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I don’t know if he actually needs the wheelchair, or it’s just a ‘fuck you’ to my side of the family, but I feel a twinge of guilt regardless. I push it away, thinking the Gallos are lucky they got off that easy.
The sage-green bridesmaids’ dress suits Riona very well, but not Nessa—it makes her look pale and a bit sickly. She doesn’t seem to mind. She’s the only one smiling up by the altar. Dante and Riona are glaring at each other, and Nero is looking at Nessa with an expression of interest that has me about five seconds away from wrapping my fingers around his throat. If he says one word to her, I’m going to bash his pretty face in.
The church is full of the heavy scent of cream-colored peonies. The priest is already standing at the altar. We’re just waiting for Aida.
The music starts, and after a moment’s pause, my bride comes walking up the aisle.
She’s wearing a veil and a simple lace dress that trails after her. She has a bouquet in one hand, but she lets it hang by her thigh, using her other hand to hold the skirt of her dress. I can’t see her face behind the veil, which drives home more than ever that I’m marrying a stranger. There could be anybody under there.
My bride stops in front of me. I lift the veil.
I see her smooth, tanned skin and her clear gray eyes, heavily lashed. I have to admit, she looks beautiful. The reveal of her face drives home how lovely those features really are, when they’re not screwed up in some demonic expression.
It doesn’t last long—as soon as she catches an unencumbered view of my suit, her face lights up with malicious glee.
“You look amazing,” she whispers, snickering.
“I’ll get you back,” I inform her calmly.
“I was already getting you back for that bullshit you pulled at the spa,” she hisses back at me.
The priest clears his throat, wanting to start the service.
“When you’re married to me, I expect you to maintain yourself at all times,” I inform her.
“The FUCK I will,” Aida snaps, loud enough to make the priest jump.
“Is there a problem?” he says, frowning at us.
“No problem at all. Start the ceremony,” I order.
Aida and I continue to snipe at each other in muttered tones, while the priest drones his way through the vows.
“If you think I’m gonna be some little porn star for you—”
“That’s just bare minimum standards—”
“Yes, it certainly was bare—”
We break off when we realize the priest is staring at us.
“Callum Griffin and Aida Gallo, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?” he says.
“Yes,” I reply angrily.
“Oh yes,” Aida says, in the tone of voice my father would classify as “the lowest form of humor.”
“Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”
“Yes,” I say, after a moment’s hesitation. The rest of our lives is a very fucking long time. I don’t want to picture it right now.
“Yes,” Aida says, looking at me like she’s planning to try to make the rest of MY life as short as possible.
“Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his church?”
“Yes,” I say.
I’d get Aida pregnant right this second, purely because of how furious it would make her. That would be one way to tame the wild beast.
