***
I wasgrateful when the judge had agreed to meet us at the arboretum. Vinnie and I bothliked the privacy of it, surrounded by a natural hush, and I thought I couldavoid the fuzzy sounds of spirits. Apart from Vincent, forever staring, I'dbeen right, and for the first time, I didn't want him to disappear.
Iwanted to watch him watch his youngest son get married.
Iwanted him to see Vinnie happy.
Standingbeneath the sagging bows of a weeping willow, the judge instructed us on whereto stand. I took my place, facing Vinnie and grinning at the euphoricexpression on his face. That was his stoned face, the one he made just as thebuzz really took hold. But there weren't any substances influencing him here.This was just Vinnie, high on his love for me, and an unexpected sob burst pastmy lips.
“Comeon, Andy,” he whispered, using his thumb to brush away a rogue tear. “Don't besad.”
“She'snot sad, you moron,” Jen muttered, and I laughed, nodding in agreement.
“I'mjust,” my breath caught in my throat, “I'm just so happy.”
Pullinghis lips between his teeth, he took my hand and nodded. “Me, too, sweetheart.”
Thejudge coached us through the vows, and I'm really not sure that I paid muchattention to what was said. I know I promised my life to him. I know I promisedto stay by his side. But all I cared about, all that truly mattered, was that Iwas committing my heart and soul, fully and completely, to this beautifullybroken man.
Forbetter or worse.
Untildeath do us part, to then be reunited somewhere else.
Ifyou die, I'll die.
“Vinnie,”the judge said, smiling kindly. “Go ahead and kiss your wife.”
“Holyshit,” he gasped, as he pulled me into his arms to cover my mouth with his in adeep kiss better suited for the bedroom. And even though my mother groaned andhis sister coughed awkwardly, I didn't care.
Becausehe was alive and we were together.
Iloved him and he loved me.
Andthat was all that mattered.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
VINNIE
Ourhoneymoon was an overnight stay in a ritzy hotel with a bottle of vodka and aneight ball of blow. I didn't expect to go through it all, being just the two ofus, but a party of two is still a party and we spent the night fucking andmaintaining a high that I knew teetered on the edge of too far.
Butthere was something about the way she did lines that turned me on. Previously,I'd been with girls who used, before rehab and temporary sobriety, but they alldid it like a junkie. They had lacked control and poise. Andy, though ... Shewas addicted and needed her fix as much as anybody dependent on drugs. But sheseduced it. She took her time. Snorting it quickly before slowly throwing herhead back, no different than when we made love. Maybe that was all it was. I thoughtof sex when I watched her take a hit, and thoughts of sex always led to, well,sex. And we traveled that endless circuit until the sun streamed through theveil of curtains.
“Dancewith me,” she demanded, clambering to her feet and wearing nothing but myt-shirt.
“Oh,man,” I groaned, raking my fingers through my hair, damp with sweat.
“Comeon, on your feet, Mr. Marino. You need to dance with your wife. Those are therules.”
Islumped on the velveteen couch, looking up at her and her crazy, beautifuleyes. “Don't make me get up. I'm crashin' fuckin' hard right now, sweetheart.”
“Nobodytold you to drink all the booze.” She was giggling, grabbing at my hands, andtugging. “Dance with me, baby. Please? I need to dance.”
Shetugged and tugged with little success but she wouldn't quit trying. So, Ieventually submitted, standing up with a sigh. “Okay,” I relented. “I'll dancewith you one time. And then, I'm takin' my wife to bed, because we need tosleep.”
“God,you're such a lightweight,” she grumbled, laughing. “Okay, okay, okay. I havethe song we're gonna dance to. Okay? You ready?”
