AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The doors opened.
Hand in hand, they stepped inside.
‘Raffaele...’ she whispered, frozen in the face of such awe-inspiring beauty.
White silk and huge bouquets dressed every pew. There were long-stemmed flowers between candles that flickered throughout the space, and she felt as if she had stepped out of one time and into another.
On cue, the sun streamed through the high arched stained-glass windows on either side of them. Reflecting on every stone surface in a canvas of colour.
Tears filled her eyes. ‘It’s beautiful...’
The long, slow melodic swipe of a bow against a violin string whispered across the stillness of the church.
‘Look up,’ he said, his voice a throaty whisper.
Flora looked up at the stone-columned balcony above them. ‘A string quartet?’
As if on cue, a vocalist with pink flowers in her hair stepped forward, began to sing ‘Ave Maria’.
‘It’s time,’ he said.
She looked at him. At the man who had given her a night of freedom in London, chased her—hunted her—to the farm and made her not only confront the confirmation of her pregnancy but the woman she wanted to be. With him. She trembled. She had never felt freer than she did right now. She was trusting in her instincts. Was trusting herself to be herself. Because of him.
She stood taller, squared her shoulders. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
‘I am ready, Flora Bick,’ he said, a pulse flickering in his jaw, ‘to end this day with you as my wife.’
‘And you as my husband,’ she replied.
Their threaded fingers clasped tighter and they stepped onto the red carpet leading to the altar.
Together.
And behind them the villagers took their pews as, hand in hand, Raffaele and Flora took centre stage and presented themselves to the priest who would bind them.
Flora feathered her fingers against Raffaele’s cheek and held back the tears misting her view as she spoke the words of her heart. The words he needed to hear.
‘I know there wasn’t time for my family to be here,’ she said. ‘But I’m so glad yours could be.’
Her heart stuttered for the boy under the tree. Cold and alone. For the boy caring for his mother when she should have been caring for him. For the boy standing at those iron gates, refused entry to a heritage that was his by birth.
Her grip tightened on the hand in hers. They were joined in front of his people. His family. Because sometimes family was the love of strangers. Sometimes it was a village.
‘Look at them,’ she ordered, and his eyes left hers to move over their audience.
The huge stained-glass windows threw rainbow patterns on their unexpected guests.
‘They’re all here for you.’
Slowly, his eyes moved back to hers.
‘And so am I,’ she promised, and that was her vow. Her promise.
She hoped he heard it, and that in time he would understand it. Embrace it as fully as he’d made her embrace herself.
Family.
Love.
