Page 168 of The One
“I can’t wait to be your wife,” Mari whispers.
“That makes two of us.”
She’s going to be mine.
Irrefutably, undeniably mine.
Nothing and no one will ever tear us apart.
I glance over at her, and she’s already watching me, her eyes bright with anticipation, with love.
The sight of her steals my breath. She wears a simple cream-colored dress she had packed, something casual, not meant for a wedding, yet it’s perfect. The soft fabric skims over her curves, complementing the warmth of her tanned skin. A white lace scarf is draped over her shoulders, an effortless touch that makes the outfit look almost bridal.
I, on the other hand, am more underdressed than I’d like. I have no suits here in Tuscany. At least my slacks and button-down are decent enough for the occasion. But none of that matters, not really.
We drive through the village, and the little stone church comes into view at the end of the road, nestled among rolling green hills.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Mari breathes, squeezing my hand.
“Father Roberto should be there. I called him last night.”
She turns to me, her nose scrunching in that way I love. “When did you do that?”
“When you were waiting for me on the balcony.”
Those ten minutes had been a whirlwind. The moment I made the decision to marry her today, I needed to make it happen fast.
The usual two-week waiting period wasn’t an option. But Uberto had no trouble securing all the documentation, tweaking the dates and fabricating proof of our required pre-marital counseling session with Father Joseph. Once that was done, all I needed was a priest to make it official.
“And you’ve got our marriage license with you?” she asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.
I chuckle. “It’s a little late to remind me now, isn’t it,dolce mia?”
I tap the pocket of my shirt, where the license is safely tucked away.
She rewards me with one of her dazzling smiles, the kind that makes my heart do something ridiculous in my chest.
God, I’m the lucky bastard who gets to see this smile for the rest of my life.
I slow the car as we pull into the church’s small, gravel parking lot, the ancient stones of the building standing tall against the blue horizon.
I step out, rounding the hood of the car, and hold out my hand to help Mari out. She clutches her bouquet of wildflowers and roses, the ones she picked from our garden, and places her hand in mine.
With my arm around her waist, we walk toward the open wooden doors. My pulse races, not from nerves, but from the overwhelming sense of rightness.
This is it.
She is it.
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
Mari looks up at me, her lips curving into that smile, the one that makes me forget everything else.
I glance inside the church. Father Roberto is already waiting, two strangers I’d asked him to find for us last night standing beside him, ready to bear witness to our union. The scene seems surreal, as if we’ve stepped out of time and into something that belongs only to us. It’s a moment that feels sacred, simple, and completely ours.
I pull Mari closer, and she lifts her face to mine. Without a second thought, I kiss her, as if to make sure this is real. When we finally break apart, her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed.
“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice low, almost reverent.
