She stops at the end of the aisle, and her father squeezes her shoulder. He says something I don’t hear, then takes the front pew on the other side from Danyl and Liza.
I walk to the foot of the altar. She flinches when I get close, barely, but it’s there. Her fingers tighten around the bouquet that matches her crown and she swallows loudly.
“Rose,” I say, holding out my hand.
She takes it, her fingers trembling. “Alexei,” she answers, and her voice is small, but not broken.
I help her up the two steps to the altar. “You look beautiful.”
Her eyes widen in surprise.
The chaplain clears his throat, and we both turn to him. He’s an older man, kind -faced, but apparently on a schedule.
We go through the traditional questions and vows. I slide both a diamond solitaire ring and a wedding band onto her finger. Theylook heavy on her hand, the metal and the jewel catching the light streaming through the windows.
When it’s her turn, Rose’s fingers shake as she takes my hand. Her touch burns through my skin and straight into my chest. For a second, she hesitates, eyes on my face, but then she slips the band on, and it’s done.
I’m a married man.
I’m supposed to feel like a king, with a beautiful woman on my arm and a life that will soon include a solid immigration status. Instead, I feel like I’ve just taken something that wasn’t mine and forced it into my pocket.
“And we’re done,” the chaplain says, too brightly, like we’ve just shared a triumph. “You are now husband and wife.” He beams at us both and then turns to me. “You may kiss your bride.”
Rose stiffens.
Her eyes are wet, but she’s not crying. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, like she’s tasted something bitter but refuses to spit it out.
I bend my head, ever so slightly, and press my mouth to her lips in a chaste kiss.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away.
The chaplain says something else, but I’m not paying attention. My focus is no my wife, trying to figure out how to help her not cry sad tears on her wedding day.
I look up and find Danyl’s gaze on me, assessing.
Liza’s on Rose, softer and worried.
Drew’s tapping his foot, like he’s got somewhere else to be.
I pull my wife’s hand into the crook of my arm, and we walk back down the aisle. She’s shaking the whole time.
Outside the chapel, the wedding photographer meets us and runs us through poses. I straighten Drew’s tie, clinching it tighter than necessary before we take the pictures with the four of us as the wedding party.
We’re not having a reception. The story we’ll tell immigration is that we wanted to save our money for the honeymoon and opted for a small dinner instead. We’ll do those pictures at a later date with Liza and Danyl, wearing the same clothes as today.
Instead, a town car picks us up to take us back to my place. The driver holds the door for Rosie and I help her get in. She’s careful with the dress and grips my hand for support as she folds the material around her and slips into the backseat. Her trusting me with this small chore warms something deep inside my chest.
Inside, the car smells of leather, disinfectant, and faintly of the peppermint gum the driver chews.
The engine hums to life, and we sit in silence as the car rolls down the chapel’s driveway and onto the road that will take us back into the city.
Rose shifts in her seat.
I look at her hand. She keeps curling her fingers around the ring, like it’s too heavy and will slip off.
“You will not lose it,” I mumble. I made sure I got her correct size before getting the rings.
She snorts, but it’s half sigh. “I’m just… not used to this.”
