Pieces Of One, Part 2 (The Dark Life Collection)

by Ricketts, SVC

  The limo pulls up to a little stone chapel with large raised towers and colorful stained glass circular windows.

  Even though we didn’t practice, and I’ve only seen weddings on television, the ceremony goes off without a hitch. The little girl lays a path of flower petals before the girls in front of me and one by one, they file to the front of the chapel. Bryson, looking astonishingly handsome in his suit, stands with Henn and Jason to the right of the minister awaiting my arrival.

  I’m not nervous as I’ve heard most brides are. Staring at Bryson, a quiet thunder resounds in my heart. This feels real between us and I cannot deny my hopes for our future.

  Everything that comes after is a dream up until Bryson and I are announced to the congregation of strangers as Mr. and Mrs. Bryson Seviride. I look out to the sea of unknown faces and they all have one thing in common. They are all over-joyed for us.

  “Hey, Mrs. Seviride,” Bryson whispers in my ear. “Wanna race?”

  My eyebrows pull together, but I smile at the bizarre question. “What?”

  Bryson’s head bobs up and down. “Tradition has it whoever reaches the church doors first rules the roost.”

  I remember what he said about running so I know I got this. “Is that so?” I ask anyway.

  “Ready?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow and a glint in his eyes.

  Smirking because he really looks serious about this. “Set?” I follow with.

  At the same time we say, “Go!”

  I kick off my elf shoes and haul ass down the aisle. The people in the church explode into cheers and hollers as Bryson and I run to get to the door first. No big surprise here, my hand touches the large wooden door before his does. As a matter of fact, I stand here for a good half-second before he arrives. When he does though, he cages me between his arms, panting.

  “I let you win,” he chokes out in gasps. “You can make that up to me later.”

  I burst out laughing. “Bull shit! I’m the boss, applesauce! Can’t break tradition. It’s the law.”

  We exit the romantic stone chapel the way every couple should, laughing as if we’re in love and starting our new lives as one.

  Because of the race, we didn’t have our first kiss as Mr. and Mrs. Seviride. When we finally do, we kiss outside and are received with cascading cheers, flowers, and sesame seeds as we glide to the waiting limo taking us to the reception party.

  I curl up in Bryson’s arms blissful, forgetting this is all a sham. “Happy?” he ask.

  “Yes,” I gush. “But how did you do all of this? When?”

  He chuckles, “I have my ways. I told you I’d make it my mission to make all your good dreams come true! Now I’m a piece of you.”

  Snuggling closer to him, I sigh, “You’re so smart—tricky and a little devious, but very smart.”

  THE RECEPTION IS a glorious affair! I suppose if you have a shit-ton of money, you can make this kind of thing happen at the drop of a hat. It’s bizarre to think this is my world now.

  After the huge reception line of congratulations and accolades, we sit at a long table and the food and wine flows again. I drink more than I eat since I’m still full from the morning celebration feast. Toast after toast, even the strawberry, orange, melon juice I’m drinking fills me to the point where I think I’m going to float away. I’m happy I’m not drinking any more of the sparkling wine I now know they call, Gemišt. I’d be unattractively face first on the floor before we cut the cake.

  Henn makes his best man toast with a homemade schnapps he purchased through the hotel concierge. Apparently it’s another Croatian tradition that I only take a sip of. Bryson makes a big presentation to Henn, giving him the towel it is wrapped in. It’s fascinating and I wonder when Bryson had time to research all the local customs.

  After all that, we have our first dance as husband and wife. Both the wedding ceremony and this reception have similar elements as the US ones. I love the combination of the two cultures. It brings a uniqueness that I’m sure even Kitta, if she were here, would appreciate. Bryson takes my hand and guides me along the dance floor holding me close and spins me around making my pretty little lace dress whirl around my knees. A few minutes go by, but I’m oblivious to the song ending and everyone joins us as the music changes to a faster pace. Many people steal us from each other for a dance, all of whom don’t speak English fluently. I try to manage a conversation despite the language barrier, but mostly end up just thanking them for coming. I still have no idea who any of these people are.

