by Sam Mariano
“I don’t think he rolls that way. Though, I’ll be honest, I will watch if he does.”
Francesca shakes her head at Meg. “You are a lewd woman.”
“Please, we all know who you married. Come at me with that lewd bullshit,” Meg shoots back.
I hold out my hand for Francesca’s phone. “Here, let me take a picture of you.”
I was torn between Meg and Francesca for my maid of honor. It was set to be a pretty easy job since I didn’t have a bachelorette party. Recalling my own feelings when I realized what it would be like to be Meg’s MOH, I felt like maybe it would be kinder to ask Francesca. But I didn’t want Meg to feel left out, either. Ultimately, in order to avoid hurting any feelings, I opted not to have a maid of honor at all. Meg joked that they’re all my ladies in waiting anyway.
All of my attendants are dressed the same in long, gorgeous, shimmery gold gowns. I bought them each a pair of white shoes that complement mine with ornate gold roses on the heel. Even though she doesn’t particularly like me, I asked Elise to be a bridesmaid. I learned my wedding is mostly about formality, anyway—Dante and Mateo seldom like each other, and he’s still one of his groomsman.
Mateo deviated slightly in making Adrian his best man instead of either of his brothers. Consequently, it will actually be Elise standing behind me in the MOH spot; she’s not having anyone else walk down the aisle on Adrian’s arm.
“Meg, get over here,” I say, beckoning her to stand by Francesca.
“No pictures, I’m too pregnant.”
“That’s not a thing,” I state, raising my eyebrows. “It’s my wedding day, you have to do everything I ask you to do.”
“That’s not how weddings work, Bridezilla.”
Nonetheless, she comes over and wraps her arm around Francesca. They both make ridiculously exaggerated faces of disgust at being so near one another and I snap the picture.
“Send me that,” I tell Francesca, handing it back to her.
Looking at it, she concludes, “We look like brats.”
“You are brats,” I state, pushing up out of my chair and heading for the mirror to see my bridal ‘do.
“No, not yet!” Francesca dives in front of the mirror, holding her arms out to keep me back. “Let’s get your dress and veil on first. You need the full picture.”
“Francesca, I don’t want to cry! Let me prepare.”
“Nope.” Meg grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around. “She’s right. Full effect or bust. Let’s get you in this dress.”
I peel off the white satin “Bride” robe and Meg brings over the gorgeous white fit and flare gown I settled on. The original ball gown I picked out didn’t work out since we had to move up the wedding and it wouldn’t be ready in time, but by that point my priorities were in much better order. This dress is gorgeous, and it doesn’t matter what I wear; I’m marrying Mateo today. I could wear a ratty T-shirt and still feel like a million dollars.
At least in a ratty T-shirt I would be able to go pee. This is going to be a nightmare. Mateo told me how long this wedding would last and I wanted to die. My feet are probably going to abandon my body before all is said and done.
I get the dress on while Francesca guards the mirror. Meg zips me up and retrieves my veil.
“This veil is way too long,” she tells me. “If I ever get married again, I want one of those cute little hats with the fishnet looking veil.”
“Of course you do. For your wedding, I’m gonna hire a Sinatra impersonator instead of a band.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes. Yes, do that. Man, I’m gonna have to find a dude just so I can have this party. It sounds awesome.”
“Ra—”
“Don’t.” She gives me a firm eyebrow raise before turning her attention to my head as she situates the veil.
“I’m just saying.”
“Say anything further and I’ll fuck up your hair,” she threatens.
Bella pops her head in the room, her eyes alight with urgency. “Are you guys ready yet? We’re supposed to be out there already. The guys are just standing there waiting.”
“Well, the show can’t start without the bride, so they’re just going to have to suck it up,” Francesca states.
“We’re almost done,” I assure my future step-daughter, waving her inside. “How do I look?”
She comes inside, her urgency melting away as she looks me over and sighs happily. “Like a princess.” Her gaze darts to mine with excitement. “I saw Dad, too. He looks really handsome.”
