I am deprived.
I break the kiss, lower the veil, take her hand, and turn so we walk back toward the altar, my glare fixed on the priest.
He looks down.
Good.
The ceremony begins, and he starts talking.
A great deal.
Too fucking much.
I lean forward. “You can skip to the part where you declare us husband and wife. We exchange the rings and then we kiss.”
A murmur of laughter passes through the church.
I don’t smile.
I am serious.
“Oh… yes,” the priest stammers. “Of course.”
She says her vows, and I can scarcely breathe. I then say mine, my voice rough.
Ophelia steps forward with the rings. I slide Octavia’s onto her finger, over the tattoo, now framed by the engagement ring and the wedding band. The diamond huge, exactly as it should be.
She slides mine on.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
That is all I need.
I lift her veil slowly. She looks at me, her eyes bright, innocent and wicked at the same time.
I kiss her again, deep and claiming.
Final.
The priest clears his throat once more.
I pull back and glare at him again.
What is the man’s problem?
Applause breaks out. We turn together, hand in hand, and she tugs me forward.
Midway down the aisle, I scoop her up without warning.
She laughs, breathless, her arms tighten around my neck as I carry her out while the church erupts in cheers.
Outside, confetti and petals fall around us, and the Italian sun shines above.
I don’t care about any of it.
She is alive, she’s here, she’s finally my wife.
She is bloody mine.