  With a few spins around the dance floor with a half-dozen different people, I lose track of him. Excusing myself from my current partner, I go to look for him amongst the guests.

  There is a booming laugh that catches my ear and instinctively I follow the sound. Sitting at one of the tables, he is signing some paperwork with that lawyer fellow. Henn and another man are seated as well. They shake hands as I walk up to the table with a curious expression crinkling my eyes.

  He scribbles his name on another line and looks up. “Well, hello Mrs. Seviride!” Bryson smiles up at me.

  “Mr. Seviride, business at our wedding reception?” I ask with a smirk.

  Giving me an over-the-top look of shock, he puts his hand on his chest. “Well Mrs. Seviride, I was going to surprise you, but I might as well tell you now. You are now the proud owner of 30% of Seviride Industries; together we own the majority stock with 85%. Just sign here,” he says pointing to a lined space and offers his pen.

  “Why?” I ask, questioning his intentions. His face falls as it’s not the reaction he was expecting.

  Shock is not the right word to describe what is going on with me when I hesitate to take his pen. Sure the wedding was a real wedding, but I’m sure I could contest it in a United States court of law. But this? I’d be a major stock holder in one of the biggest tech companies in the world? If I sign this paperwork, I’d be tied to Seviride Industries—tied to Bryson. Is this just another way for him to keep his hooks in me? I don’t understand why he would do this for me.

  “Because you are my Piccolo Tesoro and under the circumstances, if anything happens to me, you deserve to be taken care of. This will support you and your family financially for the rest of your lives, regardless if I’m in it or not. I said I’d protect you and take care of you, for better or worse and I meant it.”

  I have no defense when he speaks of the possibility of him not surviving this. This whole time I’ve been focused on my outcome. One can’t assume just because he’s a man, that he is invincible. A bullet can take him down, just as easily as me. My face heats with shame as I selfishly haven’t thought of what he has on the line too. Taking the pen from him, I sign on the line indicated.

  The other men sign the paperwork after me and the lawyer stamps it with some kind of seal making it official.

  “It was going to be one of my surprise wedding gifts, but you’ve ruined it now. So I guess this will have to do,” Bryson says jokingly and hands me a piece of paper. It is a semi–completed registration form to Baylor. “I could only fill out some of your application with the information I had. I have a friend who said he’d push your application to the top of the pile. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me just getting you in, which I still can by the way. But I know you want to do it on your own merit and I respect that. It’s another reason I love you so much.”

  Stupid joy bubbles inside for this dork that knows me so well already. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. “I could just drown in you Mr. Seviride,” I muffle. Pulling back, I kiss him as my thank you. Picking up the other paperwork, I look at the signatures for my shares in Seviride Industries. “Now I’m a piece of you too.”

  THE PARTY TRADITIONALLY has been known to go into the early morning hours of the following day according to Bryson, but we still have Simic’s party to go to. Bryson excuses us to the guests after the huge wedding cake is distributed and he invites them to stay as long as they want. There is plenty of food, dr
ink, cake, and Kolaci; the extremely tasty bite-sized cakes; for everyone to take home as well.

  Looking back at the festivities, our early departure is hardly a disruption. A sense of longing to be amongst those carefree people tugs at me.

  “I feel bad leaving them,” I say to Bryson as we get into the limo.

  “Sorry babe, we have to. Besides, some of them will be there tonight so they understand. Tonight, Hennessey will be on you like glue unless you tell him otherwise. FYI, I don’t like this plan of yours one bit. Did you get a hold of that Dawson guy?”

  I exhale loudly. “No. I think we’re on our own.” To convince him as much as myself, I give him a half-sure grimace. “Kind of over our heads, aren’t we?”

  “Kinda, yeah.”

  BACK IN THE hotel room, I select an off the shoulder blue chiffon dress with a beautiful asymmetrical hem. I slip on a pair of open toe matching blue shoes with a low three inch heel. My attire is one I can move in if agility and speed is a necessity tonight.

  Redoing my make–up takes longer than choosing the dress and shoes. I take my time, carefully trying to copy Marvy’s motions, but my left hand shakes with inexperience. After wiping off the first two attempts, frustration gets the better of me.

