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Mr. Bentifourt walked me down the aisle wearing an appropriately solemn expression for the occasion. As he handed me over to Sebastian, he patted my hand and gave me a warm smile that lit up his whole face.
And Sebastian…well, I’m not embarrassed to say he looked liked he’d stepped out of my dreams, dreams that in no way could I ever have anticipated manifesting into reality.
In front of the arched windows, towering over everyone, he stood completely still, his posture relaxed, wearing a handmade blue suit that hugged his impressive frame perfectly, and an ivory silk tie.
He looked like a gilded mythical god, his hair shot through with streaks of pale blonde from hours spent in the Mediterranean sun, his skin the color of raw sugar making his eyes glow a deep, reddish gold. I watched a million different emotions, large and small, rise to the surface and receded. But the smile in his eyes…that smile always remained.
Sebastian lifted my veil, then took my hands in his. His palms were damp, otherwise I would’ve never known he was nervous. Sweet man. I squeezed and he squeezed back. As the Mayor murmured the words that would bind us together, a peace unlike anything I’d ever experienced before descended upon the room, permeating every corner. Within me something transcendent of shape or definition aligned and clicked into place. In the eyes of the man standing before me, I saw my joy, my future, all my hopes and dreams living there.
I recited my vows without reserve. No matter all the obstacles I may have contemplated until that very moment, as I stood before him, basking in the love that emanated from every fiber of his being, I knew what I was doing was right. Because in the end, this thing between us proved stronger than both our wills combined. Because there was no question that all roads would forever be leading me back to him.
“One more,” I said squirming, an apologetic look on my face. Sebastian gave me his best ‘I’m trying to be patient’ look but he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Can I please see the one with the double strands of turquoise?” I asked the street vendor in Italian. He reminded me of an Impressionist painting I’d once seen in a schoolbook. Playing off the bright orange kaftan he wore, his black skin looked nearly blue. Although he nodded patiently, a sweet smile on his face, I suspected he was just about as annoyed with my inability to make a choice as Sebastian was.
“We can get a real one at the jewelry shop on St. Marks Square.”
“This is real,” I said, holding up the turquoise bracelet for his inspection.
He frowned. “I meant precious.” Turning to the street vendor, he said, “How many euros?”
“Fifteen,” the vendor replied in English, his accent thick.
“We need to get going. We’re too exposed here,” Gideon stated. The naked concern in his voice pecked at me. Gideon was perpetually Mr. Cool and Collected. If he was alarmed, there must’ve been good reason.
My attention broke away from the table of colorful bracelets and moved over my shoulder, where I watched Gideon furtively scan the narrow, cobblestone street flanked by ancient buildings. The look on his face made me uneasy. Sebastian handed the street vendor a twenty euro bill and told him to keep the change, his face now tight with a heightened sense of awareness.
“Let’s go,” he ordered. Clasping my wrist, he pulled me along.
All heavily armed, Gideon and two of his men, whom had been with us since we sailed from the French Riviera, created a boundary between us and the flow of tourists that moved up and down the narrow street. In a well orchestrated effort, we walked methodically, on a mission to reach the safety of our hotel.
The din of the crowd was making everyone jumpy. Someone shouted. My head swiveled in the general direction, and yet we didn’t even pause to see what the commotion was about. A car horn blared a street over. I jerked in surprise, and still we kept marching at a brisk pace.
Watching Sebastian eating up ground, you would never have know that his knee was injured, or how hard he worked to make it look like he wasn’t. I worried about how much pain he would be in later. When I squeezed the hand I gripped tightly, he squeezed back.
A revving of a motorcycle engine could be heard in the distance, the sound growing louder by the second. We’d just reached the intersection, ready to turn the corner, when people began to scatter. A second later, mass confusion took over.
At the top of the street, a motorcycle was quickly approaching, flying down at a high rate of speed. Like bowling pins, bodies dove out the way. It was too late to run. Too late to retreat. We were boxed in by the ancient buildings closely packed together. The security team instinctively got into position.
