When the Bride Stopped Waiting

Ten minutes before our seventh wedding, Luca Romano received another call from Celeste.

The Romano chapel was already full. The candles had been lit, the choir was in place, and representatives from New York, Chicago, and Sicily were waiting to see me become the Donna of the Romano family.

Luca stood beside me in the black suit I had chosen for him. Even his cufflinks carried our initials.

When the phone rang, he looked at me first.

I knew who it was.

For the past six weddings, Celeste always had an emergency before the ceremony began. Chest pain, an old injury, a threat outside her apartment, a reaction to her medicine. Somehow, she always became the person Luca had to save at the exact moment he was supposed to marry me.

This time was no different.

After he ended the call, his face grew heavy. He held the phone in his hand as if he had already made his choice but did not know how to say it.

“Celeste collapsed at the safe house,” he said quietly. “The doctor hasn’t arrived. There’s only a new maid with her, and she doesn’t know what to do.”

I looked at him and said nothing.

In the past, I would have asked why it had to be today, why it always had to be her, and why I was always the one left behind. This time, I only straightened his slightly crooked tie and said calmly,

“Then go.”

Luca froze.

He seemed almost to wish I would cry, question him, or argue with him in front of the chapel again. At least then, he could hold me, promise he would come back soon, promise that next time would be different.

But I did nothing.

Outside the chapel, Celeste’s car was already waiting at the steps. Luca did not turn away at once. Instead, he took my hand, and for the first time, unease entered his voice.

“Elena, I’ll explain everything when I come back. Today was an accident. It really was.”

I nodded.

He said, “Next month, I’ll arrange the wedding again. You won’t have to worry about anything. Just go try on the gown.”

For some reason, I almost laughed.

Nearly every wedding before this had been arranged by me. The invitations, the flowers, the seating chart, the family order, the vows. I used to believe that if I made every detail perfect enough, the wedding would finally happen. If nothing went wrong, Luca would have no reason to leave.

Later, I understood.

He never left because something was wrong with the wedding.

He left because one call from Celeste was enough to make the wedding stop mattering.

The night before our second wedding, Celeste said red wine had ruined her dress. Luca had someone open my wardrobe and send her the white silk gown I had prepared for the rehearsal dinner. It was one of the few things my mother had left me, with the Moretti crest embroidered inside the hem.

Afterward, he held me and apologized. He said Celeste had cried so hard she could barely breathe, and he had been too anxious to think clearly.

On the day of our fourth wedding, the diamond bracelet on Celeste’s wrist was the one my father had given me when I came of age. She said she only thought it was beautiful and wanted to borrow it for a while. Luca did not notice until I went quiet. When he realized what I was looking at, he did not ask her to take it off. Instead, he lowered his voice and coaxed me.

“I promise she’ll only wear it for a little while. Nothing will happen to the bracelet. She has no family, Elena. She doesn’t have things like this. Don’t take it to heart.” I had taken it to heart.

I had cried. I had argued. I had lost control. Yet every time, Luca came back, knelt in front of me, kissed my hand, and told me again and again that I was the only woman he loved.

So I believed him.

Again and again.

This time, I looked at the panic in his eyes and smiled faintly.

“All right.”

Luca seemed not to hear me clearly.

“What did you say?”

“I said all right.” I pulled my hand out of his. “Next month, you arrange it.”

He stared at me. Instead of relaxing, his expression tightened further.

“Elena, don’t be like this.”

For the past six weddings, I had cared about every detail until I exhausted myself. I checked the flowers, the vows, the guest list, the family order, even the shade of the candles. I had always treated each wedding as proof that this time he would truly choose me.

Now I had handed the entire wedding back to him as if it no longer mattered.

That was what frightened him.

Because the Elena who once came back to life at the sound of his promises no longer looked at him the same way.

Someone outside urged him to hurry.

Luca looked at me one last time, as if searching for a crack in my calm.

“Wait for me.”

I did not answer.

At last, he turned and walked down the chapel steps.

Whispers spread through the room almost immediately. Some people looked at me with pity. Others were waiting to see the daughter of the Moretti family become a joke for the seventh time.

I lifted my skirt and walked alone toward the bridal room.

In the mirror, my makeup was untouched, my gown was still white, and even the pearls in my hair had not moved.

Then I remembered what my father had said before leaving New York.

“Take the time you need. But when you finally understand whether he will choose you at the altar, come home.”

Now, I was beginning to understand.

Back in the bridal room, I took off my veil and called my father.

The call connected quickly. Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.

“Papa, he set another date.”

My father’s voice was calm, as if he had already guessed the answer.

“Then let it be the last one.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the untouched makeup and the wedding gown that had once again failed to become a memory worth keeping.

“All right,” I said.

This time, I meant it.