  Come on, chill out. You can’t be seductive with shitty make–up.

  I shake my arms out and pick up the eyeliner pencil again. For some reason my right hand steadies grasping around the black instrument and actually becomes quickly efficient with it. In a matter of minutes, I have completed a fairly flawless job, finishing it off with mascara to make my lashes full and long. I do my hair in a diagonal twist ending in a beautiful up-do bun on my right side, again strategically done for ease of movement. My hands seem to have their own agenda flying to prepare my look for the evening. I get the feeling Marvy is helping with my inept talents.

  Bryson takes my breath away when he walks in looking close to perfection. He wears a dark blue suit with a pocket square that matches my dress. We dressed in our own separate rooms so he didn’t know what I’d be wearing. I grin thinking we must be on the same wave-length. His steps halt when he sees me and a smile stretches his lips. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind, looking at the two of us in the mirror.

  “We look stunning,” he glows. A hand strokes my mid-section and concern clouds his eyes. “You’re shaking, nervous about tonight?”

  I turn facing him. “I have something to tell you.” His water blue eyes bore into mine. This could be the last time we’re together alone before we are deep into the thickets. I want to thank him for saving my life and taking care of me. Tell him I wish I could believe we have a future after this is over. That our life will go on as husband and wife. But I can’t. I can’t see past tonight. I can’t see days, months, or years from now with him in my life. No walks on the beach, no dancing in the rain, no pitter-pater of little feet, house with a white picket fence, and a dog house in the backyard. I want those things and I want them with him, but that’s not his path or who he is.

  My husband is so beautiful. I could dive in his eyes and float in the serenity of his blue. Instead I rest my cheek on his chest and breathe in my Bryson scent. “I love you,” is all I get out.

  Before I have a chance to build up the nerve to say the rest of it, the ringing of the phone thwarts my confession. Jason pops his head in the open door. “The car’s downstairs waiting.” Bryson nods to acknowledge.

  “I love you too.” The safety of his arms cocoon me in their warmth and it feels right. “Don’t worry. Hennessey won’t leave your side,” he pledges and kisses my hand. “But just in case…” Releasing me, he walks over to the nightstand pulling a triangular leather pouch. Bryson unzips the pouch and returns to me. He puts a small silver gun with a cherry wood handle, he calls a .22 Magnum, in my hand. “Know how to use one?” he asks.

  I shake my head not ever having even seen a real gun in person up until a few weeks ago.

  But I bet Valeria has and knows how to use it.

  Bryson gives me the basic instructions of gun use: drop the safety, pull back the hammer, point, breathe, pull the trigger. It sounds simple, but in the heat of the moment of necessity, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to take that final step. I put the little gun in my crystal clutch anyway, a bit relieved to have it, but hoping it won’t be needed.

  This is nuts. I have a loaded gun in my purse. Me! I am carrying a weapon that could take a life or at the least brutally maim. I just hope I don’t shoot myself in the process.

  “It only has five shots, so make them count,” he warns.

  I raise a brow and huff, “I’m hoping I won’t even need one.”

  THE DRIVE IS phenomenal along the coastline, but I’m perplexed when we head into a more rural area away from the main highway. “This is where Simic’s house is? I thought it would be something grand, like your house on the bluff,” I comment as we drive up a long, winding road away from the beach.

  The mountainside basks in the remaining departing sun of the late afternoon and I can see the lights of the spread out houses flicker awake against the dusky sky. The homes are simple in construction with flat, terra cotta roofs and nestled in the wild greenery of the countryside.

  “He calls it his beach house even though it’s not on the beach. He grew up in Makarska, but doesn’t like being close to the shore, says it’s too crowded now. There are only a few neighbors and an apartment complex nearby so he can maintain his privacy. But this is only one of his houses. He has another house in Dubrovnik, but his main house is in Zagreb and is three times the size of my…um…our house.”

