Raina steps forward and grabs my face in her hands, not caring about my makeup. She holds my gaze as she keeps her voice low. “You will get past this. You are a strong, amazing,selflesswoman, and your sacrifice will not go without praise. Keep your chin up, babe. I’ll be right beside you—today, andalways.”
Unabashedly, she kisses me on the nose. I hear my father's deep chuckle beside us, and my heart races, though I know he couldn’t have heard her. She walks away to go join Cecilia, standing behind her as they line up to enter.
My father steps toward me, arm extended with his elbow bent for me to take.
Like the dutiful daughter I am, I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and we line up behind my bridesmaids.
Then the doors open.
Emotion clogs my throat when I see how full the church is. My vision blurs as I take it all in—not a pew is empty as a sea of faceless bodies fills every inch, with some people even standing in the back.
My stomach rolls.
A violinist begins to play the soft melody of Bach’s “Arioso” as August’s brother, Orlando, steps out from the right, offering Cecilia his arm. She takes it and they begin to walk down the aisle where I know August waits. I refuse to look that far, not wanting to see him until I absolutely have to.
What’s the point? I have to look at him for the rest of my life.
When they reach the halfway point, Joseph steps out and offers Raina his arm. As she takes it, he looks over his shoulder at me, his expression giving nothing away. Our gaze meets, and his eyes harden. There’s not an ounce of the boy I once knew left in him—my big brother, my best friend. In his place is a man I don’t recognize, playing the part of my brother. The moment is fleeting before he turns back around and faces the church, and he and Raina begin to walk down the aisle.
My father and I step forward. All eyes turn to us as though I’m a magnet, and suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe.
Standing there, with everyone looking at me, I mentally black out, slipping so deep into the recesses of my mind, I don’t realize my father is squeezing my hand with his free one until I hear his voice cut through the silence my mind has created.
“Sunshine…Sunshine, it’s our turn. This is it.”
Whipping my head toward him, I search his face, looking—internally begging—for some indication that this is all just a bad dream. But as a bead of sweat drips from his forehead I know that it’s not. The tuxedo he wears, the heavy gown I wear, the church full of people…this is real, and I’m very much about to metaphorically end my life for the man I love.
“Let’s go,” I say, and take the first step forward.
Before my heel even touches the ground, the gentle whoosh of bodies ripples through the air as every single person stands and turns toward us.
Beaming smiles and soft whispers line the rows as we pass by, every step numbing me more. I look around at the church I was raised in, taking in the sight of the evening sun dancing through the stained glass windows, the colors settling on the marble floor.
When I finally look up at August, I’m met with a smile that overtakes his face. A smile I would think was genuine, if it were on anyone other than him.
Stopping in front of him, he takes a single altar step down so he is level with us, standing before me and my father. They shake hands, and after, August clasps his in front of himself, waiting for his next cue.
My father and I bow in front of the altar before he reaches for August's hand and places mine in it.
Stepping forward, I cast a glance at Raina and give her my bouquet as I turn to stand beside August. She takes it and goes to sit with Cecilia and my family in the first pew. Across the aislefrom them, the groomsmen—my brother Joseph included—sit with August’s family.
As the music comes to a close and the chatter of the guests quiets, the Monsignor readies himself to speak.
Monsignor Jacoby, who has been the same man whom I have listened to every Sunday since I was old enough to sit through mass, wears a white vestment instead of his usual black with purple trim, and his circular bifocals rest on the bridge of his nose.
“We welcome everyone here today to share in the joy of the union and celebration of Vincenza Mae Paladino and August William St. Jean. We begin in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May the Lord be with you.”
“And with your spirit,” hundreds of voices repeat.
Recognizing our next cue, August and I turn toward each other and he takes the hand he isn’t already holding so that he’s clutching both. My palms begin to sweat under his gaze, but I refuse to give him any eye contact.
Instead, I stare at the knot of his tie and allow my mind to drift to Sly.
Sly and his striking hazel eyes. The soft smile he reserves just for me.
I think of his touch, and my body can’t help but react with a shiver.
The telltale sign of tears prick the back of my eyes, and I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip to keep myself from outwardly reacting.
