Marcello
I marry her in the on the estate in the vineyards.
As she binds herself to me for eternity, the rows of plants, my family’s legacy, stretch out to honor us. Elsa is barefoot, wearing the Celestina cream gown I chose for her. A simple bouquet of white roses and lilies restin her hands, while a delicate crown made from lilies of the valley and grape leaves sit atop her head, black hair long and loose down her back.
She has never looked more beautiful.
We repeat our vows in front of the small group gathered to witness the ceremony. My small family and hers are here, along with Rita and the estate staff that has been Elsa’s comfort while she lived here.
Days ago, when I gave her my mother’s ring, I started the marriage paperwork with the government. So though today seems like a surprise to my bride, I have been planning it for a while. After the ceremony we will be wed in the eyes of man and God, until one of us leaves this earth.
The mayor of Palermo, presides over our service. It is the least he can do, as I’d handed him the election three years ago. “Vi dichiaro marito e moglie!” the mayor announces at the end of the ceremony.
I exhale in relief and turne to my bride, happiness sending my heart flying. I put one hand on her hip and another at her nape, then bend to kiss her. The cheers barely register as I take my wife’s mouth, uncaring of who sees how much I want her. Her lips are soft and pliant, and she gives me command of the kiss, even when it turns hungry.
“Dai, andiamo!” Gabrielle finally calls. “Break the glass, Marcello, and let’s go eat.”
I ease off my wife’s mouth, pressing a few additional small kisses just to prolong this moment. I haven’t felt a fraction of this joy, this intense satisfaction in my life before. I never want to forget this.
By the time I straighten, Elsa is clinging to me, her lips swollen and wet. Madre di Dio, she is beautiful. Gabrielle hands me the red wine glass and leaves the small wooden dais, along with everyone else. The number of shards represents the number of years we will be happily married.
We both hold the delicate wine glass. “Uno, due, tre,” I say, then we drop the glass.
Shards of glass go everywhere, tiny pieces that glitter in the late afternoon sun.
“There.” I announce to the crowd, “Let’s go eat.”
Shaking my head, I scoop her up in my arms so she doesn’t cut her bare feet on the glass. Once on the ground I am reluctant to let her go. I keep walking and she nestles her face into my throat. “We’re married,” she breathes, as if she has just realized it.
“We are married, Elsa Viscuso.”
“Oh, shit,” she whispers. “Why is that so hot?”
I chuckle. If she likes that, she is going to love what I have planned for later.
I carry her toward the winery. When she realizes where we are going, she lift her head. “Wait, we aren’t eating in the mansion?”
“No.” I continue over the threshold and set her on her feet, then kiss her mouth. “I wish I had given you a big wedding and party. It’s what you deserve. But I hope you like what I arranged for tonight instead.”
“I don’t need a big wedding and a fancy party. Just you.”
That’s what she said when she found out what I had been planning with my father in-law behind her back. She insisted on a simple wedding like this with only family present and I couldn’t deny her that. All that mattered is to make her mine and not how grand the process would have to be.
My chest expands, the words falling easily from my mouth. “Ti amo, cuore mio.”
She leans up on her toes and pressed her lips to mine. “Ti amo, marito.”
I smile, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Come. Your husband wants to feed you.” I take her hand and lead her into the tasting room, which has been transformed for the wedding dinner.
Sheer fabric and tiny lights criss-cross the ceiling, while candles burn all around the room, their soft glow bouncing off the wine casks and exposed brick walls. Tables have been pushed together to form a hollow square, chairs on the outside, with candles and flower arrangements every few place settings. Boxwood trees and more flower arrangements dot the edges, giving the tasting room a romantic, intimate feel. I hope she likes it. Zia and the estate staff have worked hard on this together today, knowing how much my wife loves the grapes and the process of making wine.
“Oh, my God. Marcello,” she says with a sigh as she takes it all in. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe it. How . . . ?”
“Zia and the estate staff oversaw this. For you.”
“It’s perfect.”
Everyone files in and begins taking their seats. Elsa and I sit at the head of the table together, where a basket of wrapped bomboniere waited. She leans over. “What is this?”
“Those are wedding favors. You give them out to the guests.”
“What’s inside each little box?”
“Confetti. Five sugared almonds.”
“Is this another luck thing?”
“Sì, they symbolize health, wealth, happiness, fertility, and longevity for the newlyweds.”
Ready to get this dinner over with, I stand up to welcome our guests. Roberto sits beside his ex-wife, Elsa’s mother and Lorenzo on his side.
Roberto has been under home treatment for the past couple of days and I am grateful that he managed to grace our memorable.
Rita has been wiping her eyes every time she glances at Elsa. I can’t tell if she is being dramatic or she sincerely feels sad that Elsa is no longer the single best friend she used to recklessly go clubbing with all night.
Anyway, it is a memorable night, full of emotion. Elsa is so clingy to her father and mother and I can understand why. I let her have all the time she needs to attend to them and fetch her blessings. She can take all the time she needs. I can’t wait to get my wife all to myself after all this is over.
***
Finally, we leave off the estate, as all of our guests throw rice after us as we enter our decorated bridal car to wish us fertility and wealth. I hold my bride’s hand, feeling completely assured that she is now completely mine both in the eyes of man and God.
“Where are we going to?” she inquires.
“It’s a surprise. This is my wedding gift to you,” I respond.
“Marcello, you have already given me enough wedding gifts. My favorite was papà. You don’t have to do more,” she says, giving me those big eyes as if she begging me to stop.
“That is just the beginning princess. I am going to shower you with gifts now that you are my wife. I a going to spoil you,” I whisper to her.
“I like it when you spoil me,” she murmurs, her lips spreading into a smile.
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and starts to chew on it.
“If you don’t stop doing that I will end up fucking you right here right now in this car before we even reach the yacht, and I don’t care if it is disgraceful in your bridal gown,” I warn her. I have been longing to peel off that wedding gown off her body from the moment I saw her walking down the aisle with her hand in her father’s. She looked so glorious. That’s the best view I never wish to forget.
“Yay! We are going on a cruise,” she cheers. She turns to me with a bright grin. Her smile is infectious .