Page 34 of Souls and Sorrows

He sucks in a deep breath as the organ inside the nave begins, signaling my cue. Bending, he gives me a kiss on each of my cheeks, then pulls back and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Take my advice, Ariana. Don’t stop to smell the roses,” he says, his gaze dipping for a second, his discomfort obvious. “The best seconds of your life pass by while you’re enjoying the little moments. Keep your eyes on the bigger picture, if you do nothing else. That’s how you’ll make it through to the other side.”

My brows furrow as he breaks off on some sort of tangent, and the organ music grows louder. More insistent. Clearing my throat, I tighten my fist around the bouquet and leave the alcove, gripping the door handle and pulling it open.

When Papà doesn’t make a move to follow, I pause, frowning at him. “You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid I need to get back.”

His eyes slide past mine, and I see Cash at the altar, a dark silhouette against the mural painted on the vaulted ceiling above the pulpit. I don’t think he can see Papà in the shadows, but a menacing look stitches itself into his eyebrows anyway.

“Well, I’d better get down there.”

Papà doesn’t say anything, and when I turn back, I notice he’s already disappeared. Pain surrounds my heart, compressing until it feels like it might burst, but I ignore it and begin the solo march down the aisle anyway.

I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, reveling in the ornate beauty of the high, domed ceiling and the intricate gold-and-white archways above the pews. Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of getting married in this church. Back then, my sights were set a bit higher as far as the groom went, but I’ll take what I can get for now.

Cash’s expression flattens to its usual stoicism as I approach, and while it might make anyone else nervous, I latch on to the normalcy. A priest with curly gray hair stands just beyond him, an open New American Bible in hand.

He gives an encouraging smile, and Cash moves toward me, removing the sheer black hood from where it obscures half of my face. My heart thumps erratically inside of my chest, and for a split second, I’m worried he might be able to hear it.

His rich, deep brown eyes gaze down at me through the lenses of his glasses as the priest begins his spiel about holy matrimony. I grip my flowers so tight that my hands begin to burn, an itch spreading across my palms that I’m not accustomed to.

My face grows hot under Cash’s astute perusal; he doesn’t look away for even a second, and I can feel my blood rising, flooding my face.

“What?” I mutter. “Do you not like the dress?”

“It’s a bit morbid,” he replies, voice just as low.

The priest continues, off in his own little world.

“Felt appropriate to me.”

One of his brows arches, and he tilts his head. His gaze dips, searing through me as it sweeps over my form before returning to my face with a tinge of heat that was absent before.

“Wait until you see what’s underneath.” I smirk, sliding my feet closer to him. Because apparently, I’ve yet to learn my lesson.

His throat works, and he steals a look at the priest. “What’s underneath?”

My smirk widens. “Nothing.”

The light-orange rings around his pupils seem to ignite, coming to life with my taunt. It softens the memory of his rejection, proving that no matter what his mouth claims, his body won’t deny me.

Not forever anyway.

“I understand you don’t have rings to exchange?” the priest prompts, and Cash shakes his head just once. Continuing, the priest turns a page in his Bible, then slams it shut. “Then, I suppose, by the power vested in me by the state of Massachusetts, in the presence of God and the witness of” —he pauses, glancing at the empty room— “the spirit of friends and family, it is my great privilege to pronounce you husband and wife. Cassius, you may kiss your bride.”

Nerves buzz across the bow of my lips, and I dart my tongue out to wet them. I feel a little dizzy, my vision swimming as I move forward, eager to move on to the next step of all of this.

Cash’s frown deepens, and a little piece of me deflates inside because I was half-hoping I could get something more from him during the ceremony. Like the lopsided smile I got yesterday, but he seems determined to get through all of this without a shred of outward emotion.

“Could we have a moment?” he asks the priest, who relents with a nod, stepping off the altar and heading toward an exit off the side of the room.

When we’re alone, he moves, shifting as he rests his right hand on my left hip, drawing me in. The breath squeaks out of me, heat spreading through me like ivy. My pulse scatters, traveling south as he slides his hand up, tilting my head back.

My lips part on a reflex as my eyes drift close. Waiting.

Inside of my heels, my toes curl against the soles. My breathing grows labored, escaping me in soft, mangled gasps.

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