Page 14 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
Because tomorrow, I will walk toward the altar in her place, and everything I have ever been trained to protect will begin to burn.
4
ROSALINA
“Well,look at my gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” Seamus hums, looking at Erin standing in front of her bridal suite mirror with everything but her veil on. She went with the 1950s Lowe dress inspired by Jackie Kennedy’s wedding dress from 1953 when she married John F. Kennedy.
A dress that took three favors from her father, and two threats from me, but it was worth it.
The bodice is fitted and smooth, hugging her waist before the skirt flares into a soft bell shape, full without being overwhelming. A wide, graceful neckline frames her collarbones, with short sleeves resting neatly on her shoulders, timeless and composed. It suits her perfectly. A true classic. I can’t believe this will be one of the last memories I will have of her. It’s perfect anyway.
“Daddy, stop, you’ll make me cry,” Erin says, her satin white gloves hang in her left hand as she dabs her eyes with her right.
“I can’t help it,” he beams, stepping closer and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I am so proud of you, Jelly.”
I smile at the nickname Erin hates, because there was a time she would only eat grape jelly on toast when we were kids. I doubt we will ever hear her being called Jelly by our dad again after this, and that realization lands like a quiet ache in my chest.
“Both of you,” he adds, messing up my loose curls that I had pinned to go down my back. I lean into his caress, not knowing the next time he will touch me with such tenderness.
“It’s just a wedding, Papa, not a coronation,” I smirk, fixing my curls once he stops messing them up.
Seamus studies her reflection for a moment longer, his smile softening into something more fragile. “You look just like your mother today,” he says gently. “She would have been spinning around this room like a madwoman by now, telling everyone what to fix, what to move, what you forgot. This was one of the days she dreamed of.”
“Yes, and if she was here I would be wearing her ugly wedding dress,” Erin mumbles as she presses her forefinger into the lip gloss on the edges of her lips.
“Hey,” Seamus barks, pointing a finger at us. “Your mother looked beautiful on our wedding day.”
We all look at one another in a brief, heavy silence before Seamus breaks it with a deep, hearty laugh, the sound cutting cleanly through the emotion. We all know exactly what he is thinking. Mama’s wedding dress was a wild, oversized, custom monstrosity, all puffed sleeves and layers upon layers of fabric, the kind of gown that looked impressive only until the bride started to melt inside it. She overheated halfway through the reception and spent the rest of the night in her slip dress,smoking cigarettes out back and playing poker with anyone reckless enough to buy in.
A perfect wedding day, in my opinion. And despite knowing full well how horrendous that dress was, Mama would have insisted Erin and I wear it one day for luck, tradition, and sheer stubbornness, because some things, in her mind, were worth repeating no matter how ridiculous they looked in retrospect.
“She was much more beautiful in that slip!” Erin lets out a shaky laugh that breaks halfway through, her shoulders lifting as she tries to breathe around it.
“I preferred her that way, anyway,” Seamus adds, but Erin and I both twist our lips and shake our heads.
“Eww Papa,” I groan, but he just swipes his hand in the air and continues to smile as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box, holding it out to her like it’s something sacred.
“Well, here is one good thing she wanted you to have,” he says. “Something blue?”
Erin looks at us through the mirror with wide eyes. “Her hairpin?”
“Yup,” I nod, taking the pin from the box, my fingers closing around the cool weight of the stone. It’s delicate but sturdy, a deep blue that catches the light even in this quiet room, faceted sapphires clustered like frozen petals along a slim silver comb. “Let me put it in.”
Erin meets my eyes in the mirror as I step behind her, carefully sliding the sapphire hairpin into her curled updo, anchoring it just above her ear where it glints softly against her hair.
She turns then, dress rustling, and Seamus pulls her into his arms without hesitation. They hold each other tightly, the kind of embrace that tries to memorize shape and warmth and breath all at once. I look away, because I know he doesn’t know the weight of this moment.
A knock echoes through the room, and I step back to look at the door as Erin pulls away from her father.
“Come in,” she calls out, wiping her eyes yet again.
“Alright,” Patrick says, walking into the room with a fifth of Jameson and a lit cigarette between his fingers. “ I can’t keep entertaining the Italians. I feel like I am losing a brain cell.”
“Hey, those are our allies,” Seamus corrects, a smug smile on his face as he skips over to Patrick and slides the Jameson out of his hand. “My future son-in-law. You watch your mouth.”
Seamus takes a sip of the alcohol, looking around the room as it falls into silence, before saying. “I’m just pulling your leg. Why did you think I came in here?”
We all chuckle for a bit, and my chest tightens again at the finality of this moment, especially when I look over at Erin and see her smile not reach her eyes. Seamus walks back over to her and pulls her into a hug again.
