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The last twelve months have played havoc with my rehabilitation. It seems getting shot really does render you useless for quite some time. Nothing can get me down though, not when I have so much to live for.
I count my blessing every day. I take nothing for granted.
They reach me and Angelo shakes my hand. “I’m glad it’s you, Enzo,” he says, his other hand gripping my shoulder. “Take care of her.”
I nod. “You know I will.”
Angelo kisses Valentina on the cheek. “Papa would be so proud of you,” he whispers as tears fall from her eyes. “I know he’s looking down on you today, feeling every bit as happy as we all are.”
“Thank you, Angelo,” she whispers as he cups her face for a moment, then takes his place as best man beside me.
Marco, Dante, Fynn, and Rocco are in the bridal party too, along with Bianca, Katiya, Rayne, Bria and Sloane, who Valentina has become quite close with over the last year.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper as she smiles up at me. I wanted to elope and honeymoon in Italy, but having a family like the Medicis, and Val being the only daughter, they were never going to let that happen. They’ve gone all out; no expense has been spared.
In typical Italian fashion, everyone drove us nuts with where to get married, invites, flowers, cake, decorations, venues… needless to say, I opted out and let Val do most of the arrangements. She lives for this kind of stuff.
I don’t care about any of it, just as long as my girl is happy.
This is our special day, and nobody is going to ruin it.
Seeing the smile on her face is enough for me. I’m all hers.
I still got my way with Italy, though. We set off tomorrow for three weeks along the Amalfi Coast. I can’t wait to have her all to myself with no interruptions.
We’ve moved into my apartment, but will keep the barn for weekends and so Valentina can be close with her Ma.
The ceremony goes by fast. Even though there are a lot of traditions and most of the sermon is in Italian, all we can do is stare at one another. Lovestruck.
And that’s how it should be.
I love her more and more each day.
“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the priest says as I make short work of moving her veil back and cupping her face.
I don’t give her the kiss we planned, the PG version. Instead, I’m all in, kissing her with passion and vigor that earns us a few chuckles and then everyone starts to clap.
When I pull back, she whispers, “E, my Ma is watching!”
I grin. “Yeah,belladonna,and I’m pretty sure she won’t mind on this occasion.”
I kiss her again quickly, once, twice, then I grasp her hand.
“I love you,” she whispers as I look down at her.
“Not as much as I love you.”
We link hands, and the music starts, as we make our way down the aisle, with everyone clapping and cheering.
Elation fills my chest that this woman is now officially mine. I want to scream it from the rooftops.
We spend the next few hours taking photos while the guys rib me about my tux of choice; full coattails with the bow tie and everything. The only thing I really helped pick, though I wouldn’t have minded if she’d picked a brown paper bag. The details are unimportant.
We move the proceedings to the Bluebell Estate for the rest of the evening where the restaurant will serve dinner. It’s a secluded and exclusive winery just outside of Boston, surrounded by forest, a lake and stunning garden views. It couldn’t be more perfect.
Long gone are all the thoughts of the past year.
Petrov did not cause a war over Yuri being shot and killed.
