“Okay,” he says. “When do you have in mind?”
I just stare at him, not quite sure I heard him right. “Yes? You’re saying yes?”
“Well, I might have liked a more formal proposal. I mean, you could have gone down on one knee…”
I glug at the water to regain my composure. We’re getting married. He didn’t even argue about it.
“We did discuss it earlier, if you’ll remember,” he says when I set the empty bottle down on the cabinet. “And you’re right. It’s the right thing to do. So…when?”
“As soon as possible.”
“All right. I’ll get on it and let you know.”
#
I don’t know how he does it, but Nick pulls everything together for the wedding in a week. He’s not half-assing it, either—he has me picking out flowers and bridesmaids’ dresses and food and music and cake toppers and icing colors. It’s a whirlwind, and for the most part it swirls all around me while I try to hold it together through bouts of fatigue and morning sickness. I even let Nick close the bakery for a while. It actually seems prudent, given the sabotage Sal committed. We need to be sure everything’s safe before I let customers and employees in again. Still, it hurts.
But there are so many other things to think about, with the wedding and the baby. It seems like only a day or two has passed when I’m standing in front of a mirror at the church, making sure my dress looks just right.
It looks more than all right. It looks perfect. And maybe it’s just the hormones, but suddenly I start blubbering like an idiot. My maid of honor, who I barely know (she’s a friend of Nick’s, not mine) grabs a box of tissues and starts dabbing my eyes. “Your mascara’s going to be everywhere,” she admonishes, and I try to get myself back under control.
“I just…” But I can’t express what I’m feeling. Not even close.
“It’s okay.” She pats my shoulder. “It’s an emotional time. It’ll all be okay.”
“I hope so.”
I can’t help but wish I had family here, but my parents probably wouldn’t be impressed, anyway. They’ve never been happy with my life choices, and I’m sure marrying a wise guy isn’t top on their list. It feels okay to me, though. No, more than okay. Strangely enough, it feels right.
It still feels right when I’m standing in front of the priest. I suggested something a little more modern, but Nick wanted traditional vows in the Catholic church. I had no real reason to say no other than that I’ve been a lapsed Catholic most of my adult life. As it turns out, it’s nice to hear familiar music, familiar words. Even the familiar smell of the incense keeps me grounded and makes it easier to hold back the tears that are threatening to once again destroy my makeup.
Finally we finish our vows, slide rings on each other’s fingers. Even the rings are traditional—plain gold bands, although mine has a tiny diamond chip in it. The priest declares us man and wife, and Nick kisses me in front of God and everybody. And then I’m Mrs. Sarah Angelino, and it makes me happier than I ever dreamed it could. I look up into his eyes, and maybe it’s my imagination being swept away by the atmosphere, but I swear I see something warm in them. Something like affection. He kisses me again, on the forehead this time, and we head back down the aisle, hand in hand.
Even the reception hall is decorated perfectly. There are flowers dripping from every corner, champagne flowing like it’s water, a huge table filled with hors d’oeuvres in preparation for the sit-down meal in a few hours. There’s even a chocolate fountain in the middle of everything, and the live band is warming up in the corner. In the other corner is the wedding cake—four tiers of pink, red, lavender, and white icing, with giant roses spilling down the side and a ceramic topper with a bride and groom surrounded by a huge heart. It’s very traditional, but it’s one of the prettiest cakes I’ve ever seen. Pretty enough I don’t even feel all that bad about not having made it myself.
Nick pulls me to him for our first dance, and I lay my head on his chest. I can almost hear his heartbeat, and his arms are strong around me. I feel protected, like nothing will ever hurt me again. He moves me into an honest-to-goodness waltz, and I laugh as we slide around the dance floor, guests clapping all around us. I don’t know most of them, except from seeing them in passing at parties and other events Sal made me go to. It’s a mob wedding, all right. There’s probably not a single regular civilian in the bunch.
I can’t drink the champagne because of the baby, so Nick makes sure I have plenty of sparkling grape juice. After a while I start to wonder if it doesn’t have a bit of alcohol in it, too, because I’m lightheaded and floaty. That’s probably just emotions, though, and the fact I’m tired from not sleeping well. Thank God the morning sickness has held off today, at least.