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Mrs. Bachman looks around, giving the room a tight, bright smile while talking through her teeth. “I don’t know! Just ask for a moment or something.”
I hate this. Everyone in our business. All eyes on us. Giovanni Russo still standing at the damn altar where he does not belong. I grab Paisley’s hand in mine. I glance down at her, and her sweet smile is all the reassurance I need to proceed.
I walk us up the aisle, hand in hand with my girl, stand at the altar, and turn to face the guests.
“I’m really sorry for ruining this day. For letting things get to this point. I should have done something much sooner. But I’m not sorry for what I’m about to say next.” I look to the crowd for a brief moment, taking in all their faces, some angry, some mystified, others elated. Then, I turn to Paisley. “I’m in love with you, Paisley Bachman. Please. Don’t marry him.”
I can hear Bronson’s soft, “I’m going to kill him,” as well as his wife’s “Hush!” and Tess’s “Thank God.”
I’m now at a loss for words. What do I say? How do I fix this? I try to put myself in Bronson’s shoes. A man I trusted to get my daughter where she needed to be, safely and fully intact. Then instead, here I come, taking her for myself.
But all I can think is goddamn, I’ve fallen in love. And…she loves me. Every good and every ugly part of me.
Paisley stares up at me, stars and hearts in her eyes, happiness on her face, glowing as she says, “I fell in love with you too. I just didn’t know if you felt the same way until now.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, behind the church, when you told me.” I go on, groveling at least another full minute and he lets me. “It’s unforgivable, but I was lost?—”
“Great timing,” Gio Russo says.
“Again, I’m sorry.” I glance over at him, expecting some sort of violent repercussion, but he’s a perfect gentleman.
He gives me a cutting glance, but then looks to the wedding party and says, “Let’s give them some time.” He escorts the wedding party from the altar to the vestibule that leads out of the back of the church.
She watches him leave. When the door closes behind their group, she says, “What do we do now?” She stares up at me.
“I get my ass kicked by your dad?” I ask.
“He’d better not,” she says, cutting her eyes to Bronson.
“What’s stopping him?” I ask.
“My choice.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Remember? He’s always told me that this was my choice. He’d better mean it. Beating up the man I choose isn’t respecting my wishes.”
“Am I?” I ask. I put my hands on her waist, feeling the cool silk of her wedding gown over her warm skin. “Your choice?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I love you.” She looks away. I want the heat of her gaze back on me. “Only…”
Nerves thrum through me. “What? What’s wrong.”
Finally, she looks up and says, “I just—is it okay if we don’t get married yet? I just want to be with you. Focus on my education, my career, while I get to know you. You know, date. Like normal people.”
Thank God. I had no idea what she wanted. I’ll take her any way I can get her. As long as she’s mine. “Sure. But do you mind leaving that ring on? Dating is fine, but I need everyone to know you’re taken.”
She holds up her hand, the pretty gem sparkling at me. “You want to pick out a different ring? One that’s not tied to,” she glances around the slowly emptying church, “all this?”
“No. I was there when you picked out the ring. It’s part of our story. Keep it on. Wear it.”
“Okay.” She gives me a look I know well. The one she gives me when she wants me to kiss her.
And I do. We’re lost in the moment — finally, a kiss that feels free.
We break away from our kiss to turn and face Mrs. Bachman, Tess, and Bronson, who’ve now, of course, joined us at the altar.
Her father’s tight voice ends our moment. “Hold up. Step back. I demand an explanation.”
Mrs. Bachman is by his side, grabbing his arm. “What more do you need, Bronson? They’re clearly in love.”
Tess looks to Paisley. “I’m so sorry Rockland couldn’t be here for your big day,” she says, addressing the absence of the head of the Village. “He’s still in mourning over his cousin’s death and he’s just so stoic, which can sometimes be misread as him not having a reaction, even though he’s devastated?—”
