Finally, when he was ready, Marc pulled away, but quickly captured her lips in another kiss to the laughter of many in the church.
“If you’re finished, Marco,” Father Bancroft said with a smile, “please turn and face the congregation.” They did, holding hands, and the priest went on to say, “Let me be the first to introduce Marco and Angelina D’Alessio.”
A round of applause greeted them before they were instructed to begin the wedding party’s recessional as the celebratory strains of Jeremiah Clarke’s Trumpet Voluntary played.
Tugging her into a corner of the vestibule, he wasted no time pulling her into his arms for another kiss. Dio, he’d never get enough of this woman.
When others intruded to offer congratulations, they were separated as Angelina’s friends and family hugged her and asked to see her ring. Catching Rafe out of earshot of Angelina, he said in a low voice, “Melissa’s taken care of, I presume.”
“Absolutely.” Rafe grinned. “My Sicilian uncles would have felt useless if she hadn’t shown up to give them a situation to handle.”
“I hope you’re right. I’m always so sure she’s gone forever… Then she turns up again.”
“She won’t be back. Trust me. She’s gone for good.”
A sudden thought hit him about whether Angelina’s family included members of the infamous Cosa Nostra, but he discarded them. She’d have told him if she had mob connections. Wouldn’t she? More likely, they were typical overprotective Italian “uncles.” But if Melissa put Sicilian and family together and came up with the Mafia, that might be what it took to put the fear of God in her. Maybe they had heard the last from her once and for all time.
As Rafe went to check on his mother, Marc gave him a silent salute for handling the situation with efficiency and very little drama. Both Marc and Rafe loved Angelina and wanted only what was best for her. Perhaps this truce with Rafe would develop into a strong familial bond. Being on the same side of an issue seemed to make all the difference.
“Marco,” Father Bancroft interrupted his thoughts, “If you’ll gather your witnesses, it’s time for them to sign the license before we finish up photos and you hurry off to your reception. Then we’ll all sign a commemorative certificate of marriage that you can take home with you.” They’d already made plans to have it professionally framed to hang in a prominent place in their new home.
“Yes, Father. Excuse me a moment.” He returned to Angelina, who was surrounded by some of her family and her bridesmaids. “Pardon me while I steal this woman,” he said to everyone. “Karla, if you and Adam will join us to sign some papers,” he said, pointing out where Father Bancroft had gone. Marc gently took Angelina’s arm and led to where the priest awaited them.
After signing the various documents, Adam and Karla went out to round up the wedding party and key family members for the post-ceremony posed photos. The priest picked up the official license to record it with the county clerk’s office. “Congratulations, and long life to you both.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to board the bus for the reception, Father?” Angelina asked.
The priest chuckled but shook his head. “Italian wedding receptions are a younger man’s game.” After saying goodbye and receiving their thanks once more, the priest left them alone. Pulling Angelina into his arms, Marc couldn’t resist another kiss. Would he ever have his fill of her?
Not for a thousand years, give or take a few.
After the bare minimum of posed post-ceremony photos, they were ready to head to Aspen for the reception. Stepping outside the church, a quick scan of the area didn’t show any sign of Melissa. Thank God.
They soon were enveloped in a sea of bubbles being blown by their guests, and all thoughts of that woman were banished from his mind. “Bacio! Bacio!” a few of the Sicilian men shouted.
As if he needed to be prompted, sore lip or not. “If you insist,” Marc said, pulling Angelina into his arms for the kiss their guests demanded. Framing her face, he looked into her eyes and saw nothing but love, which was all he’d ever need to see.
“I love you, Mrs. D’Alessio.”
“I love you back, Mr. D’Alessio.”
And he kissed her. Then again, for good measure.
When he pulled away, she slowly licked her bottom lip, not breaking eye contact with him, as if no one else existed and she couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.
Merda! If only they could skip over the reception and head straight to the honeymoon suite for the night. During the hour-long limo ride to the resort—alone because members of the wedding party were driving themselves and their families—he intended to kiss her one or two hundred more times.
The salute of bubbles continued all the way down the church steps and into the waiting limo. Inside, the magnum of champagne he’d ordered was chilling in an ice bucket. He popped the cork and poured each of them a flute before the driver pulled away from the curb.
“May our perfect wedding day lead to an even more perfect marriage,” he toasted. They clinked glasses and each took a sip.
“That’s it for me. I don’t have anything in my stomach.”
“You didn’t eat breakfast?”
“Couldn’t. Too nervous.”
Marc couldn’t contain the growl that emitted from his throat but had expected as much. He leaned over and opened the mini-fridge, pulling out a tray of cheese and another of strawberries. He pulled off the stem of one of the berries and plopped it into her glass then did the same with his. Then he held the stem of another and brought it to her lips. “Eat.”
“Wait.” She removed her veil, setting it on the opposite bench seat, and grabbed a cloth napkin to cover the bodice of her dress before resuming the position and accepting his offering into her mouth. He watched her chew slowly, sensuously, again keeping her gaze on his. His cock twitched in anticipation of what was to come. While they had the privacy in here to make love the entire trip to Aspen, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep her dress pristine for the reception and didn’t want to spoil it for her.