My stomach quickens with excitement—absurd, since I’ve seen the man nearly every single day for more than four years, but it never stops thrilling me. The prospect of seeing him waiting at the end of the aisle to marry me?
I take a breath and let it out, overcome with a sudden wave of nerves. Meg steps aside and Francesca moves out of the way of the mirror, and there I am, looking like a real bride. My long blonde hair is parted on the side and curled, gathered and placed over my right shoulder. My veil is arranged beautifully, the delicate netting trailing behind me. My second choice dress is even prettier than the first, I decide in this moment, as it hugs every curve. Thank God I’m not really showing yet. If I’m naked, you can see the curve of my waist is different, but confined in this dress you can’t tell. The white gown is ruched and flares out at the bottom with matching embellishments where the dress flares, and between the breasts of my sweetheart neckline. It’s strapless, so my shoulders are bare, and despite her grumpiness, the makeup artist did a stellar job on my face.
“Oh, we forgot this.” Francesca grabs my gold and white bouquet and hands it to me. “I want copies of all the pictures,” she states, grinning at me. “All of them. I’m so happy, I can’t even stand it. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and I thought you were going to let him get away with never making it happen.”
“Well, I probably would’ve,” I allow, shrugging.
“I guess you can thank Vince for one thing, at least,” Meg remarks. “Boy, did that kid get Mateo’s priority list in order. Item one: Mia. Item two: Mia. Item three: Mia.”
“Okay,” I say mildly, rolling my eyes. I can’t take my eyes off my reflection, though—I’m a bride. I totally look like a bride. Glancing at Francesca, I add, “Has Sal said anything about Vince? I haven’t been able to talk to Mateo all day. He’s definitely not here, right?”
“As far as I know, everything’s good. I haven’t really seen Sal since we got here, though.”
Meg pipes in, “There’s a literal army of men outside this theater. If he gets through, it’s only because he’s wearing his cloak of invisibility.”
Francesca nods. “Yeah, I’m guessing he’s not that good. I do know he has a special talent for getting into places he’s not supposed to, but—that was probably the least helpful thing I could have possibly said.”
“Also faintly dirty and highly awful,” Meg says, grimacing. “I want to make it a sex joke, but I can’t because the Morelli men are fucked up sex thugs and I can’t deal.”
My eyes widen and I turn to see if Bella is still lingering, but there’s no sign of her. “Can we not? There are little ears running around all over the place.”
Burying her face in her hands, she makes an exaggerated noise of aggravation. “Okay. I’m good. Let’s do this.”
I take one last look in the mirror while they file out. Up until now the day has gone by pretty quickly, but I want to remember every moment. I like to be called just about anything as long as it starts with “Mateo’s”—but today I become Mateo’s wife.
I stifle the urge to bend down and pick up my dress and head out of the room to follow the other ladies down the hall.
Our wedding is at a huge, gorgeous theater in downtown Chicago. It had to be sectioned off to meet our needs—there’s a cocktail hour following the wedding ceremony for the guests while Mateo and I take advantage of the gorgeous venue to get some wedding photos. It’s perfectly fitting that my favorite showman and I w
ill be getting married in a theater.
I just hope the ceremony itself isn’t dramatic. I told myself Mateo was worrying overly much about Vince, but then I started thinking about my time in Vegas more realistically and realized maybe he’s not. It’s probably not insane to think the ex who kidnapped me and hauled me across the country after four years might show up with the intention of ruining my wedding to the man he loathes. He sold out loved ones for the resources to take me from Mateo—he has nothing left to lose.
Even as the thought flits through my mind, though, two large men with guns stand guard outside the door at the end of the hall. The only problem with the theater is that there are so many doors and windows, so the place is crawling with thug-like men that I’ve never, ever seen before.