  I crinkle my nose. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Giving my hand a squeeze, he tilts his smile. “Get used to it, baby,” he says trying to calm my nerves. Unconsciously, I’ve been rapping my heel making it sound like there’s a hungry woodpecker in the car. It gets worse and louder the closer we get to Simic’s house. My breath staggers and my eyes wildly dart around when we pull into the driveway leading to the house. “Breathe slower, honey. You’re going to hyperventilate and pass out.”

  By the time Hennessey opens the door for us, my stomach has twisted into a knot making me double over. A cool sweat bead trickles down my temple burning my eye. Bryson hands me the drink he has been nursing, but I decline. Alcohol will just make things worse.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I groan, pushing out of the door with Bryson immediately trailing behind. With all the rich food of the day adding to my building anxiety, it isn’t long before I empty the contents of my stomach by the side of the house into Simic’s well-groomed landscaping.

  “I’m not sure she’ll be able to pull this off,” Hennessey says to Bryson gauging me in my shambled condition. “Look at her, Bryson! She’s scared stiff.”

  Bryson retrieves a bottle of water from the limo. He watches me trying to catch my breath and rubs my back. My eyes remain closed and I regain control of myself. He offers the bottle of water as I stand up straight.

  “I’m right here, mother-fucker,” I sneer at Henn.

  Taking the bottle of water, I guzzle a mouthful, swish it around, and spit it out. I take a few more large gulps of water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in a very unlady–like fashion. Closing my eyes and hands on hips, I roll my head back, cracking my neck. When I open my eyes, I force an inhale to steel my conviction. Piercing Bryson with assuredness, I put it into my voice. “I’m good. Lez do dis, I wanna go home.”

  A DARK HAIRED man with strange eyes greets other guests when we enter the house. Assuming this is Andri, he’s not what I expected. Andrijica Simic smiles broadly through a deep, thick scar slashing his face from his eyebrow, down his cheek, to the edge of his mouth. The thin man welcomes his entering guests with handshakes and hugs, one deep brown eye twinkles with ease. The other, creepily scarred to an opal white, could be twinkling too. Who knows? He actually would be quite attractive if not for the mutilating scar and unsettling eye. His icy cold hands cup
s mine as I shake his out reached hand. The chill transfers from him to me sending a flow of ice water through my body.

  “Dobrodošli! Welcome, welcome, please come in! I hear congratulations are in order. I am sorry I could not make the ceremony. Pressing business called my attention.” Simic pulls me close placing his long cold fingers on my bare back and kisses both my cheeks. “Congratulations, Marvy Seviride! You are family now!”

  Everything inside me is screaming; everyone inside is. If I hadn’t just thrown up, I’d do it again.

  Get your shit together, T. And remember, he thinks you’re me so be me.

  Not sure if I like my alter telling me what to do, but her words nail down the nausea, and I place my fingers to my lips. The rapid air from my nostrils skims over my fingers, cooling the clammy sweat beneath my nose.

  Instead of a typical handshake, Andriica shakes Bryson’s hand with one hand and hands him an envelope with the other. “For the happy couple, čestitam!”

  “Thank you, Andri. We are sorry you couldn’t make it, but many of your guests here were able to. And thank you for this,” he says acknowledging the gift by holding up the envelope. “All the wedding presents will be donated to St. Theresa's.”

  Simic slaps Bryson’s shoulder. “You are a good man, Seviride! I am sure those orphans are grateful for your generosity over the years!” Turning to me smiling, Andri drapes his arms around both Bryson and me laughing. “Do you know what a catch you have here Mrs. Seviride? I’ll tell you, he’s a savvy business man and an actively liberal philanthropist, this one is!”

  This slightly drunk man doesn’t seem to act like a sinuous crime lord ominously threatening our lives. Despite his physical abnormalities and Bryson’s polite, but disenchanted expression, he’s quite jolly. He seems to speak to Bryson like an old friend would.

  Andrijica peers past my shoulder and waves to more entering guests. “Please excuse me, I have arriving guests I must greet. Enjoy yourself. My house is yours! I’d like to steal you away for a tour later, if that is alright with your Mr. Seviride,” he says eyeing me from head to toe and once satisfied, walks away.