Chapter 14 - The Dress
My second wedding dress cost four thousand dollars.
Roman said it looked like four million.
I accused him of poor financial judgment.
It was ivory.
Simple.
Long sleeves.
Low back.
No giant train.
No corset crushing my ribs.
Most importantly, I could breathe.
Chloe stood behind me fastening the final button.
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
“You can still run.”
I looked at her through the mirror.
“Do you say that to every bride?”
“Only traumatized sisters with a history of terrible grooms.”
I laughed.
Then stopped.
The room looked strangely similar to the bridal suite from years earlier.
Flowers.
Mirrors.
White dress.
Closed door.
My breathing changed.
Chloe noticed immediately.
“Ellie.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to be.”
That sentence saved me.
I sat.
For a moment I was back there.
Preston’s fingers beneath my chin.
Smile.
Don’t embarrass me.
Your father needs this.
Then a soft knock came.
Roman’s voice.
“Can I come in?”
Chloe looked at me.
I nodded.
Roman entered.
Then froze.
“You’re not supposed to see me.”
“You called me.”
“No, you knocked.”
“You said come in.”
“Technicality.”
He remained near the door.
Didn’t approach.
“Do you want me to leave?”
I shook my head.
He saw my face.
The teasing disappeared.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Eleanor.”
I looked at the dress.
“I remembered.”
He understood.
Roman sat across the room.
Not beside me.
“I can cancel everything.”
“No.”
“Ten minutes.”
“No.”
“Ten years.”
I laughed weakly.
“Very expensive invitations.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I want to marry you.”
“Then that is the only part that matters.”
My eyes filled.
“I hate that he gets to exist here.”
Roman looked at me.
“Then don’t fight the memory.”
“What?”
“Let it exist.”
He leaned forward.
“That happened to you. Today is happening too.”
I breathed.
Once.
Again.
The panic loosened.
Roman smiled.
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Roman.”
He stopped.
“Come here.”
He approached.
I took his hand.
“Do you know what the best thing you ever did for me was?”
“Buying forty-three million dollars of debt?”
“No.”
“Getting shot?”
“Definitely no.”
“Excellent cooking?”
“Closer.”
He waited.
“You asked before putting your jacket on me.”
He frowned.
“At the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“May I?”
He remembered.
“That was it?”
“That was everything.”
In the worst moment of my life, when Preston had treated my body, family, dress, future, and choices as things he owned, Roman asked permission before touching my shoulder.
That tiny question changed something.
Roman kissed my forehead.
“May I kiss you?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Afterward he left.
Chloe cried.
I threatened her makeup.
Downstairs, the ceremony took place at the Gloucester house overlooking the sea.
Fifty guests.
Not five hundred.
Dad walked beside me.
Not giving me away.
Just walking.
That had been my request.
At the beginning of the aisle, he stopped.
“I’m sorry about the first time.”
I squeezed his arm.
“This isn’t the first time.”
He looked confused.
“That wasn’t a wedding.”
Then he smiled.
We walked.
Roman waited beneath an arbor covered in white roses.
Our daughter Evelyn slept in Sofia’s arms.
Matteo stood as Roman’s best man.
Chloe stood beside me.
Mom’s blue ledger rested inside the house.
Not hidden anymore.
Preserved.
Part of history.
When I reached Roman, he took my hands.
Gently.
The officiant began.
No one commanded me to smile.
So I did.
Roman’s vows were short.
“I cannot promise you safety.”
People shifted.
He continued.
“Because life has taught us better than that.”
I smiled through tears.
“I cannot promise never to hurt you, because people who love each other sometimes do.”
His voice softened.
“But I promise never to confuse love with control.”
My throat closed.
“Never to use fear to keep you beside me.”
He squeezed my hands.
“And never to ask you to become smaller so I can feel larger.”
Chloe began sobbing.
Roman glanced toward her.
“Your sister is ruining my timing.”
Everyone laughed.
My vows were simpler.
“I choose you.”
Roman’s eyes filled.
“Not because I need you.”
A breath.
“Because I don’t.”
He smiled.
“And that is why choosing you means everything.”
We exchanged rings.
The officiant pronounced us married.
Roman leaned toward me.
Then stopped.
“May I?”
Everyone laughed again.
I whispered:
“Always ask.”
Then kissed him.
No torn dress.
No threats.
No debt.
No fear.
Only choice.
Later, as the sun dropped into the Atlantic, Dad danced with Chloe.
Sofia argued with Matteo about champagne.
Baby Evelyn slept against Roman’s chest.
I watched my husband.
Mafia boss.
Shipping executive.
Complicated man.
Good father.
Imperfect person.
Mine only in the way I was his.
By choice.
Then Roman looked toward me.
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
I smiled.
“Because the first time you walked into my wedding, everyone went silent.”
“And?”
“This time nobody was afraid.”
Roman looked around.
He understood.
“That’s better.”
“Much.”
May you like
I leaned against him.
For the first time, weddings no longer felt like cages.
