When we break apart, her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed and she’s looking at me like I’ve given her the world.
The garden erupts.
Nonna Rosa is sobbing outright now, clutching her magnolia handkerchief to her face. Gia is crying into Mrs.Neri’s shoulder. Marco is clapping too loud, grinning wider than I’ve ever seen.Cristo, even Nico raises his glass in a silent toast, a rare smile at his lips.
And Renzo. Renzo gives me one slow nod.
I pull Cassia against my side, her warmth fitting against me like it was always meant to, and we turn to face our family. All of them. Hers and mine, woven together now in a way that can’t be undone.
She looks up at me. Radiant. Present. Mine.
“We’re married,” she says, like she’s testing the words. “We’re married.”
“For real this time.” I press a kiss to her temple. Let myself breathe. “Damn right we are.”
The music starts again. Bright and joyful, nothing like the solemn formality from before. Nonna Rosa is already heading toward us, arms outstretched, tears still streaming. Gia is right behind her. Even Umberto looks less uncomfortable, a softness in his expression as he watches his daughter smile.
I take Cassia’s hand.
“Ready?” I ask.
She squeezes my fingers. Her ring catches the light.
“Ready.”
We walk back down the aisle together, rice showering around us, the family cheering, the jasmine perfuming the air. She’s laughing. I’m smiling. Smiling in a way I haven’t in years, and meaning every second of it.
La mia moglie.
And God help anyone who tries to take this from me.
36
CASSIA
The ceremony ends in a blur of camera flashes and champagne. Nonna Rosa pulls me into a hug that smells like jasmine and happy tears. Giada squeezes my hands, mascara tracking down her cheeks.
My mother clutches her tissues and says something I can’t hear over the noise, but her face says everything she’s never known how to put into words.
Dante’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the congratulations. Every few seconds someone new appears. A face I half-recognize. A name I should remember. A handshake or a kiss on the cheek. I smile until my face aches.
Three conversations I can’t follow. Four handshakes with men whose names I forget the instant they turn away. The noise rises around me like water, and I hold the numbers like a rope when the current pulls too hard.
“Ten more minutes,” he murmurs against my ear. “Then you’re changing.”
“Bossy.”
“You married me anyway.”
I did. God help me, I did.
Ten minutes turns into twenty, then thirty. More handshakes. More champagne. More faces blurring into one long stream of congratulations. At last, Dante catches Giada’s eye across the garden and tilts his head toward the house.
She materializes at my elbow within seconds.
“Come on, Donna.” She loops her arm through mine. “Time for the real dress.”
She leads me upstairs, past the guards who nod as we pass, into the master bedroom where a garment bag waits on the bed.
