Chapter 23: Wedding March in D Minor

MARISOL

The soft click of heels echoed down the hall. Maria’s rhythm. Steady. Familiar. Safe.

I straightened in the chair, breath catching as the sound grew closer. A second later, the door creaked open. She stepped in, the wedding dress draped over one arm, a box of accessories tucked in the other.

"Good morning," she said, voice steady, reassuring.

The room still stole my breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Pacific Northwest forest: towering firs and cedars stretching into a gray, open sky. Evergreen boughs glowed in the soft morning light.

The space radiated rustic luxury: dark wood paneling, thick rugs, a grand four-poster bed.

I sat at the vanity, the mirror reflecting the wild landscape behind me. Stylists moved with quiet efficiency, finishing the last touches of my hair and makeup.

The soft, familiar scent of my floral perfume clung to my skin, delicate and sweet beneath the sharper tang of hairspray still hanging in the air. My gaze snagged on the fabric draped over Maria’s arms, a tight ribbon of curiosity winding through me.

"What’s all this?" My voice rose, tight with surprise.

She laid the dress and accessories across the bed, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"It’s your wedding dress. Dante wants everything perfect."

My lungs stalled. I stepped closer. The gown shimmered in the soft light, delicate and almost unreal.

Maria helped me into it, the fabric slipping over my skin like a whisper.

It clung to me. Hugged every curve. Semi-transparent layers floated around my legs, sequined straps brushing my shoulders. The corset bodice cinched me in, delicate floral embroidery dancing over the fabric.

A thread of unease slid through me, sharp and cold. The dress was stunning. But it revealed more than I ever had. More than I ever wanted.

My pulse kicked up.

Everyone’s going to see everything I’ve ever doubted about myself. At least my hair would cover the exposed back.

"Did Dante pick this out?" The question slipped free before I could stop it, the edge in my voice betraying the swirl inside me.

Maria didn’t flinch.

"No, I did."

My eyes widened. She adjusted the fabric at my waist like my reaction didn’t matter.

"Trust me, Marisol. Dante needs to see you like this, confident, breathtaking."

I forced myself to meet my reflection’s gaze. My cheeks flushed, color blooming high.

Am I really ready to be someone's wife? To let someone in that far?

The intimacy. The vulnerability. A man waiting for me on the other side of this moment. The weight of it pressed down, thick and unrelenting.

Will marriage erase everything I’ve built to survive? He hadn’t touched me. Not once. But the way his eyes lingered, like I was already his, had left me breathless.

Maria stepped closer, smoothing a fold of the fabric.

"Mija, you could give J.Lo a run for her money."

A laugh slipped out, short and breathy. The tightness in my chest eased.

I turned slowly, taking in the way the dress fit. My fingers brushed the beading, each tiny bump cool beneath my touch.

The nerves stayed, but something else stirred underneath. It was warm, rising, and hard to ignore. Anticipation.

Once I was dressed, the stylists gathered their things and slipped out, leaving me alone with Maria.

She clasped a delicate necklace around my neck. The metal kissed my skin, cold at first, then warming with my body. Matching earrings followed, their subtle sparkle catching the light.

I stepped into my heels, but my mind stayed tangled, caught between what I feared and what might come next.

"Maria..." The words barely made it past my throat. "I’ve never been with anyone. What if... I’m not ready?"

Her hands wrapped around mine, comforting.

"Mija, it’s okay to be afraid. Dante’s many things, but he respects boundaries. He’ll wait. He won’t push."

I nodded, the fear loosening, just enough to breathe.

"This isn’t a love match," I whispered. "I don’t know if we’ll ever have that kind of connection."

Maria tucked a stray curl behind my ear.

"Love can grow. And Dante didn’t marry you just for protection."

Something tight ached behind my ribs. Hope. Fragile. Dangerous.

I shoved it down before it could bloom. That wasn’t what today was about.

A knock echoed through the door. We both turned as Dante’s voice broke through.

"Marisol." Firm. Unyielding.

Maria rushed to the door, cracked it just enough to block him.

"I need to talk to Marisol," he said, impatience sharpening each word.

Maria shook her head.

"No, no, no. You can’t see the bride before the wedding. You talk to her later."

"You work for me, Maria."

Her brow arched.

"Ah... okay. I quit." Then she shut the door and locked it.

His knock turned sharp.

"Maria!"

"¡Que no!" she fired back. "You go wait where you’re supposed to. We’ll be there in five minutes."

He grumbled on the other side, low and annoyed.

I blinked.

"Are you really quitting?"

Her laugh rolled warm and unapologetic.

"Mija, I quit almost every day. Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back."

The tension inside me finally softened.

Maria fussed with the last details, her smile full of pride.

"Now," she said, a playful smirk curling her lips, "it’s time for you to knock that man off his feet."

