The sound of rushing water roared in Grace's ears. Her head swam. The heat of his lips burned through her skin and kindled the coals of passion within her. Lost in his kiss, she knew only the moment. He eased his lips from hers and brought his thumb to brush her face. No words were spoken. Their eyes intimated what each wished to express.
“Tomorrow, milenka, I will make you mine.”
He led her inside the corridor, back to waiting family and friends. She walked alongside him leisurely, intoxicated at the first taste of Drago's unchecked passion.
* * *
Drago stood at the front of the cathedral looking over the heads of family, friends, and business associates for his first glimpse of the bride. His bride. He had never doubted her feelings, yet standing alone and exposed before so many eyes left him wishing for her appearance. When Grace stepped into view through the gaping, stone archway at the rear of the long aisle on the arm of her father, Drago's heart sped in anticipation, yet strangely, the tenseness in his muscles eased. She was beautiful.
Her long, dark hair was parted in the center and swept into a large Spanish knot at the base of her neck. The intricately tatted lace veil covered the top of her head and hung long and simple down the length of the gown, coming around her shoulders and draping over her arms. Lace sleeves fitted her slim arms and the lace continued over her shoulders, rounding at the bottom of her slender neck. The satin under-bodice snugly fitted her hips, and from there it fell naturally to the floor. Drago's mind had each detail memorized in the half minute pause before the music began, and at last he watched Grace take the first steps toward him to become his wife.
Grace gripped her father's arm tightly as they progressed the length of the aisle. Her eyes, dark and lustrous, were firmly fixed on Drago where he awaited her. The moment his eyes found hers, everything faded into the background but him, and her stomach tightened at the intensity of his gaze. His eyes left hers only when the ceremony made it necessary, and even then, Grace could feel raw emotion pulse off him in a way wholly new to her. His voice became heavy and thick as he spoke his vows aloud, and when they circled around to the front of the altar and faced one another for Father Svalina's final pronouncement declaring them husband and wife, Drago's eyes darkened to black pools of liquid ink.
Face to face, her delicate hands encased in his grip, Grace heard the imperative to the groom for their kiss. Drago's hand tightened slightly on hers as the other rose to cup her cheek. He leaned toward her, bent his head, and touched his lips tenderly to hers while his fingers slid behind her neck and held her to himself for an exquisite moment. When his lips slowly left hers, she saw the promise of unrestrained desire flash across his face before he turned them toward the congregation to take their first steps together as man and wife.
Grace felt caught in a dream as they seemingly floated down the aisle to take their place at the rear of the church, waiting to thank the exiting well-wishers. Feeling beautiful in her gown and remembering her love's intimate words of the previous night, Grace Zadrovec tingled from head to toe with joy and anticipation of her wedding night.
* * *
The courtyard bustled with activity. Guests mingled, sharing the latest news and naturally commenting on the wedding details while seeking their seats. Servers filed through the crowd, carrying silver trays laden with the strong spirits of celebratory cheer while others worked to arrange the dishes on the serving tables.
Roasted lamb, potatoes, and smoked ham were heaped on platters along with dishes of peppers, mushrooms, and a variety of cheeses. Minestrone and Riblja Juhe, a soup prepared with fish, steamed in tall pots, surrounded by baskets of crusty breads and bowls of colorful cucumber and tomato salad. A separate table covered in white linen housed the sweet puff pastries of strudel, palačinka, and krem?nite – a delectable cream filled pastry. At the center, the round, white tiers of smoothly iced wedding cake stood tall and proud, decorated with clusters of dried fruits and wide, green leaves.
The linear guest tables were topped with linens of a red and white floral print surrounded by green leaves on a creamy background, and upon each, clear, glass carafes of strong, Slovakian wine along with amber carafes of the watered wine, Bevanda, awaited the guests. The bride and groom, their witnesses, and family would sit together at tables in the front, decorated the same as the others with the addition of grapevine garland across the fronts.
