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Fucking thing.
The dress—the one that was picked for me, I might add—billows around me in huge poofy… well, poofs. I feel like a fucking cartoon princess. Like I should have a chorus of woodland creatures singing behind me. Except if this was a movie, there’s be a prince charming swooping in to save me, and I know that’s not happening.
I breathe again, my nerves jangling as the organ music plays on.
Yes, it’s my wedding. But no, my nerves aren’t the sort of nerves brides get right before they walk down the aisle. These aren’t “oh this is the happiest day of my life” nerves. They aren’t “I’m so excited and can’t wait for the rest of our lives!” nerves. Hell no.
These nerves are dread.
My hands tighten around the gaudy, over-done bouquet in my hands. I stare to try and block everything else out around me, when my eyes lock onto the pristine white calla lilies as part of the arrangement, something tightens inside of me.
…Calla lilies are what he used to bring me.
Russell.
…My husband.
Or, ex-husband. Or, fuck, whatever they call it. I still can’t bring myself to say my dead husband, because… well, because I just can’t. Because I can’t go there in my head, still, even five years later. I know what they said. What Darren, and then the Marine Corps said. I know there’s a star with his name on it somewhere in some building in Washington D.C. And yet, I still can’t accept it. Not totally.
How can I, with a man like Russell? With a man who was my everything, who made me feel like I was the queen of his world. A man who was my best friend, my only love, my only lover.
And damn what a lover. I blush a little under my veil as my mind goes there, thinking of the way Russell used to run his hand over me, or his tongue, or the way he’d hold me tight to his perfect, rock-hard body as he slid inside of me. I’m aware of how grotesquely inappropriate it is for me be having little fantasies right before I walk down the aisle to another man, but I don’t care.
Mostly because I don’t give a shit about Darren.
So instead, with the calla lilies in my hand and this farce of a wedding getting ready to happen, my thoughts stay with Russell.
With my love.
My lips twist in my teeth as I stare at the flowers, the thought coming into my head that’s been there basically every day for five years: I never should have let him go off to war, even if I know who I married. A warrior. My warrior. Then he was gone.
Some who lose loved ones over there, they can cling to hope, no matter how bad it seems. Those are the ones with husbands or wives “missing in action.” It’s slim, and it’s brutal and I’m sure heartbreaking in its own right. But there’s hope, however miniscule.
There’s no hope when its “killed in action.” There’s no comfort in the folded flag handed over by white gloves and with a crisp salute. The medal of honor on the mantle of the condo we used to share doesn’t hold me tight at night or kiss me awake in the morning. I mourned Russell for four and a half years.
No, fuck that I’m still mourning him.
I look down at the wedding dress flowing out around me—white, pure, virginal. God after five years, I might as well be. I take a shaky breath.
Just breathe.
“It’s all so exciting! Are you ready!?”
I glance at the gushing, bubbly wedding planner standing by me, and I imagine horse poop landing on her head. Maybe that would shut her up, because so far, my sour looks haven’t.
“Yes, she’s a very lucky girl, aren’t you, Juliana?”
I want to cringe when he touches me. Mitchell Wallace, my husband-to-be’s father. Also, the one walking me down the aisle for this charade, which makes me want to scream even more.
I’ve already had a perfect wedding. And a perfect marriage. For years, I had perfection, with the man I loved. But this train-wreck? This is the opposite. Russell and I had a small ceremony with just friends and family. This is gaudy and gross. My father was still well enough to walk me and give me away the first time. But even if he was still walking around, I wouldn’t want him walking me down this aisle. Even so, Darren’s father doing it just seals the whole poisonous thing. This feels wrong. It is wrong, but there’s no escape. Because this whole thing is about a lot more than me.
Specifically, it’s about Cardellini Food Group, LLC.
Yes, that Cardellini. Everyone knows the name. Everyone’s seen the logo in just about every grocery store in the country. It’s a nation-wide, multi-million-dollar company. And to be precise, it’s my company. Well, my family’s. Cardellini is my maiden name, before I took Kane from Russell. Which means the company will be mine someday. Or, would have been. Okay, still will, but there’s a price tag now.
