Page 75 of Forbidden Surrogate

The Wedding

The boys are officially eight weeks old, which is old enough that Luigi and I think we can have a quick wedding at his father’s Orchard Park estate outside Buffalo and get away with a ceremony short enough and low-key enough that I can keep breastfeeding the kids. I want to marry him badly enough to agree to this crazy ass plan.

My immediate family members agreed to show up a week early, and they’re currently raising hell at Don Taviani’s guesthouse on the property. I tried to warn Luigi that inviting my family would only be inviting a mess into our lives, but he didn’t have a choice. Don Taviani insisted and he also insisted on paying for the wedding.

I’m just glad he didn’t insist on the wedding dress – which Luigi and Angela claim he almost did. Luckily, Angela intervened and took me somewhere to find a wedding dress that would be comfortable enough for me to wear considering myweakened condition with the twins. Leandro Tyrod Taviani, the first-born twin and then Angelo Marshawn Taviani.

The dress is a silky ivory color that doesn’t look white enough to be a lie about my virginity, but it’s a kooky color for a wedding dress like lime green or violet. My boobs look great thanks to the twins, and I don’t really mind the extra weight everywhere, even if I don’t have a natural Megan Thee Stallion shape. Angela rebukes me when I say I’m shaped like a minion with big boobs…

At least the dress looks great. I’m like a sexy minion with big boobs.

“My brother will cum in his pants when he sees you,” Angela says as she fixes my hair.

“Girl, you’re a little nasty.”

But I find an angle that makes me look genuinely sexy, and I can’t stop staring at myself in the mirror. This is a day I honestly never thought would happen. Leandro Taviani’s Orchard Park estate honestly looks exactly how I picture an Italian countryside villa. Aside from the slightly chilly weather and overcast New York skies, you could easily fool me into thinking we’re in Italy.

“I’m just saying!” Angela says. “You look beautiful. Which lipstick do you want? Bloody Rose or Pussy Purple?”

What the hell is with the names of makeup products these days?

“Is it really called that?” I mutter in disbelief, choosing the color that sounds less vaginal, although not by much. “Bloody rose.”

Angela finishes up my makeup and we recount our version of events from the chaotic rehearsal dinner the night before. I don’t know where she learned how to style hair like mine, but she pinned my twists into these two cute top knots and decorated them with white flowers. The rest of my hair flows down my back.

“I hope my brother doesn’t screw this up,” she says. “I’m lucky to have you as a sister.”

I walk down the aisle arm in arm with my dad. He tried to act nonchalant about the entire marriage and wedding, but I can tell he’s impressed by Leandro Taviani’s estate. He won’t have to face his biggest fear of paying for a baby I had out of wedlock – a sentiment he expressed numerous times throughout my childhood. My mother looks flawless in a couture navy blue dress that I know she’ll show off to everyone who comes over for the next ten years.

Luigi’s sisters, my sisters and two of my friends from college make up the bridesmaids. My mother and my youngest sister sit out of the wedding party to look after the twins, who are remarkably quiet from their cute bassinets. The veil obscures most of my vision.

My brother stands with Luigi’s side of the family, dwarfed by everybody, including Lewis, who shockingly gets a pass to participate in the wedding. I don’t know what deal Angela or Luigi worked out, but I know my future husband made this happen to assure my safety and happiness.

We’re really doing this. We’re going to get married. My father gives my hand in marriage to Luigi and steps aside with the rest of the groomsmen. Leandro Taviani has a special relationship with the local Italian Catholic bishop who officiates our wedding. The vows and the scripture blur past me. I can’t stop staring at Luigi through my veil, using the opportunity to study this man’s face.

The twins look just like him. They might have a touch of melanin, but their facial structure is exactly his. There’s only one problem we have left to face after this.

Pittsburgh.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Luigi grabs me like he’s been holding back and drags my body against his forcefully. He brings his lips closer to mine, easing them towards me slowly. My heart flutters as our eyes lock and our primal connection becomes a sealed promise in front of our friends and family.

His lips touch mine and I want to melt. He’s so much warmer and softer than I remember. His lips taste like peppermint and his hands on my waist are strong and protective reminders of Luigi’s intense masculine energy.

Luigi’s tongue enters my mouth as he kisses me passionately in front of everybody, like we’re about to twirl away from the altar straight to the honeymoon suite. I hold his cheeks as I kiss him back and fight away my remaining fears.

Leandro plans to send his son to Pittsburgh one night after the wedding for ‘recon’, and I have no idea how long he’ll be gone. I don’t even know if he’ll really be doing ‘recon’, or if that’s mafia code for mind your business. We’re going to have our happily ever after wedding and then… What about our life as a family?

We don’t get to start that until Luigi returns. I let him kiss me thoroughly because I want to remember his lips every minute that he’s gone. I don’t want to forget this. Angela cheers loudly as we kiss and everyone in the crowd joins in. Despite our mutual desire to stay planted together, Luigi and I slowly separate.

This is it. We’re married…

The Honeymoon Suite

We didn’t have a long reception. Leo and Gio are partly to blame for that. Feeding twins has destroyed my boobs entirely. I’m already out of my wedding dress and back into something incredibly unsexy. Luigi says he doesn’t mind, but I’m jealous of his ability to look effortlessly sexy all the time and experiencing that new-mom anxiety that he might run off to find a woman who isn’t covered in baby vomit and breastmilk with bloody, unsexy nipples.

“Gio’s asleep,” I murmur, taking a break from my insecurities to complete our hand-off. There are cribs in our two-bedroom honeymoon suite so we can keep the kids with us and still have a special night alone before my husband leaves for ‘family business’ in Pittsburgh.

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