“For family.” Tiberi sighs.
I shake my head. “Let’s just get this over with so we can get to the important part, okay?”
Getting dressed in my tux is the least difficult part of the whole thing. It’s not a bad looking tux either. It’s a royal blue with a crisp white shirt and matching bowtie. My wingtips are perfectly polished and once my hair is brushed and braided into a knot at the back of my head I feel good about myself. I know I look damn good.
How I look isn’t even at the top of the list of issues I have with this day.
“Ah, Alessio, you look fantastic,” Eivor says as he comes in to check on me. Nikolas and Beau are just behind him, dressed in matching dark suits for the occasion.
Eivor is wearing a suit of a similar shade but his tie his more ornate than mine. It honestly takes up more attention than mine, which I find irritating. If it’s my wedding day, I should have more ornate clothing than the father of the bride, shouldn’t I?
I take a slow breath. Who cares? It’s not like I actually want to be here. It’s not like anyone cares whether or not I want to be here. Besides, everyone’s focus will be on Rosalie. The bride is always the main focus of a wedding when it involves one, andfrankly that’s fine with me. The less smiling and pretending I have to do the better.
So, I let go of my petty jealousy about Eivor taking up more attention than me. It’s for the good. I’d rather be in the background than stand out when it comes to this event.
My own wedding.
How fucking sad is this?
“Have you seen Rosalie?” I ask him.
“Yes, she looks stunning,” he says with a wide smile. He looks far too happy for someone who knows that this whole thing is a sham. Then again, it’s his sham, isn’t it? He’s the one who wanted this to happen. I guess he would be happy.
Fucker.
“I wouldn’t blame the man if he shed a few tears!” Eivor says to Tommaso and Tiberi with a laugh. He looks back at the two teenage boys just behind him. They look like they’d rather be anywhere else. Which is how they often look.
They laugh as well, but it’s a stale and forced laughter.
“I’m sure she looks wonderful,” I say as I pull myself up off my metaphorical ass and put on my emotional mask. Smile and fake it. That’s the best I can do.
If I think about how happy Ishouldbe, then maybe I can actually get through this. I don’t have any other choice.
Eivor hangs around until it’s time for him to head into the chapel. Nikolas and Beau, who are frequently on their phones and glancing at one another, stick around until just a couple minutes after Eivor leaves.
I have a couple more minutes until I need to go as well, and I take that time to down another shot, or two, of whiskey and then pop a breath mint in. It’s not enough to really hide it from Rosalie, but it’s enough of a band-aid to feel like the preverbal wound is covered.
“Alright, time to get you to the alter,” Tommaso says, and I can tell he’s trying to be cheerful, for my sake, but it doesn’t really do the trick. What would do the trick is a pill or two, but I know I’ll get my ass handed to me if I show up at the alter high.
Whether by Rosalie or Damian I’m not totally sure.
As I walk down the hallway to the chapel, I can’t help but think about the night before. The memory of my father haunting me, but not just that…the hot embrace of Damian. His mouth on mine. It had been no chase kiss. No, it was all tongues and passion. More passion that I’d felt in years from anyone.
The taste of him in my mouth, both above and below, lingered in my mind’s eye. How easily he had come undone for me… How quickly he’d brought me to my own orgasmic end.
A real smirk spreads over my face as I walk down the aisle to meet my brothers, Eivor, and a few others from the Fiorelli side of the family that are standing near the priest.
“You’re in a better mood,” Carmine mumbles to me as I get in place.
I send a slightly glare in his direction, but then pull my gaze out to the pews where a few dozen friends, family, and strangers sit. At least half of them are political allies and media. None of them take pictures, but there’s a cameraman to the right of the aisle, snapping a few shots before the bride is due to walk it.
There’s a low hum of chatter in the room, at least until the music starts. Then, everyone settles into their seats, and the doors to the back of the chapel open.
As a few bridesmaids are escorted down the aisle with their partners, I glance around the cathedral. The high ceilings bring back memories. Memories of sitting on my mother’s lap in a front pew, looking at the paintings and carvings all etched so delicately into stone and wood.
Today, the winter sunlight glitters through the stain-glassed windows that portray the birth, life, and death of Jesus Christ.Slashes of purple and blue line the pews and the walls, sashes and twinkling lights.
It’s all so perfect. In a very traditional sort of way. It’s nothing like I may have wanted for myself if my choice in the matter had mattered at all.