I exhaled, steadying myself.

Whatever waited beyond that door, I’d face it.

And I wouldn’t be alone.

***

MARISOL

The afternoon sky hung lightly overcast, a typical day in the Pacific Northwest. Gray clouds stretched low, casting a soft, diffused light over the garden terrace. The air was crisp and dry. At least it wasn’t raining.

The lush green forest surrounding us offered a striking contrast to the muted sky, creating an intimate stillness that settled deep in my chest.

I lingered at the border of the terrace, caught between what was and what could be, my heart pounding, my eyes fixed on the short aisle leading to the archway.

Dante’s men, all edge and intimidation, had traded their dirt-stained boots for polished shoes and suits. Hands that had known violence shifted beneath crisp cuffs as they turned to look at me. Their murmurs dimmed as I stepped into view.

Their presence grounded me in a strange way, a quiet reassurance that this was real.

Maria stood close beside me, solid and steady, her quiet strength a brace against the emotion rising in my throat.

I took a tentative step forward, then faltered. The weight hit me all at once, sharp and unrelenting. I didn’t have my mother here to walk beside me.

The ache bloomed fast and hot, and tears blurred the edges of my vision.

"Maria, I don’t have anyone to give me away," I whispered, my voice cracking as I fought to hold it together.

She turned to me, her eyes soft, knowing. She reached out and squeezed my hand, warm and reassuring.

"Cariño," she said gently, her voice wrapping around me like a warm shawl. "Just because you can’t see her doesn’t mean she’s not walking beside you. She’s here, guiding you down that aisle."

Her eyes shimmered, and she leaned in closer.

"And remember, you’re strong and brave. You’ve come so far on your own. You can walk down that aisle with your head held high. Your mother’s spirit is with you every step of the way. This is your moment, mi niña."

Her words landed deep, wrapping around the bruised parts of me I’d tried to ignore. I drew a shaky breath and nodded.

I can do this. I have to.

Maria smiled, like she could feel something change inside me. The sadness hadn’t vanished, but it had made space for something else. Determination.

"I know your mami is watching over you from heaven," she said. "And so on her behalf, I want to give you a blessing before you walk down the aisle."

She made the sign of the cross over me, her touch light but full of purpose.

"Dios te bendiga, mi cielo," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my cheek, her pride shining through. "You look so beautiful."

The lump in my throat returned, rising with heat. But this time, it wasn’t pain, it was love.

She gave my hand one last squeeze before stepping back to join the guests.

I stood alone, but it didn’t feel the same anymore. There was a presence with me now, a quiet strength unfurling in my chest.

The music began, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. I inhaled, straightened my shoulders, and stepped onto the aisle.

Eyes followed me, but I didn’t look at them.

I only saw Dante.

He stood at the far end, his expression unreadable at first, until his eyes locked with mine. His usual composure faltered slightly, his lips parting as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Heat climbed my neck. The way he looked at me, like he couldn’t believe what he saw, sent warmth spiraling through my chest.

The gown hugged every curve, the sheer layers shimmering in the gray light. Maria had chosen it, and I’d trusted her instinct. Now I felt powerful.

My hair was half up, half down, pinned exactly how I’d envisioned, and my makeup accented every feature perfectly.

He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. Dark eyes softened as they roamed over me, and something vulnerable flickered behind them.

He looks almost... nervous. Could he be?

I reached the end of the aisle, my gaze still locked on his. A tremble ran through me, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.

He smiled and reached out. When his fingers closed around mine, the world narrowed to the space between us.

"You look... absolutely breathtaking," he whispered, his voice low and rough.

This is the man I once feared. And now... I can't seem to look away.

My heart fluttered, wild and uncontained. There was something raw in his eyes, something he couldn’t quite hide.

I squeezed his hand, and a strange calm washed over me.

The ceremony began.

The words blurred past me, but each one clicked into place, like a piece of me I didn’t know was missing.

When it came time for the rings, my fingers shook as I slid the band onto his hand.

"Do you, Dante Kincade, take Marisol Franco to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the justice of the peace asked.

"I do," he said, his voice steady.

"And do you, Marisol Franco, take Dante Kincade to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," I whispered, thick with emotion. My voice wavered, but I meant it.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

He stepped in, his hand lifting to tilt my chin. Our eyes met. His were fierce and gentle all at once.

Then he kissed me.

His lips left mine too soon. The officiant’s voice returned, grounding me in the moment. But everything had already changed.

In that brief touch, the world had gone silent. This wasn’t the man who once terrified me. His kiss had been soft and sure, the kind that said: I see you. I choose you.

My breath caught, not from nerves, but from the fragile hope blooming between us.

When we parted, I looked into his eyes and saw a man standing on the edge of something vast and unknown.

And I realized I was standing there too.