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7
Maddox
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Those words sift through my mind, pumping blood from my heart to my cock. I’m dizzy, but that’s to be expected. Isabella’s showing no signs of disgust, regret, or disdain. On looks alone, I’d say she’s waiting for our kiss. She’s biting her bottom lip, as her puppy dog eyes draw me in with her gaze alone.
The band’s waiting for it, too. Their fingers are clutching their instruments, eagerly waiting to play a soundtrack to our union.
This is all for show, yet it feels so real. As if I was always meant to be standing here, with Isabella as my bride. My heart swoons and sinks, and enviously drives me forward. Isabella receives my kiss without concern. She wraps her hand around my head, pulling me deeper into it. Her sweet perfume acts as an aphrodisiac, enhancing the sensations of pleasure, and leaving me desperate and hungry to take in every inch of her. I wrap my hands around her waist. The orchestra begins playing some tune I can barely hear through the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears.
The guests get to their feet, cheering and clapping. Their rapturous applause amplifies my passion. Isabella tugs handfuls of my hair. It doesn’t feel like some ceremonial peck on the lips. It’s a culmination of desperation and lust to have Isabella. She’s not pulling away.
Every action we take is another that solidifies the passion. Does she feel the same? Have I somehow lucked into her developing some sort of interest after our last few encounters?
Preposterous. Absurd.
Fucking sexy.
We’re still kissing, long after the crowd settles down and takes their seats once more. I finally break away from her, but keep her close. Isabella looks almost disappointed that I stopped. She rests her head against my chest, and I turn over to Bruno.
He smiles, giving me a thumbs-up. What a reaction to the man, who basically made love to his daughter with a single kiss.
Is that what this is? Have I been wrong in all my assumptions of Isabella up until now?
Love isn’t a feeling or word I’ve ever understood, and holding onto her now, I still don’t. But, I feel a desperate burning to keep this moment from ending. There are only hours left. Once they’re over, and we’ve solidified our union, I’m back to being Maddox the mutt, while Isabella returns to being a princess.
The thought breaks my heart.
I’ve been given a taste of perfection and now it’s going to be stripped away from me. I return to a boring life of loneliness, with a pseudo-marriage against my name.
“Maddox,” Isabella says my name. Her voice is soft and barely audible over the music and chatter starting in the crowd. “I know this isn’t easy. But, I’m glad it’s you, instead of someone else.”
Christ, she has turned around to accepting it. Those words are almost enough to break me from the funk that’s developing inside. It almost unties the heavy knot in my stomach.
I lift her face back up to mine with a finger, leaning in to kiss her again. Isabella receives as before, yet this time, she lets out a soft whimper. We’re both fighting against our urgency, a futile attempt, even with a crowd of onlookers. If I had my way, I’d make love to her, right here, right now; especially in front of all of these people.
I break this kiss more quickly than the first, so as not to lose control. I have never considered getting married, up until this point, and have no idea what to do from here. I’m lost in the moment, and lost in Isabella.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, excuse me,” the priest shouts from behind us. The distraction pisses me off. The music goes silent at his call and Isabella and I part. What a way to ruin the moment.
“There’s something important I’ve forgotten. Something very important.”
“God damn it, what is it now?” Bruno shouts. He looks furious at the interruption of his daughters’ special day.
“This—” although old, the priest moves with expert precision. He slides his hand into the bible sitting on the impromptu pulpit before him, and he draws a .25 ACP Baby Browning pocket pistol from it. Without hesitation, he fixes it on Bruno Romani’s chest and pulls the trigger.
The priest manages to fire four bullets before Dominic tackles him to the ground. The pistol goes flying and Dominic delivers blow after savage blow anywhere they’ll land. Blood splatters from below. Flecks of red speckle Isabella’s perfect white dress. She lets out a horrified screech that nearly shatters my eardrums.
By the dozen, men swarm around Bruno, and Isabella’s quick to follow them. They all gather at Bruno’s side, ensuring their King’s safety.
“You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you,” Dominic says, as his beating continues. The Romani men, who stood behind me on the stage, step in, and pull Dominic off the priest.
“We’ve got to keep him alive, Dom,” one of them says, driving a boot into the priest’s midsection. “This piece of shit’s going to tell us who sent him.”
The priest whines on the ground, coughing and gasping for air. I can barely make out his face; it’s so coated in red.
I’m lost. My mind’s a haze. Muted cries fall on my deafened ears.
Of course, this would happen now. Things were looking so good, how could I expect the day to move on perfectly? Isabella and I were never destined to be. This was fate, reminding me of my situation. I’m a tool; emotionless, devastating, deadly; nothing more.
I jam a hand into my pocket, and pull a Fuente Fuente Opus X cigar out of it. It was a gesture from Bruno, for our celebratory smoke as father and son. I light it now, as the world around me burns. The Romani men are dragging the priest’s bloodied body away. Isabella’s weeping at her dying father’s side.
Then there’s me. My white wedding turned red. I face my family. My father’s sitting in his chair, half up and neck-craning towards Bruno. Most everyone’s doing something similar apart from those trying to help.
If that old man dies, my life will never be the same, again. All I can do is smoke my cigar and pray for the best. But, praying’s never been my business.
I instill the fear of God into man, not ask him for favors.
Once more into the fray, a loyal servant to my King.
