‘I think your Daddy looks fine, too,’ he answered, nodding to where his son stood, waiting for his bride—the only bride he would accept.
A fine woman, too, Maurizio thought, intensely relieved that he had been wrong about Skye Sumner. She would make a true life partner for Luciano, caring about his needs, just as Luciano cared about hers. It was also very generous of her to let the past go, not that Maurizio had meant to give her so much suffering. If her stepfather had been a decent man…though he himself had been wrong, very wrong in misjudging his own son’s feelings, as well as Skye’s.
Perhaps, he should acknowledge these things in his speech at the wedding reception. Nothing embarrassing, but a few words that expressed the real truth—a love that had already spanned many years, proving it was deep and steadfast, the best basis for a long, lasting and happy marriage. Although he and Flavia had done very well with hardly knowing each other before they were married. On the other hand, there had certainly been a spark between them—difficult to wait until their wedding night.
Luciano and Skye had not waited.
Yet how could he regret their having Matteo?
A fine grandson.
It was right to celebrate this marriage.
He would say so.
Luc was conscious of a sea of faces in front of him, hundreds of guests seated in the pews, waiting for the arrival of his bride. Undoubtedly it was an interesting occasion to them—Maurizio Peretti’s eldest son marrying a woman who’d already borne his child. It was not interesting to him. It was vital. And every second of waiting was hell.
The last time he had been in this cathedral was for Roberto’s funeral. Was his brother resting in peace now? Skye had been found. The child he hadn’t known about was now a proudly acknowledged grandson. And he himself felt brilliantly alive again with Skye back in his world.
Smile, brother, he thought on a wave of love for the Roberto who had cared so much for him at the end. The wrong has been righted.
The boys’ choir finished singing. The pipe organ started playing the first chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. At last, he thought, every nerve in his body electrified by the intense energy pouring from his need for Skye to be his wife.
His heart thundered in his chest as she began the walk down the aisle towards him—a vision of such loveliness his breath was caught in his throat. This is the woman I love, he told himself, not a dream. And she smiled her love at him, making the moment wonderfully real—Skye coming to him, his bride.
He no longer saw anyone else. He didn’t even hear the music. His hand reached out for her and she took it—took his hand in marriage, for better and for worse, from this day forth. Luc didn’t need to say the vows, didn’t need to hear Skye say them. The big production his parents had wanted to make of this wedding meant nothing to him. Every bit of meaning in this ceremony was encased in the hand holding his.
A simple bonding…yet it meant they were one with each other.
It meant he and Skye owned a future together—a future no one could steal from them.
They were one.