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Lucila watched him go until she turned her eyes forward and then narrowed them. “Who’s that?”
“Sebastiano,” I said.
He probably had been hanging with Sonny at the rear of the church, watching as his nightmare became reality: Lucila eternally linking her life with mine—in a church. A sacred place.
“Really? I had no idea.” She shook her head. “Not him. The other guy.”
She was rightfully suspicious, but she seemed to relax when she noticed what was hanging around his neck. “You hired a photographer?”
I nodded. “You didn’t notice the other one inside?”
“No,” she said. Then she looked up at me.
“All I could see was you, too,” I whispered, bringing her hand to my mouth, placing a kiss on her wrist.
A tear slid down each cheek. She didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. I leaned in and kissed each of her eyes while Minnie patted her head.
“Luci,” she said. “No cry.”
Lucila grinned at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She tried to wipe it off, but Lucila did it again, until they both started laughing. I grinned. The photographer took a picture of the three of us.
He checked his camera and looked at Lucila. “Mr. and Mrs. Valentino, congratulations.” He turned at me. “Are you ready to go, Mr. Valentino?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll meet you there.”
“Where are we going?” Lucila asked as I led her away from the church.
Minnie held my hand, jumping over cracks as we walked.
“Lilo!” Lucila tried to dig her heels in but only slid when she tried to stop me.
“For a ride,” I said, stopping when we got to the car. I opened the door and Minnie jumped in the back seat. Lucila eyed shotgun like it might shoot her. Then she eyed my waiting hand. With a sigh, she took it and her seat.
For the next hour or more, the two photographers followed us around New York as they took our pictures.
At the end of the shoot, the main photographer asked Lucila where she wanted to go next. “Coney Island,” she said, glancing at me.
They followed us back to my parents’ place after we were done, where they stayed until the end of the gathering.
Only Lucila and I were left. We stood out on the stoop, in the darkness. The brightest thing about it was her. We stared out at the road.
“Seems kind of dark and quiet,” she said, “without Valentino’s being open.”
“He closed it for you,” I said.
She shrugged. “It was still an acknowledgment of the day. He didn’t close it down for Sebastiano.”
“You want to change?” I looked her over, changing the subject. She was still in her dress but had lost the veil.
“No,” she said, smoothing a hand down it, looking it over. Then her eyes ran over me. “You?”
I wore suits all the time, but this one carried the weight of memories with it now. Memories that weren’t tainted with blood in exchange for blood.
“Nah,” I said. “I’m good.”
“Me, too.” She sighed.
We became quiet, standing in the silence we created again.