Bella leads the procession, with Meg, Francesca, and Elise following. Rosalie is my flower girl, so she goes next. I only see her walk through the archway, then the red curtain is lowered so I can take my place and wait for my own entrance. I’m entering below a staircase, so there’s actually a person at the top lowering and raising this curtain for me.
I hear people rising on the other side of the curtain and my heart speeds up. Adrian offered to stick it to decorum and walk me down the aisle even though he’s the best man, but I told him that was all right. I don’t need anyone to give me away, I can do it myself. Frankly, I’ve shared enough in my time—this moment is all mine.
I tell myself I’m prepared as the piano player in the next room plays the first notes of the wedding march. I try to keep my cool as the red curtain in front of me suddenly starts to rise.
I remember too late we forgot to put my veil over my face. We were so busy arranging it to look pretty, I forgot its function. Oh well, it’s too late now. It doesn’t matter anyway.
Now the curtain rises high enough that I see Mateo standing at the end of the aisle, so handsome in his white tux with his gold tie. A red carpet is laid out, dotted with white rose petals that Rosalie just dropped, but all I can focus on is the man waiting for me at the end. My heart has wings. Excitement travels through me and leaves gooseflesh in its wake.
His warm brown eyes rake over my body, taking in the sight of me in my wedding gown. I take the first step forward, trying to breathe as a million eyes follow me. I only care about two of them. His appraisal of his bride apparently done, Mateo’s warm gaze returns to mine.
I’m already convinced this is the most magical moment of my life, then he gives me a slow, sexy grin and winks at me. How I keep my heart from flying out of my chest is beyond me. How he can still have this dizzying effect on me after all this time I don’t know, but boy, does he.
I don’t look anywhere else. I don’t think—I just reach for his hand when I get to him. He squeezes it and pulls me in. His free hand goes to my waist and he pulls me close, brushing his lips against mine.
A little murmur of chuckling, snorting, and murmuring comes from the assembled guests.
The officiant remarks, “It’s not time for that yet, son.”
“I don’t care,” Mateo states, smiling as he lets his gaze move over me again. “You’re breathtaking.”
I’m smiling so hard it hurts. I want to speak, to offer him a compliment back—to tell him he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever had the pleasure to look upon, to tell him he’s my everything, to tell him I’m so happy to be here with him. I don’t trust my voice, though. I’m trembling with nerves and excitement, so all I can do is shakily squeeze his hand.
He gives me another warm smile, his hand still at my waist, and gives me another tender kiss before taking a step back and assuming the position. The officiant addresses the room and does a reading, butI can’t even focus on it. I stand across from Mateo and we hold hands, but suddenly it feels like we’re moving too fast. I don’t remember the words; my brain has gone completely blank.
Thankfully he goes first, and he’s used to commanding a room, so speaking in front of people is no big deal to him. His strong voice, his firm grip, the strength of his presence steadies me. His words, even if rehearsed and repeated, wash over me and fill me with peace.
“I, Mateo, take you, Mia, to be my wife. I promise you my deepest love and devotion for as long as we both shall live.”
“And beyond,” I remind him.
His eyes glimmer with humor. “Ghost Mia, too.”
“That’s right,” I mutter, with a decisive nod, watching as he slides my brand new wedding band on my finger.
The officiant is no more impressed by me than Mateo, but screw it; this is our wedding, we’ll do and say what we want.
Mateo’s vows continue. “I open my heart to you as a sanctuary where you may always come for strength or peace.”
I can’t hold back a dreamy sigh. That’s so true. Well, mostly. The strength part is always true, the peace is touch and go.
“I will love you and serve you, honor you and protect you. I vow today to spend the rest of my life with you, through good times and bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I promise to always do my best and I am so honored to call you my wife.”
The officiant nods and turns to look at me, but Mateo adds a line, “Thank you for loving me.”
There it is. The tears. “Dammit, I was so close,” I whisper, bringing a shaky hand up to preemptively dab away the tears welling up and trying to ruin my composure.
“Sorry,” he says, dryly.
