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“I know, I know!” he says, the two of us separating. He smiles and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “Iknow, it’s just I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of being your father. So proud of the lovely woman you’ve become.”
I squeeze his hand and desperately try to hold back the tears.
“You might be giving me away, but I’m notleaving,” I say. “You know we live just down the street.”
“And a few over,” he adds.
I nod and don’t correct him. That is true. We were more than just down the street. We were down the street, a few over, and then some! We were living in Luca’s mother’s old home. It had been completely rebuilt since the night of my kidnapping and the revelation of who Marco actually was. Since then it had received a large remodel and make over, mostly in the same style and vibe as Luca’s mother, Judy, had modeled the home. With one exception …
There was now a little boy’s bedroom at the back.
The door man gestures for us to get out of the car and I realize we’ve been keeping everyone waiting. “Oh we’re late!”
“Honey, you’re thebride,” my father says. “You can arrive whenever you want. They’ve waited three years, they can wait a bit longer.”
I playfully pout as he opens the car door. It had beenhisidea for Luca and I to take some time to get to know each other and focus on our growing family before tying the knot, not ours.
We get out of the car and my father helps me with my train. It’s been made especially by my team at Piovere, which I now run seeing that Luca has taken over the family businesses, the Russo brand included inside the Colombino one. My father retired a year ago, after seeing how much Luca had taken to his role. He deemed that we were in good hands.
He, of course, hadn’t fully retired. He’d just changed his desk and view. He now sat at a small kids table, helping my son to stand and draw. Draw, being a very generous word for what he did, but either way, melting hearts is what he ended up doing.
We walk up the steps and the man opens the door. We’re let into a smaller entry way, with a second set of doors. Everything is warm and smells of the enormous lavender bushes guarding the corners. The candles burning are golden and the scent of the sea washes in from behind us. I turn and smile at the sun that’s setting ever so slowly, the silhouettes of palms sway back and forth before us, and I know that the time is perfect.
“You ready, my dear?” my father asks.
“Regardless of if I’m ready or not, it’s time to jump into it,” I say. “I believe there’s honor and duty in a good marriage. Both of which are needed to make a good legacy.” I hug my father and squeeze him tight. “Thank you for everything.”
He’s got tears threatening to fully break free now. And a single tear does fall as he looks me up and down. He coughs and tries to toughen up his voice. He swallows and licks his lips. “You look just like your mother.”
I don’t say anything and just hug him again. I beg for the mascara not to run and fish for a handkerchief in my hidden pocket. My father produces one and gives it to me to dab at my eyes.
“What did I say about making me cry?” I say, laughter at the edge.
“That was a cheap shot, I’m sorry,” he says.
“Very naughty,” I quip. “Just as I’m about to walk down the aisle.”
We both laugh and take a deep breath, I look at my father and he looks at me, we take a door in each hand and open them up.
Light guitar begins immediately and a cello soon accompanies it. The lavender that was guarding the door runs away ahead of us, smaller columns lining the aisle all the way to the altar. There’s sunlight streaming in through the open sandstone building, turning the higher up rose tinted windows into a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges and golds.
But I may as well be blind to it all. Because all I’m looking at are the two men standing at the altar. Luca is proud and dressed smartly in a white tux jacket with black pants. A small bunch of sage and thyme is pinned to his lapel, cut from his mother’s garden. And beside him, in a much smaller but exactly matching little suit, is our son, Michael.
He stands with the help of his father, his pudgy little hand grasping Luca's finger as he looks down at the two final people who’ve finally entered the church.
“Mama!” he calls excitedly.
Luca beams and I smile at my men. My heart is filled with love and happiness, and I clutch onto my father’s hand as we walk down the aisle, the sun setting just as we arrive to meet them.
THE END