Guy, Visnja, and Slavko entered the courtyard, and the cheers began in earnest. Behind them, Drago and Grace stepped over the threshold, her arm linked in his, and stopped as the guests sounded their applause. Making their way to the bridal table, Drago was approached by Dubravko and his other cousins with snifters of powerful, plum brandy, and his quick nod brought heavy slaps to his back.
Glass raised, Dubravko toasted, “To Drago and Grace! May your bridal week be sweet!”
All repeated the wish and emptied their glasses, adding their compliments for happiness as they sifted through the crowd toward the tables in anticipation of the celebration to come.
The meal commenced following Father Svalina's blessing, and accompanying music played in the background, emphasizing an old-world atmosphere. After the guests had both eaten and talked their full, and hearts had warmed with wine, the dancing began. Lively tunes punctuated the clear air, and the partners joined the growing circle of swirling skirts and black-trousered legs. Calls rang out for the bride and groom to ally with them. Drago moved to lead Grace into the throng of dancers, but Aunt Visnja and her sisters surrounded Grace, clucking and fussing at him to leave her in their care briefly. They ushered Grace to the end of the bridal table.
“Come Grace,” Aunt Visnja cajoled, “Drink the bride's cup, girl. It will set your feet in motion for the dancing.”
Grace took the tiny, silver goblet offered her, and the conspiring older women urged her to take down its contents with a gulp. She obeyed, swallowing the fiery liquid and immediately coughed and sputtered as it burned its way to her belly.
“Oh!” she choked out hoarsely, vigorously fanning herself while the cackling ladies raised their own cups to partake in triumph.
“There, there, Grace. Now you are ready to dance,” Aunt Stella, Visnja's sister, encouraged.
They all locked arms, adding Grace to their number and advanced to the center of the festivities.
Recovering slightly, Grace laughed aloud and permitted them to move her along. To her surprise, the steps came easily, and she found the rhythm of the dance, enjoying the forward then backward progress of the circle and energy of the dancers. Hands seized her narrow hips, spinning her around. Finding herself in Drago's hands, heat flared in her cheeks. He whirled her around the perimeter of the enclosed circle to the quick beat of the music, her feet barely touching the floor, until she was breathless with exertion and laughter. With a quick gesture, he scooped her into his strong arms and trotted around the dance-floor to roars of approval from the onlookers. Grace's hands were locked around Drago's muscled neck, her head flung back in exuberance. He stilled after exiting the circle and righted her, his hands firmly about her waist until she regained her balance.
“We'd better visit our guests, Drago,” she managed, righting her veil.
“Then let us do that quickly, because I will not resist the urge to carry you off much longer,” he said with a smile, sending a shiver of excitement mixed with innocent apprehension through her.
A disc jockey announced his presence with modern beats, inviting the younger generation to claim the dance-floor along with a few, hearty souls of the older set. Drago and Grace mingled with their guests, and Drago made sure each received a few moments of introduction to his new wife as techno blared around them. Darkness had fallen, and red, blue, yellow, and white paper lanterns were lit, illuminating the courtyard. Tea lights floated in wide bowls on the tables, providing soft light for the observers. Drago drank to the toasts of many well wishers. Grace joined them, sipping the watered wine cautiously as they made their way along the long
tables.
Beckoned to the dance-floor again, the newlyweds reveled for a few songs before the tempo slowed, and Guy came for his last dance with his only daughter. He held her in his arms, savoring his final moments with her, for he had to depart the next day.
“I love you, Gracie girl,” he choked out. “And even though you're married now, you'll always be my little Gracie. If you ever need me, know I'll be there, daughter.”
He hugged her tightly, and Grace's eyes teared up as she squeezed her father.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said softly, the emotions of the moment pulling the childhood term of endearment from her lips. “Thank you for everything. I couldn't have had a better father.”