They had a little more than a week to themselves—no jobs, no responsibilities—just them.
After she’d eaten a few more berries and some cubes of cheese, she leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes. “That was so good. Thank you. And what a perfect day it’s been so far.” Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and she speared him. “Except for one thing. What the hell was Melissa the Bitch thinking crashing our wedding like that?”
He shrugged. “I can’t attest to her motives, but your Sicilian uncles took care of her.”
“How’d they know to step in so quickly? She hardly got started before they were hauling her out.”
Marc shrugged. If he mentioned Rafe’s involvement in tipping them off, he’d have to explain how Rafe knew to expect Melissa, but he didn’t intend to bring up what happened last night for a long while. “Don’t all Italian uncles step in and handle messy issues for their loved ones?”
She blinked a few times, as if considering his words. “I suppose so.” Then more resolutely, “Yeah, come to think of it, they always did things like that for Nonna, too.”
“Don’t give that bitch another thought, amore. She’ll never bother either of us again. Your uncles were quite persuasive, from what I hear, that it would be detrimental to her well-being to ever bother us again. I don’t know or care where she’ll end up, but she’s out of our lives forever this time. I’m confident.”
She smiled as she lifted her glass again and held it in the air for a toast.
“To overprotective uncles and family bonds!”
After both took another sip, he decided to divert her from further thoughts about Melissa and get an answer to a question he was curious about. “Tell me, though, so I don’t say the wrong thing around them. Does family have a more sinister meaning for your Sicilian uncles?”
She swatted his arm. “Don’t tease about something like that. Of course they aren’t Cosa Nostra. You’ve watched too many
movies about Sicilians. Nonna had an aversion to the mob and would haunt anyone in the family who became associated with them.”
Silly as it might seem, he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d love her family, no matter what they did, but they’d be a little easier to love without the criminal activity.
“While we’re asking questions, is it a coincidence that you and Rafe are both sporting facial injuries this morning?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t notice anything. What did he say about it?”
“That he ran into a door.”
Marc grinned, pleased that Rafe hadn’t spilled the beans, either. “Completely plausible. We all had a little too much to drink after you left last night.” Marc had no intention of bringing Angelina into the middle of it. They’d handled things in their own way.
She studied the cut on his lip a moment longer before curling up against him and splaying her hand on his dress coat, fiddling with the buttons. Did she buy their explanations? He hoped so. Seemed like he’d started to win over his new brother-in-law, too, which made him happy.
He’d know for sure after interactions with Rafe at the reception.
Wrapping her in his embrace, he placed his hand on her lower back and connected with skin. Stroking upward, there was even more skin, reminding him of the first night they’d danced.
He set her away from him. “Turn around.”
With a sly grin, she did so, and he took in the expanse of flesh visible in her backless gown. “Merda, you’ve been holding out on me. That’s the hottest wedding dress I’ve ever seen.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned. “I knew you’d love it.”
“Seeing your sexy back like that is going to make the next few hours interminable. Are you sure we can’t ditch the reception and head straight to the honeymoon suite?”
She swatted his shoulder as she turned back around. “If you think my uncles are proficient at taking care of problems, just wait until my mama bangs on our door and demands that we get ourselves down to the ballroom immediately.”
He could almost picture the little spitfire that was her mother doing just that.
“I guess both our families put a lot into planning this event.”
She nodded. “We can’t let them down.”
Pulling her into his embrace again, he rested his chin on the top of her hair, as if she could mess it up with all the hairspray, but he needed to have her close. “I’ll find the self-discipline to make it through until we’ve done our duty.”
“Oh, Marc. You make it sound like it’s going to be torture. This is our party, and I, for one, intend to have a lot of fun with it!”
Chapter Twelve
At the head table, his gorgeous bride placed a hand on his knee and short-circuited his brain. Angelina leaned over and asked, “Who are all these people? There are so many more than we had RSVPs for.”
Marc tore his gaze away from her long enough to survey the largest ballroom at his parents’ resort. It was filled to capacity already, but staff were setting up two more rounds of ten at the back of the room to accommodate some guests still standing near the entrance. “I thought you knew them.”
“I’ll have to assume they just didn’t send back their RSVP, because I didn’t know most of the people on the list in the first place.” Angelina’s stomach churned. “But we didn’t order enough food for so many unexpected guests.”
“Don’t worry. This is an Italian-run resort. Carmella knows how Italian families are at weddings. We won’t run out of food or space to accommodate any crashers.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“Regardless, I won’t be able to eat a bite,” Angelina said.
Marc cupped her chin and forced her to meet his Dom stare. “This is our wedding day. Everything is perfect. This is also our first meal together as husband and wife, and we both are going to participate fully in this feast. This resort has never run out of food for any event I’m aware of, but you can be certain that Mama and Carmella aren’t going to let anyone leave hungry.” He hated seeing the worry lines still wrinkling her forehead.
