So I don’t care what he gets me for Christmas. As far as I’m concerned, this is my present and I love it.
Yup. This wedding is the one. I’m sure of it.I really do doze off after that, because the next thing I know I’m being shaken awake. I open my eyes and the woman staring back at me in the mirror is… “Wow!” I smile up at all the ladies. “Wow, you guys! I look amazing!”
And I do. My dark hair is up in a pretty updo with just enough tendrils falling down the side of my face to be artistic, but not messy. And I have a little tiara on my head with a short veil that covers just my eyes.
And my eyes. Wow! They are smoky gray with a little shimmer of bronze and gold, but not depths-of-hell dark like the pirate wedding makeup. My cheeks are the perfect shade of rosy, and my lips are the perfect glistening pink.
I nod in approval and clap my hands. “I love it!” I beam at them and they beam back. “So great, you guys!”
Then they’re urging me up and leading me over to… “Holy shit!” That dress is spectacular. No, I wasn’t imagining a poofy Cinderella dress with layers and layers of tulle and off-the-shoulder-satin for sleeves when I pictured my fantasy wedding, but… I’m not complaining about this. It’s a million times better than anything the mean Russian Stasia could come up with, that’s for sure!
A whole crew bustles around me, helping me put on the corset lingerie, tying me up tight, but not too tight. These girls really know what they’re doing.
But what do I expect? They are professional bridesmaids, I guess.
I put the garters and stocking on, thinking that Mr. Boston is really gonna get a neat little treat when he finally gets to lift my dress up afterward. Then they help me step into the gown.
Because that’s what this is. Not a dress, a gown. With more underskirts than I’d prefer, but when they spin me around after hooking up all the buttons in the back, and I see myself in the mirror—holy shit, yes. Yes! This is what Emma Dumas, the Bossy Bride, should look like!
But I only have a few moments to appreciate myself in the mirror before the music starts playing somewhere outside and everyone starts chattering away in Italian.
I figure this is my cue.
It’s time to get married.
I let them bustle me outside and back into the courtyard. Then they grab my hands and we move forward as a team towards the chapel.
And Vinnie was right. The chapel is gorgeous. And that’s just the outside of it. Its white walls with artfully placed patches of crumbling plaster make it look like something built hundreds of years ago. It has quaint wooden shutters painted a pale blue that matches the sky above us. The steps are a wide, gently sloping half circle leading up to the double front doors.
The sweet scent of peonies and roses—in yellow and peach—fills the air as I follow them up the steps and stand in the doorway.
The music changes and the Bride’s March begins. And I am desperate—simply desperate—to see past all of my bridesmaids and get a peek at my handsome, charming, perfect groom.
The ladies shuffle around and pair off, then they start their walk. The little flower girl hops in front of me like this is her big moment, not mine.
An older man appears on my right. He’s dressed in a very nice black tux. He says something in Italian to me and offers me his arm.
Damn. Fingers went all out. He got me a stand-in father.
But… I have to admit, I really do wish it was my real father escorting me down the aisle.
He says a few words that I interpret as, Are you ready?
I nod. And then we begin to walk.
That’s when I look up at the altar and see Jesse Boston in a fancy black and gray tux in contrasting colors—wearing a top hat!—hands folded in front of him, and grinning at me like… Yup, babe. Fourth time really is the charm.
He looks like a billion Boston bucks.Chapter FifteenWhen the wedding music starts and the fake bridesmaids start lining up at the chapel door, it all becomes real. And even though this is the fourth time today Emma and I have been through the start of a wedding, this is the first time that I get proper butterflies.
The rollercoaster wedding wasn’t even ours. It was fun to be on the ride and I guess if we’d been the real bride and groom, that sick nervous feeling I had at the top of the first hill would’ve counted as butterflies. But it wasn’t our wedding and so that feeling was just the anticipation of the wild ride to come.