“Why are you doing that?” Sicily frowned, looking at my hands.
Quickly, I tucked them to my front, stopping how they scratched and wrung over one another. “Your vocalization isnotrequired.”
My vision blurred, but I saw the slight narrowing of her pupils as she looked behind us to the guests and then took a large step aside, distancing herself from me, removing her voice, her touch, her scent. She did not understand my brain as I did; only Adriano could, but she appeared to realize what was required for my stabilization.
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
My lungs flooded with air once the voice inside stopped and I inhaled sharply, breathing enough to take her hand once more, just in time for the priest to turn to us and say, “Milan Lucca, do you take Sicily Bianchi to be your lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do,” I answered instantly.
Silence hung in the rafters of the church, only broken by the barely audible shuffling from the guests. Perhaps they wereexperiencing the emotion that came after expecting a volatile environment.
Relief.
Many did not know the names to call my diagnoses, but they suspected I became incapacitated in environments such as these with their social and emotional expectations. People said I had problems and while logically that was true, I had never felt as though I was problematic, not even when the doctors told me I was, not even when my father called me defective.
I had known I was capable of overseeing this day, but nobody else did.
Iwascapable.
The priest turned to Sicily, who had become quiet. She stared at the priest, her pink painted lips pursed. She had the same face Adriano did when he was thinking deeply, usually about things that did not make sense, usually emotional things.
“Sicily Bianchi, do you take Milan Lucca to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
Silence.
Excessive, disruptive, unwarranted silence.
I lowered my head, close to her ear, as I spat, “You are required to speak.”
She cleared her throat loudly, appearing not to care about the whisperings behind us. “Apologies,marito mio.”Sicily’s voice deepened.“I thought my vocalization was not required?” She was attempting to imitate me. She was doing it horribly; my voice was deeper than one she could produce.
“Speak,” I barked when the priest coughed, looking at me for direction on what to do about my new wife. If only I knew.
Sicily sighed loudly.
My jaw ticked as the sound echoed over the high cathedral walls.
“For richer, sure. We can discuss poorer later.” She winked at me. “I do.”
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
SICILY
I staredat Elena as she gawked at my new gold ring like my finger had grown something unnatural.
It kind ofhad.
“It would be easier to hate him if he didn’t do things so perfectly.” Elena sighed dreamily as if my new husband was some kind of prince charming just because he had booked a fancy church and bought an expensive ring.