“Look, if it would help you enjoy yourself more, I can speak with Chef Renaldo.”
“Please apologize to him for me.”
He tapped her on the nose when what he’d like to do is give her a good anxiety-reducing spanking. “You did nothing wrong. The only ones who should apologize are the crashers.”
“At this point, I don’t even know who RSVP’d and who didn’t.”
“Likewise.”
When Marc returned to the head table, the staff began serving Angelina and the wedding party their aperitivo before moving on to the guests at the tables surrounding the dance floor. He passed along to Angelina Chef Renaldo’s assurances that a couple dozen more people would be no problem. He had anticipated such, just as Marc had tried to assure his bride who had a need to serve and take care of everyone. But that was one of the traits he loved most about her.
She beamed up at him. “Thank you for checking on things, sweetheart. Now, let’s enjoy this amazing meal.”
When that course was being cleared, Adam tapped his knife against his glass of prosecco and stood.
“I want to thank everyone who came from far and near to celebrate and bring added joy to Marc and Angelina’s day. As you can see, they’ve been floating on a cloud all day.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’ve watched the attraction between them grow from the day they met.”
Marc hoped that those who thought they’d first met at daVinci’s didn’t question how Adam had been present there, not knowing Adam referred to the night Marc rescued Angelina from the abusive fake Dom. But Adam really had been there from the beginning, even though he’d refused to divulge Angelina’s address to him when Marc had wanted to get in touch with her again. If not for that chance meeting in daVinci’s a month later…
“Like all couples, they’ve had their ups and downs—although maybe a little more lively given their Italian heritage.” Good-natured laughter filled the room. “But you can’t deny true love when it hits you in the gut, and these two have the real deal. They’ve both fought like hell to get where they are today, and now they have the best days of their lives ahead of them.”
Adam raised his glass, and everyone in the room did the same. “Cent’anni! Salute! Evviva gli sposi!”
Wow! Adam must have been practicing the traditional Italian toast delivered by the best man, because he’d nailed it, albeit with an upper Midwest American accent. As a courtesy to his fellow non-Italians in the room, though, he immediately followed with, “A hundred years! Good health! Long live the bride and groom!”
The room erupted into a chorus of cheers as they drank to Adam’s toast of well-wishes. Then the guests began clinking their glasses in unison, prompting Marc to help his bride to her feet. Curling his fingers around the nape of her neck, he pulled her toward him. Her lips tasted of wine and Angelina’s essence. As he deepened the kiss with his tongue, laughter erupted in the room. Angelina pulled away, blushing, but the sparkle in her eyes warmed him to his soul.
“I’ll never let you down, mio angelo.”
“Nor I, you.”
The primo was served, including the pasta Angelina and her staff had made a few days ago. Marc glanced toward his mother who beamed as she spoke animatedly with those at her table, gesturing to her plate of pasta. Mama wasn’t generous with her praise but clearly was impressed with Angelina’s culinary skills once again.
“I’ve never seen my mama so radiant,” Angelina said. Moving the reception to the resort had been the right decision, even if it bucked tradition. Mama G and her four sons had all pitched in to make sure the costs were covered by the Giardano family. Carmella and Sandro had quietly insisted on giving them the family discount, but Angelina and Marc kept that to themselves. No one had lost face. Seeing both their mamas beaming and enjoying themselves made Marc happy, too.
The meal progressed to the d
olce being served while Tony gave a playful toast. Baby brother held no intimidation over Marc, although any of her brothers would have his ass in a sling at the slightest inkling that Angelina was unhappy.
With the meal complete, the musicians indicated it was time for him to take his bride to the dance floor. He’d chosen to surprise her on their first dance with a song he first heard by Swiss singer Caroline Chevin in a cover for Donny Hathaway’s “A Song for You.” He might not be able to sing it to her without hurting her eardrums, but as the music and lyrics moved into the second stanza and wrapped around them, she glanced up at him in tears.
“Oh, Marc, I’ll always see the best part of you—the man I know you to be.”
He pulled her closer, resting his head on the top of hers as he hoped he had a long life to show her how much he loved her. The song held meaning for him about what he’d put her through but that he vowed to worship and adore her the rest of their lives. She’d pulled him out of hiding at last, and he had no intention of ever going back to that dark place.
* * *
Angelina was moved to tears by the song Marc had chosen for their first dance as husband and wife. Over time, she hoped he’d learn that she’d forgiven him long ago. And that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. They knew what they had was right for them.
“No more hiding for you,” she said to him after the song ended.
“No more hiding.”
Before the music faded on their first dance, Marc stopped moving preparing to step back.
“We’re not finished yet. I chose a song for you, too.”
Immediately, the band went into Questo Amore, by the Italian operatic pop trio Il Volo. While Marc preferred classical opera, this song spoke to her, and she hoped Marc would take the lyrics to heart. She hadn’t any remaining doubts or questions and hadn’t in a long time.
As the music ended, she looked up at Marc whose eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She reached up to brush his cheek. “I want you the way you are, Marc. And without a doubt, we will share infinite happiness.”
Wedding Dreams Page 9