But I can’t look away from her eyes. Dark and steady and certain.
Cazzo.
She’s not nervous. She’s not trembling. She’s walking toward me like she’s been walking toward me her whole life.
Each step brings her closer. The jasmine scent thickens. Somewhere, the string quartet plays, but I’ve stopped hearing music. All I hear is my own pulse. Thundering. Waiting.
Ten steps away. Then five. Her lips curve. A fraction. A secret smile meant for me alone.
My hands ache to reach for her. I keep them at my sides. Fists. White-knuckled.
Three steps. Two.
Umberto stops at the altar. No one moves.
Then he turns to me, and there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.
“Take care of her,” he says, voice low.
“With my life.”
He nods. Places her hand in mine. And she’s here. At last, she’s here.
Standing in front of me. Her fingers warm in my palm. Her eyes holding mine like an anchor.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.”
The officiant begins speaking. I don’t hear a word.
“The couple has prepared their own vows.”
I’ve written mine down. Practiced them in the study last night, after she fell asleep. But the paper is in my pocket and I’m not reaching for it. The words I memorized feel wrong now, looking at her. Too careful. Too composed.
I take both her hands in mine.
“I didn’t know I was waiting for you.”
My voice comes out rougher than I intended. Raw at the edges. I don’t try to smooth it.
“I had everything planned. Everything controlled.” My teeth grind. I force the next words out. “Then you walked through my door and looked at me like you could see straight through every wall I’d ever built.”
Her eyes are bright. Wet. She doesn’t look away.
“You hum when you’re concentrating. Did you know that?” The words spill out, unplanned, honest. “Old songs. The first time I heard you, I stood in the hallway for ten minutes. Just listening. Just breathing. You didn’t even know I was there.”
A tear slips down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb. My hand isn’t steady.
Fuck.
“Before you, I didn’t know what quiet felt like.” My voice cracks. I let it. The muscles in my throat seize, and I have to stop. Just stop. Breathe. Fifty people watching the Don of New Orleans unable to finish a goddamn sentence.
I swallow hard. Try again.
“I didn’t know I could want something without being afraid of losing it.”
Another pause. Longer. My hands are shaking where they hold hers and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