It’s hard not to kiss him again, but I restrain myself and repeat my own vows, much more shakily than he just did. I slide the ring I picked out for him on his finger, watching his face, hoping he likes it, but he’s not even looking at the ring—his eyes remain on me. The officiant doesn’t recite Mateo’s last improvised line, but I do.
“Thank you for loving me.”
The officiant consults his book, saying without looking at us, “Mia and Mateo, you have expressed your love and loyalty to one another before all assembled here. With these promises in mind, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Looking to Mateo, he says, “Now you may kiss the bride.”
It’s unreal to hear this man refer to me as Mateo’s bride, the newly announced wife.
Mateo Morelli is my husband. My husband.
He’s not as disoriented as I am, unsurprisingly enough. His arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me in close. His free hand cradles the left side of my face and he gives me my first official kiss as a married woman.
And boy, is it worth remembering.
Chapter Thirty Four
Mia
The first strains of At Last by Etta James play as Mateo sweeps me out onto the black and white dance floor. I consider it symbolism that the glimmering dance floor assembled in our back yard looks just like a chess board. I remember a time when I was certain I was his pawn, but now here we are, king and queen, sharing our first dance at our wedding reception.
“Is dancing always this sexy, or is it just you?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“It’s just me,” he assures me, solemnly.
I chuckle, hugging him close and leaning my head on his shoulder. “Probably. You make a lot of things sexy that shouldn’t be.”
“So do you,” he offers back. “You clearly made marriage sexy somehow, because here I am.”
I lean pull back to grin up at him. “Bet you never thought I’d be the one to drag you to the altar.”
“I was pretty sure we were going to drag you to the river; the altar was definitely not on the table.”
I roll my eyes, lightly pushing him in the chest. “You’re not supposed to bring up former plans to murder me on our wedding day. It’s not romantic.”
“Sure it is, you just have to present it the right way.”
He’s so crazy. I love him so much. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. The only problem with our wedding song is it’s so damn short. I want to stay out here on this dance floor with him forever.
It’s a gorgeous night and our backyard is aglow with white and gold. Tiny tea light lant
erns hang from nearby trees, a wooden frame was built in the middle of the yard to hang strings and balls of white lights from. Beautifully dressed tables are set up around the dance floor, a band plays behind us. Ahead, the elegant cake Francesca made us—pink and gold, his favorite color and mine stacked on top of each other in five tiers—sits under a spotlight. Francesca surprised me with a smaller “bride’s” cake—a strawberry cassata cake shaped like a Christian Louboutin shoe box with a fondant shoe on top. It is awesome. Adrian was excited about the cassata cake, too. There’s so much food, an open bar, and lots of strangers I’m now related to by marriage strolling around.
It’s hard to believe this magical scene is ordinarily just a huge patch of grass.
“Everything is so perfect,” I murmur, pressing a tender kiss along Mateo’s neck.
His fingers lightly trail across my exposed shoulder, sending a thrill right through me before leaning in to own my ass with his neck kisses. “It sure is,” he murmurs.
“Thank you for stealing me.” I smile as he pauses in kissing me to meet my gaze.
“Best decision I ever made,” he states.
I sigh as the song ends and I’m forced to stop dancing. “We should’ve picked a longer song. Are there any six-hour long songs? We should’ve picked one of those.”
He shakes his head. “Had to be this one.”
The man on stage announces it’s time for the bridal party to join us for a dance. It mostly works out—Francesca and Sal, Elise and Adrian. Things get slightly stickier with the unpaired couples. Meg goes to dance with Dante and Mateo waves for her attention, shaking his head.
“What?” she asks, innocently.
“Nope.”
She gives him a “what the hell?” look, but she abandons Dante and goes to dance with Alec anyway.
“Why can’t she dance with Dante?”
“I don’t trust those two together,” he states. “Aw, damn.”
I turn to look and see why, and Bella is shooting Mateo a look of annoyance because now she has to dance with Dante.
“This is starting to feel offensive,” Dante states.
