"I can't be with you," I said. "I didn't know how much time I had. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. But you'll never be my forever."
"Is that all?" Massimo asked, relief evident on his face. "Because I'll be your forever."
I about fell out of my chair. His hands held me in place. "What?"
"You want to get married? We'll do it in America. Say the word and you'll be my wife."
A shard of icy fear pierced my heart. "Your parents will annul it."
"They can't annul an American marriage, cara. It doesn't matter that I'm one of their citizens. If I were getting married back home, I'd need their permission. There are old laws from the days of European theocracy that give them religious power over me. But we recognize international marriages. If we get married in America, they can't do anything besides declaring our marriage morganatic and making sure that one of my cousins inherits. And if you’ll marry me, I’ll promise to make your life as normal as I possibly can.”
"You mean it?"
"I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't."
"You can't tie yourself to me forever. What about your country?"
"It'll stand whether or not I marry you."
"What about the girl you're taking to the gala?"
"You're the only girl I'll have on my arm from now on, besides my mother or our daughters or various relatives. I can't promise that my great-aunt Isolde won't cut you out."
He made me laugh.
"That wasn't a joke, bella."
I looked into his eyes and saw his sincerity. I kissed his mouth. "I don't want to ever leave you again," I said.
"Is that a yes?"
I thought about how it had felt to get on a plane to Vancouver, about the desolation inside of me while I tried to hold it together. I could barely do it once. I definitely couldn't do it twice.
"Yes."
He whooped and pulled me into his arms, kissing me ferociously, like he was afraid that I'd disappear at any moment.
"We're going to Vegas," he told me.
Vegas Wedding
Less than two hours later, we were in his private jet and heading for Vegas. A lot of other places made you wait for a marriage license and a lot of paperwork. As many people regretted the morning after, you could get married very quickly in Vegas. Massimo didn't let go of my hand once as we drove through the Vegas streets to a 24-hour chapel. There was an Elvis there marrying an inebriated couple.
"Come with me," an entirely too cheerful lady said. "We have wedding dresses you can rent so that our photographer can send you nice pictures afterwards."
"I'll see you soon," I told Massimo. Most fairytales didn't includ
e a Vegas chapel, but whatever. We were making our own.
Two minutes later, I'd miraculously found a wedding dress that fit me. There were snaps inside of it to adjust the width. These people were professionals. The cheerful lady helped me make the dress fit properly. Then she motioned for hair and makeup people to attack me with various tools.
A half hour later, I was as good-looking as I was going to get. My hair was curled into submission. A glossy red lipstick was on my mouth. I looked like a bride.
"You're glowing," the cheerful lady gushed. Looking at myself in the mirror, I knew that I'd never felt more beautiful. She draped a string of pearls around my neck. She gave me a form to sign with the prices of everything they'd done. They had to make money, after all. It cost me twice what it otherwise might have, but you only got married once. I signed an authorization for the charges.
Then they were bringing me straight to Massimo.
"You look beautiful, bella."