Page 50 of Marrying the Mobster
My wedding day arrives far too quickly, but there’s no escaping it. I spend the days leading up it preparing myself both mentally and physically. I choose flower arrangements and add a handful of my friends and family to the reception seating chart. The day Diego and I came to our understanding, he let me use his laptop to send emails to the people of my choice, inviting them to the last-minute wedding. My inbox was flooded with shocked questions, and the only way to put them to rest was to insist that a whirlwind romance was responsible. Apparently, my insistence that Diego and I are madly in love worked. All my invitations were met with confirmations of attendance, assuring I won’t have to stare at a crowd full of strangers when I walk down the aisle.
The fitting for my dress finishes two days before the ceremony, and it fits like a dream. It’s more modest than I had previously envisioned for my wedding, but the ceremony will be traditionally Catholic so I thought it best to keep things simple. Besides, it isn’t as if this is my dream wedding. Diego isn’t the groom of my fantasies. This new life—one I hope will be temporary—is a far cry from the plans I had made for myself. There’s nothing I can do about that now. I have managed to cope with every change that has come my way from the moment Diego first laid eyes on me. Iwillsurvive this.
I wake up on the morning of the ceremony to find Diego already gone. On my nightstand, there’s a massive bouquet of pure white roses and calla lilies. The card attached to them holds a simple note:See you at the altar. Diego.
It strikes me as a romantic gesture totally unlike him. But then, he did tell me he wanted to try to make this marriage as civil as possible. Also, he included lilies, which are my favorite flower. I don’t remember ever telling him that, so I assume it has to be a coincidence.
Pressing my nose into the bouquet, I indulge in a few seconds of fantasy. I pretend this is the wedding day I’ve wanted since I was a little girl, and that meeting my future husband at the altar fills my stomach with butterflies and not dread. I pretend to be excited for the wedding night and the honeymoon—even though Diego hasn’t mentioned any kind of trip. I know there won’t be one, but I pretend anyway. Where would Diego take me if we did take a honeymoon? I imagine someplace like Paris or Italy. He doesn’t strike me as a barefoot in Tahiti type of guy. He’s more of a dinner and dancing and kisses beneath the Eiffel tower kind of man. With a sigh, I hang on to my fantasies for just a little bit longer, telling myself there isn’t anything wrong with my train of thought. If it’s what I need to make it through this day, I’m okay with it.
Someone knocks at the door, and I slip a robe on over my nightgown before opening it. My mouth drops open in shock when I find Marcella standing next to my big sister, Camila. Marcella holds an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne inside, and a carafe of orange juice. Camila has a garment bag draped over her arm and a broad smile on her face.
“Oh, my God!” I blurt, hands coming up over my mouth. “Camila!”
My sister bounces into the room like her typically bubbly self and tosses the garment bag onto the bed before throwing herself at me. I hold her tight and my eyes blur from tears I can’t hold back. She smells like her favorite Chanel perfume and she feels like home.
Pulling back to look at me, she frowns. “Elena, it’s your wedding day! No tears allowed!”
I sniff and laugh, cupping her face. “I’m just so happy to see you. It’s been six months! You look amazing. These highlights are perfect on you.”
She preens and flips her freshly cut hair—dyed a mahogany brown with golden highlights that make her hazel eyes pop. “I had to look my best for your wedding day. I wish you had given me more notice so I could lose five more pounds, at least.”
Marcella sits the champagne and orange juice on Diego’s nightstand, while Mariana and Antonella file in with breakfast for three, along with coffee and champagne glasses. My soon-to-be sister-in-law watches us with a soft smile.
“Shut up, you look amazing,” I tell Camila, still clinging to her hand while we sink onto the bed side-by-side. “You gave birth less than a year ago, for God’s sake! And how is mypequeño angel?”
Camila sighs and pulls her cell phone out of her purse. My chest grows tight when she shows me a photo of my baby nephew, Emmanuel.
“Oh, Mila,” I whisper, gently stroking my finger over his sweet, chubby face. “He’s gotten so big.”
My sister beams with pride. “He eats like a grown man and crawls so fast I can barely keep up. Nick is bringing him to the wedding. You know Emmanuel wouldn’t miss hisTíaElena’s wedding!”
“I can’t wait to see them both,” I tell her. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you until I got to the church.”
Marcella offers me a cup of coffee from the tray, then gives one to Camila before going back to pour her own. “Diego sent for her this morning. Jovan drove all the way to her hotel to bring her here.”
“Your fiancé is so sweet,” Camila gushes. “He called me last night and told me he worried you were nervous. He thought having me here would make things easier for you. Besides, your maid-of-honor should be here for you every step of the way.”
“It does help,” I admit, getting choked up again. “You have no idea.”
Camila pats my leg. “Nerves are normal, Elena. I was sick for hours before my wedding, but when I walked down the aisle and saw Nick standing there, I went completely calm. You and Diego love each other … so it’ll be the same for you.”
I stare down into my coffee, suddenly feeling nauseous. While I’m glad to see Camila, having her close means I have to maintain the charade of being in love.
My sister was lucky. She left home at the first opportunity and never came back. Unlike me, she wasn’t willing to keep giving our father the benefit of the doubt. Camila was accepted into Yale right out of high school, and promptly packed her bags and moved north. She met her husband, Dominick, during her senior year, and they got married a few months after graduation. We see each other whenever we can, but Camila’s strained relationship with my father makes it difficult. I guess that isn’t an issue anymore, seeing as how my father has abandoned us both.
“We only have a few hours before we need to be at the church,” Marcella reminds me. “And the hair and makeup people will be here soon. Are you too nervous to try to eat something?”
I gaze at the spread Mariana and Antonella delivered while feeling like a cold stone was dropped into my gut. Everything looks amazing, but I know I won’t be able to stomach much.
“Maybe just a little.”
“You could always drink your breakfast,” Camila suggests. She leaves the bed and lifts the champagne from its bucket. “You won’t be so nervous after a few of these.”
“Do you really want me to stumble down the aisle, drunk, at my own wedding?” I ask, shaking my head. “In a church!”
Camila shrugs and starts peeling the foil off the bottle. “I was hammered when me and Nick got married.”
“Camila!” I exclaim with a laugh. “You said the sight of him calmed you down. You never mentioned liquor.”
