Chapter 13 - A Wedding With Guests
Their second wedding happened because Rosa complained.
“You had City Hall,” she said. “Fluorescent lights. No cake. This is not a wedding. It is paperwork.”
Delphine laughed.
“We are already married.”
Rosa crossed her arms.
“Then you can afford to marry properly.”
Casius looked at Delphine.
She shook her head.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Good. I hate cake.”
Rosa muttered something in Spanish that sounded threatening.
Three months later, Delphine changed her mind.
Not because of tradition.
Because she wanted one photograph.
A photograph where she did not hide.
A photograph where Casius did not need to stand.
A photograph their families could not control.
They chose the old Ferraro courtyard.
Fifty guests.
No press.
Hannah came from Baton Rouge.
Dr. Cho wore green.
Gideon wore the same black suit he always wore and insisted it was different.
Salvatore complained about outdoor humidity.
Camille arrived early and spent two hours arguing with flowers.
Marjo came alone.
Delphine had invited her after weeks of consideration.
Not because everything was forgiven.
Because Marjo had begun doing the slow work.
Therapy.
Testimony.
Selling the Bowmont house.
Funding restitution from her personal assets without attaching her name.
She did not ask Delphine to call.
She did not demand grandchildren.
She accepted distance.
That was the first form of love Delphine could trust from her.
Casius entered in his wheelchair.
He could have used crutches.
He did not.
Delphine walked down the courtyard path with no one giving her away.
Her gown was simple ivory.
Her hair was pinned back.
The scar fully visible.
Guests stood.
Casius looked at her and forgot every prepared word.
When she reached him, she leaned down.
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
“I’m married to you.”
“Technically.”
“About to be more married.”
The officiant laughed.
Their vows were short.
Delphine went first.
“The first time I agreed to marry you, I wanted a locked door.”
Casius’s eyes changed.
“You gave me one. Then you stood outside it and waited until I opened it myself.”
Several people cried.
Camille openly sobbed.
Delphine continued.
“I promise to do the same for you. I will never confuse helping with deciding. I will never measure your life by what your body can or cannot do. I will ask what you want even when I think I know.”
Casius swallowed.
Then his turn.
“The first time I met you, everyone in the room had already decided what you were worth.”
His voice roughened.
“I had spent twenty months being angry because people had done the same to me. Somehow I was still surprised to discover how much I could learn from a woman who refused to let either of us become someone else’s diagnosis.”
Delphine laughed through tears.
“I promise you a door that locks from your side.”
She smiled.
“And a key?”
“Only if you ask.”
They kissed.
No alliance representatives counted seconds.
No one negotiated debt.
Afterward, Casius surprised her.
He stood.
Gideon positioned the crutches.
Casius rose from the chair.
The courtyard became silent.
Delphine’s eyes widened.
He took one step.
Then another.
Not toward proof.
Toward her.
Four steps.
That was all.
He stopped in front of Delphine.
She whispered, “Show-off.”
“Absolutely.”
Then he sat again.
The applause came after, but it was not the part he remembered.
He remembered Delphine’s hands on his shoulders.
Her face close to his.
The fact that she did not cry because he walked.
She cried because he had chosen to share the moment with her.
During dinner, Marjo approached.
“I brought something.”
She handed Delphine a small envelope.
Inside was a childhood photograph.
Delphine at sixteen.
Camille at eleven.
Both covered in powdered sugar in the Bowmont kitchen.
Before the fire.
Before the third floor.
Before beauty became currency.
“I found it while packing,” Marjo said.
Delphine stared at the photograph.
“I forgot this.”
“I did too.”
Marjo’s voice broke.
“I am sorry.”
Delphine looked at her mother.
Not ready for forgiveness.
Ready for truth.
“I know.”
That was all.
Marjo nodded and walked away.
Later, under courtyard lights, Camille danced badly with Gideon.
Salvatore complained about music.
Dr. Cho told Casius his four-step stunt was medically unnecessary.
Rosa served cake.
Casius ate two slices despite claiming to hate it.
Delphine watched from beside him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m remembering City Hall.”
“Water stain.”
“Terrible lighting.”
“No cake.”
“Your tie was crooked.”
“It was fashion.”
She smiled.
“If you could choose, would you change the first wedding?”
Casius thought about it.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we needed the bad one to understand this one.”
Delphine took his hand.
For years, both of them had believed damage divided life into before and after.
That evening, they understood something else.
There could be more than one after.
The morning after the wedding, there were flowers everywhere.
Rosa had distributed arrangements across the house until even the downstairs bathroom looked engaged.
Delphine woke late and found Casius already in the kitchen, tie gone, sleeves rolled, eating leftover cake with a fork directly from the box.
“You hate cake.”
“I am gathering evidence.”
“Against whom?”
“Rosa.”
Delphine took the fork from his hand and ate a bite.
They stood there in silence.
No cameras.
No guests.
No vows.
Just sugar and coffee and the strange quiet after choosing each other publicly.
Casius looked at her.
“Any regrets?”
“About marrying you twice?”
“Yes.”
“Ask me after the third.”
He smiled.
Then Delphine noticed the folded wheelchair blanket beside him.
It was embroidered with small ivory flowers.
“Did Rosa do that?”
“She claims it improves morale.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s humiliating.”
“You’re using it.”
“The house is cold.”
Delphine laughed.
Casius looked pleased with himself.
Their first marriage had been built around what two families needed from them.
Their second had been built around what they chose.
The morning after, Delphine realized the most important difference was quieter than either ceremony.
No one was waiting outside the kitchen to tell them what came next.
Before leaving the kitchen, Delphine took a photograph of the half-eaten cake and Casius’s offended expression.
She saved it beside the formal wedding portrait.
Years later, she would prefer that photograph.
The portrait showed what everyone else saw: silk, flowers, vows, a powerful man, a scarred woman, a room full of witnesses.
The kitchen photograph showed what mattered after the witnesses went home.
Choice without ceremony.
May you like
Affection without performance.
A life no family council had negotiated for them.
