Chapter 9 - The Second WeddingOne year after Clara left the Silver Spoon Diner for the final time, she stood inside a small bridal shop in Madison.
There were no bodyguards.
No armored vehicles.
No syndicate wives evaluating her dress.
Only Clara, a saleswoman named Beth, and Daniel asleep in a stroller.
Clara looked at herself in the mirror.
The dress cost eight hundred dollars.
Her first wedding dress had cost forty thousand.
She liked this one more.
Her phone rang.
Vincent.
“You have called three times.”
“I am aware.”
“What is wrong?”
“Daniel’s blue cup is missing.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Top cabinet beside the refrigerator.”
“I checked.”
“Behind the cereal.”
Silence.
Then:
“I found it.”
“Anything else?”
“Are you coming home?”
“In an hour.”
“All right.”
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“You survived thirty-eight years without me.”
“Poorly.”
Clara smiled.
“I love you.”
Silence.
Even after months together, those words could still disarm him.
“I love you too.”
She ended the call.
Beth smiled from across the room.
“Newlyweds?”
Clara looked at the white dress.
“Something like that.”
Their second wedding took place in the backyard.
Twenty-three guests attended.
Frankie served as Vincent’s best man.
His legitimate job had changed him surprisingly little.
He still looked like a man who could bury someone in concrete.
But now he carried business cards.
Daniel, fourteen months old, wore a tiny navy suit.
He removed one shoe before the ceremony began.
Nobody found it.
Vincent stood beneath the maple tree.
He wore a simple dark suit.
No weapon.
No security earpiece.
No men waiting for orders.
When Clara walked toward him, Vincent forgot everyone else existed.
She saw it happen.
His face changed.
The same way it had changed in the diner when he saw her pregnancy.
Only there was no rage now.
No possession.
Only wonder.
Clara reached him.
“You are staring.”
“Yes.”
“People are watching.”
“I do not care.”
Frankie cleared his throat.
“The officiant is waiting, Romeo.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Do you enjoy having legitimate employment?”
Frankie smiled.
“Very much.”
“Then remain quiet.”
The guests laughed.
Clara squeezed Vincent’s hand.
The officiant began.
Their vows were not traditional.
Clara had insisted.
When Vincent’s turn came, he unfolded a piece of paper.
His hands were shaking.
Clara noticed.
Vincent Rossi, who had once ordered executions without changing his pulse, was nervous about wedding vows.
“Clara.”
He looked at the paper.
Then folded it again.
“I wrote something.”
“I noticed.”
“I hate it.”
Everyone laughed softly.
Vincent looked at her.
“So I will tell you the truth.”
His voice became steady.
“The first time I married you, I believed love meant keeping you.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“I thought if I built walls high enough, paid enough guards, purchased enough beautiful things, you would never have a reason to leave.”
He swallowed.
“When you did leave, I thought you had betrayed me.”
Vincent glanced toward Daniel.
“I know now that you were saving yourself.”
He looked back at Clara.
“And perhaps you saved me too.”
Tears moved down her cheeks.
“I cannot promise I will never be afraid.”
His voice softened.
“I cannot promise the past will disappear.”
He took her hands.
“But I promise that I will never again confuse loving you with owning you.”
Clara closed her eyes briefly.
That was the sentence she had needed years earlier.
Vincent continued.
“I choose you when you agree with me and when you do not. When you stay and when you need space. When you are strong and when you are tired.”
Daniel shouted something unintelligible from Frankie’s arms.
Everyone laughed.
Vincent smiled.
“And I choose the small dictator currently interrupting my wedding.”
Frankie whispered to Daniel.
“He means you.”
Clara laughed through tears.
When her turn came, she did not use paper.
“Vincent, I spent years believing there were only two versions of you.”
She looked into his eyes.
“The man I loved and the monster I feared.”
Vincent did not look away.
“I eventually understood they were the same man.”
Silence surrounded them.
“I cannot love only the easy parts of you.”
She squeezed his hands.
“But I also refuse to excuse the terrible ones.”
Vincent nodded.
“You taught me that people can change only when they stop demanding forgiveness before earning it.”
Her voice shook.
“You earned your way back slowly.”
Vincent’s eyes became wet.
“One diaper, one therapy appointment, one terrible cup of coffee at a time.”
The guests laughed.
Clara smiled.
“And I choose you.”
The officiant pronounced them husband and wife.
Vincent kissed her beneath the maple tree.
Daniel applauded because everyone else did.
For one afternoon, there was no Rossi Syndicate.
No Falcone family.
No heir.
No runaway queen.
Only a husband, a wife, and their son.
That evening, after everyone left, Clara found Vincent standing in Daniel’s room.
Their son slept inside the crib.
Vincent rested one hand against the railing.
“You disappeared,” Clara whispered.
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
He smiled.
Clara stood beside him.
“What about?”
“My father.”
She waited.
“He never entered my bedroom unless I had done something wrong.”
Vincent looked at Daniel.
“I used to hear his footsteps and become afraid.”
Clara took his hand.
“Daniel will hear yours and know his father is coming to check whether he kicked off his blanket.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“That is less impressive.”
“It is better.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“It is.”
Clara leaned against him.
“Happy?”
Vincent considered the word.
He had spent his life measuring power, territory, money, loyalty, and fear.
Happiness had never been included.
“Yes.”
May you like
He kissed her hair.
“Terrifyingly.”
