivaldi…Italy.
The masked man stepped behind me, reached into a pew, and plucked out a single rose. Blood red. Simple and elegant. I suddenly pictured a dream from thepast. It was only something from the depths of imagination, but it juxtaposed with the present with nearly perfect precision.
This was the wedding I planned with the boy with the forgotten name.
Mandy….
The crimson petals fluttered as the devil gave the flower a small shake, urging me. Some force stronger than my willpower moved me to take it. My fingers glided over the stem, careful not to snag on the thorns.
The masked man swept his hand out. The silent order to march was clear.
I took one long step and then another.
We approached the priest, who stood at the end of the aisle with two men. I faltered when I saw one of them. A hand shot out to steady me. The devil’s touch was warm and solid. I tried not to like it.
“Bill? What the hell?” I snapped, focusing my attention on the man, who was a few inches shorter than me, thanks to the stilettos on my feet.
“Hi, Amanda. Hope you like version number two,” Bill grinned.
I stopped at the end of the aisle and glared at the traitor. “This whole time? You knew?”
“This whole time,” he agreed, jolly, like this was some fine joke. “But here’s a plot twist for you: I’m not even a wedding planner.”
I looked him up and down. “You don’t say.”
The masked man reached out and tore the mustache off Bill’s face.
“Figlio di puttana!” Bill clapped his hand over his upper lip. “The glue, stronzo, theglue!”
The masked man dropped the curling ‘stache on the floor and turned to the priest without an ounce of remorse. “Proceed.”
The priest nodded, but the devil added, “Remember, only the necessary parts.”
“Of course, my son.” The prelate bowed his head, drew in a deep, dramatic breath, and then launched into the service. “Dearly beloved….”
I clutched the rose for dear life. In this surreal turn of events, I was marrying a complete stranger.
Who wasn’t that strange.
I studied the man in the suit. Those muscles were thick, honed from intense labor. His throat was decorated with ink. Some of the shapes were more visible than others. The same with the backs of his hands. Each piece was carefully drawnto tell a story, the language one I couldn’t read. But it was the eyes. Those windows to the soul tripped me up. If this was the man I suspected him to be, what happened to the soul that lived there? Was it dead and gone like mine? Or was it gnarled, twisted, and warped into something I wouldn’t recognize even if mine were alive?
“Have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?” The priest’s question caught my attention.
