The priest clears his throat and says, "This is the first time you're meeting me as a couple before this wedding commences, so I want to make sure everyone is of legal age." He looks at Mariano and the latter knits his brows at the priest as he mutters, "You saw the papers. Twenty-nine."
And then the priest turns to me, saying, "What about you, young lady?"
"Twenty-three," I answer, and the priest nods.
He opens his bible and addresses all of us. "Welcome, loved ones," the priest begins, even though there are no guests. How comical. "We are gathered here today to join Mariano and Gabriella in holy matrimony. This is—"
Mariano clears his throat loudly and glares and nods at the priest, who shoots him back with a scowl of his own, but then huffs out a breath and then looks down at his guide.
The priest's brows knit and he decides to skip several parts. "Do you Mariano Spencer Morelli, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, 'till death do you part?"
I stifle my laugh. This is just absolutely ridiculous. Me? Married to him with all these promises between us?
"I do," Mariano says, his voice curt and mechanical.
Then the priest turns to me. "And do you Gabriella Quinn De Luca, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, 'till death do you part?"
I still. My breath hitches as I stare at the priest's cross, thinking that we're here lying in front of God. I can't bring myself to speak, my tongue feels heavy in my mouth and I purse my lips. The lump in my throat thickens and it's getting harder and harder to swallow. I need water…and a jet to fly me back home.
Mariano looks down at me but doesn't say anything. He just stares, waiting patiently as I gather myself. I refuse to meet his eyes because he knows this is all a lie and he doesn't care. Why would he? He has me trapped. I have agreed to all of this, but now that we're here, my fight-or-flight response is taking hold of me.
The priest lowers his chin to peer at me, waiting for my answer, and when I remain quiet, he calls my attention, "Gab—"
"I do," I mutter quickly and just as mechanically as Mariano did, a rush of current flowing down my arms.
The priest straightens and continues. "Mariano and Gabriella, you may exchange your rings."
Right. Rings. I glance my eyes sideways as Mariano retrieves a velvet box from his pocket, opens it and takes out a ring, then extends the box to me. I take out his ring and we face each other. I barely notice the designs of each piece of jewelry because to me, they don't matter and I don't care. And I still don't look him in the eyes because I'm afraid to see someone else's face if I do.
Mariano takes my left hand and gently squeezes it. It's the first time he holds my hand since…well, since a few months ago. And I'm reminded of how warm it is that I'm hit with this bittersweet feeling inside me that I don't like. The altar was quiet for a few beats until the priest clears his throat, making me glance at him. He signals me to proceed and reluctantly, I do.
And when I meet Mariano's eyes, I swallow the massive lump in my throat. His gaze bores into me as if he's looking right into my soul as he speaks.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, take and wear this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness."
Electricity zaps my skin as his fingers slide the ring on my finger, making me flinch, but his grip on my hand is firm.
I do mine fast, sliding the ring on his finger as I repeat his words back to him.
Mariano doesn't let go of my hand. The priest opens his arms in a gesture as he says, "By the power vested in me by the state of Illinois, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss."
My chest heaves as Mariano tugs me towards him and leans in, his hand holding my waist possessively. I feel my skin burning even through the thin material of my dress that separates his hand from my waist. He's so close that my body warms up by the heat radiating from his body. I feel him everywhere.
I'm not ready when his eyes fall to my mouth and his lips curve into a rare smirk, looking like the devil that he is. It's because I don't see him like this often that it makes me feel like I'm gifted with it, at the same time that it feels ominous.
I'm not ready when he inches forward, leaving a hairbreadth between us that I can practically taste his scent on my tongue.
And when I think he's going to kiss me, he makes a detour towards the side of my face. A shiver runs down my spine as his hot breath fans my cheek, his lips skating against the sensitive skin below my ear as he whispers, "Pronta per tornare a casa... Amore Mio?" (Ready to go home... My beloved?)
Mariano steps back and releases me while I stay frozen in place. He signs the papers…and I'm now gaping at the empty space where he once stood. Then he walks away…down the aisle…and through the doors, leaving me at the altar like a helpless, flushing idiot.
Robotically, I sign the papers next to his name. Just like that, I'm now married to Mariano Morelli, and my surname has changed—as agreed—the weight of it all concentrated on the ring I wear on my finger.
I'm stunned as I watch him disappear through the door. It's lightly snowing outside. Chicago is cold and it's freezing my heart along with it.