They swayed together in their bittersweet goodbye. Mid-song, Drago arrived to assume his symbolic place as Grace's partner in the dance of life, and Guy Antolini kissed his daughter's cheeks and conveyed her into Drago's care. As he did so, the two men locked gazes for a brief moment before Guy hugged his son-in-law and exhorted, “Take care of her, son.”
“You have my word, sir,” Drago promised, receiving Grace into his arms.
Guy receded from the dance, unwilling to remain melancholy at the sight of his daughter's obvious happiness, even as his heart missed her already. The Zadrovec family fathers gathered round him and began the tradition of tale-telling and drinking that would last into the wee hours of the night.
When the dance finished, the married women, headed by Aunt Visnja, rushed to collect Grace to begin their ritual of secret sharing and aid in her preparation for the couple's departure. Whisking her off, the group disappeared inside the church. The cozy, interior room connected to the lavatory was used exclusively by the women . A large mirror hung on one short wall over an antique dressing table, and golden, upholstered couches were placed opposite each other in the room's center atop an oriental rug. Indigo ottomans littered the space, providing everyone a place to sit. Three round, mahogany tables situated beside one another stood between the couches, and upon each was a silver serving tray holding the tiny goblets filled with the dark and fiery plum brandy.
As the women settled, Ilija lifted the trays to mete out the spirits. Grace, seated between Visnja and Stella, sat holding her glass, impatiently awaiting the feminine secrets of lovemaking she was certain would be forthcoming.
Visnja raised her glass.
“A happy wedding night for Drago and Grace, živjeli!”
“Živjeli!” the ladies responded in unison, and all emptied their goblets, Grace included.
Ilija poured again as Stella began the traditional discourse.
“Modesty is a virtue held in high esteem and practiced throughout a woman's life. But a wise wife leaves modesty at the foot of the marriage bed. The act of marriage is for the enjoyment of both husband and wife. Delight in your husband's body and allow him to rejoice in yours. A husband likes the peace of a relaxing home, the companionship of a friend, the well timed advice of a helpmate, and a good mother for his children. But he needs the passion of the woman he loves!”
Nods of agreement and knowing smiles swept the room as Stella went on.
“When Drago first loves you, you will feel some pain, but it is short lived and only happens the once, child. Trust him, and there will be great pleasure as well.”
Grace's eyes were wide with interest, for she had never heard women discuss lovemaking. Her girlfriends had shared some colorful stories, but their descriptions left much to the imagination. She knew the mechanics of sex, but what she had heard about the things that led up to the act was akin to hearing a foreign language with occasional English words sprinkled throughout – mostly confusing. It had not been a topic broached between her and her father. He had bravely faced shopping for bras and the issues all young women faced, but her father held back on the subject of love and loving beyond imparting to her the beauty of saving her heart and body for her future husband. There had been no woman in his life to give her information, and none of the men in her father's gym would have dared discussed such things with her out of respect – and the added infamy of Guy's martial arts abilities.
Her father had been very protective, and with her wedding night upon her, Grace was more than a little curious of what this night would be like. The assurances of Drago had eased her mind – and inflamed her. The memory of his kiss the night before and the way his hands felt upon her had awakened the delight Stella spoke of, and Grace, while still a little nervous at coming face to face with the unknown, looked forward to this night more with eager anticipation.
Stella, satisfied at having been given the honor of making the speech, signaled that she was finished, and the women helped Grace to freshen up while complimenting her dark beauty and petite shape. By design, they heightened Grace's fervid emotions and strengthened the faith that her body would naturally reciprocate the vigor of passion her husband would introduce. They asked God's blessing upon her as she entered womanhood this night, and concluded with a final draught from the bride's cup.
Warm and tingling, Grace re-entered the courtyard to see Drago waiting near the wooden gate. He stood alone, facing inward, still and impressive with hands clasped behind his back. The men flanked the sides of the gate, and an impassioned melody vibrated through the air, its rippling timbre urging Grace toward him.
Drago's breath left his lungs as he tracked her movement toward him. It seemed an eternity since Grace had been swept away from him, and at that moment, he had inwardly cursed tradition and propriety, wanting only to take his bride home and explore every inch of her. Amused at his discomfiture, cousins and friends nettled him relentlessly at first, but understanding his yearning, they distracted him the best they could until his uncles came and laid hands on him to pray over him. And then they waited with him.
This was the moment he had waited so long for, to find a woman he could share his life and love with, a woman he could trust with his heart. This woman, who would at last come home with him to stay.
The exhortations for action began in earnest from the happy group.
“Gather your bride and carry her off! Hurry, Drago, while the night is young!”
Grace neared, and Drago extended his hand. She placed hers into his open palm. He raised his other and waved, turning into the night, Grace at his side, the echoes of merrymaking diminishing behind them.
Chapter 10
Drago opened the heavy, oak door centered on the three-storied, whitewashed, stone home and followed Grace into the foyer, open on either side to Drago's home training facility. He briefly showed Grace each area of their facility to acquaint her with her surroundings before returning to the foyer and guiding her up the wide, wooden stairs. A small landing on the second floor led to the showers and locker room, which the couple passed, continuing to the third floor living area. Another small foyer greeted them at the top, and double doors, painted white, opened inward to the living room of their home.
Grace paused just inside to take in her handsome surroundings. Evident care had gone into tonight's preparations as muted light shimmered over the flowing, open space. Hearing the click of the door latch, she turned to Drago and found herself enfolded in his embrace.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Zadrovec,” he said in pretended seriousness.
“It's lovely, Mr. Zadrovec,” she replied, matching the playfulness of his address.
Clasping her closely, Drago struggled to remain unhurried, so great was his desire for her. Greater, however, was his desire to entice Grace slowly into their lovemaking. He wanted his wife to welcome his love in the many nights to come in their marriage.
Pale gold walls cast the living area in warm softness against the crisp, white woodwork of the shelving and fireplace mantle. Four tall windows, two on either side of the fireplace, sat inside the equally bright window casements. Window seat benches stretched from either side of the fireplace along the long wall with mossy green cushions, which invited one to sit upon them and lean back against plush pillows of dark green and ruddy bro
wn.
Grace had never imagined such a comfortable, relaxing home would be nestled in the heart of a city. Her wandering thoughts refocused the instant Drago's arms loosened, the loss of his warmth and strength mourned.
“Come with me. I'll show you the bedroom,” Drago said, and Grace followed him to the hallway.
The first door to the left revealed the masculine master suite. Taupe walls stood starkly against the nearly black wood of the wide, tongue and groove floor planks. A large sleigh bed sat atop a rusty hued area rug on the longest wall, the bed sandwiched between old, marble topped pedestal side tables. Suspended over each hung a modern, brushed-steel light fixture, contrasting old and new in the space. Beyond the bed in the corner an oversized denim-clad chair and ottoman sat adjacent the first of two windows, which flanked the home's second fireplace. The love seat placed in front of it promised cozy evenings of tranquility. The small nook at the the end of the room held a dresser and a beautiful dressing table.
“I'll leave you to get comfortable,” he said, backing toward the door. “I'll build a fire while you do.”
With that, Drago disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Knowing she was in the room she and Drago would share intimately set Grace's heart a flutter, and she looked about her curiously. Her attention was drawn to the low dressing table, its apparent age covered with deep chocolate paint. The accompanying bench was slightly pulled out, and her white satin nightgown and robe was laid out across the velvety, sapphire seat cushion.
The reflection staring back at her in the round mirror held her gaze for indefinite minutes as she studied Grace Antolini - now Grace Zadrovec - and she struggled to reconcile the two. Her thoughts flowed unbridled, nervousness warring with longing, excitement vying with shyness. Eye to eye with her very self, Grace confronted her hopes and fears not only for this night, but for the life she would share with the man she loved. The quiet contemplation lasted a few seconds more until she reached back and unfastened her gown.
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