Irish Wedding Blessing Poem Novels & Stories

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé suddenly asked me to give up the ceremony for his first love, Sofia. I turned it down cold in my former life, only to become the Chicago mob’s godmother at a lavish wedding. When Sofia heard the news, she was heartbroken and jumped into the sea to take her own life. Vincent blamed me for Sofia’s death. For the next thirty years, the words he said to me most often were: “Elena, if I had married Sofia that day, she wouldn't have died.” On his deathbed, he told our children: “Don’t bury me with Elena.” The year after he died, I fell gravely ill and passed away. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night before the wedding. Over the phone, Vincent's voice came again: "Sofia needs this title more than you do. Everyone knows I love you, so they respect you—but Sofia's different. She's just a poor orphan girl..." Before he could finish, I calmly replied, “Fine, I agree.” I turned and signed the papers to cut ties with the family. I flew to Sicily, home to the Salk Institute that I had always looked up to. In this life, I refuse to be his appendage.

I put three hundred million dollars into building a business for my brother's first love. They were finally getting married. But two hours before the wedding, the maid of honor suddenly went AWOL. To keep the wedding on track, I dropped a major international deal, booked the next flight out, and flew back immediately. When I arrived, my brother hugged me gratefully and handed me the wedding ring along with a gift box — inside was a necklace, a token he'd promised Celeste. "Sis, I'm counting on you to take care of Celeste's side. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you step in as maid of honor today?" But the moment I walked into the bridal suite, my brother's bride slapped me across the face. "You've got some nerve showing up here, you homewrecking bitch." "You think you can steal my husband at my own wedding? Are you out of your mind?" "Celeste, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I’m Alexander’s sister…" I tried to explain. "Who the hell are you kidding?! My sister-in-law runs a billion-dollar empire. A tramp like you could never." "You want to steal my husband? Fine. Let's see how tough you really are." And just like that, I was tied up and thrown into a pen with a vicious dog. Celeste Davenport — if that's how you want to play it, then enjoy your one-way ticket to the hell.

“That video in the group chat was filmed in your bridal suite, wasn’t it?” one of the women asked with a grin. “Sleeping around right under Adela’s nose? That’s bold.” Lorenzo leaned back, swirling his drink, looking pleased with himself. “Yes.” “I used to be too sick to do half the things I wanted,” he said, tapping his chest. “After the transplant, I realized spending the rest of my life with only one lover would be a waste.” The room erupted. He let them laugh, then added, “I set myself a goal. One hundred places before the wedding. Once it’s over, I’ll settle down. After that, my body and my marriage belong to Adela.” More laughter. More glasses raised. I stood outside the door with one hand pressed hard against my chest, where an artificial heart kept beating. Lorenzo never knew I had learned his language. He also never knew that I had already discovered he was keeping Vera—our wedding’s mistress of ceremonies—behind my back. And because he had hidden something from me, I had hidden something from him. I had already booked an assisted death service overseas.

On my wedding day, my fiancé's first love walked in holding a little boy and named the groom as the child's father. My mother saw it, and her heart gave out. She died right there on the floor. The wedding collapsed and I went down with it, fainting in front of everyone. When I came to, my oldest friend, Lucian Graves, was sitting beside me. He held me tightly in his arms. He took care of all my mother’s funeral arrangements for me. When the reporters swarmed, he put himself between me and the cameras. He cleared my name over the wedding, and then he got down on one knee in front of everyone and asked me to marry him, swearing he would take care of me for the rest of my life. After marriage, we became the happiest couple in our circle. Then, on our first anniversary, I opened the chat history on his phone. "Don, thank God you set up that wedding disruption. My son and I are happy now." "You did get her mother killed, though. Don't blame yourself. She's the one who insisted on marrying a man who was never hers." The replies were from Lucian. "Nothing to blame myself for. It was just an accident." "As long as you're happy, there's nothing I won't do." The ground dropped out from under me, and the phone hit the floor.

Evelyn Larson's nephew, Maxwell Larson, has been staying at my home for 12 years. On top of sponsoring everything he has in life, I even view him as my own son. Heck, I'm the one who paid the down payment for Maxwell's new family home. But on the night we're having a holiday dinner, he throws me a list in front of everyone. "Uncle Lawrence, I've already hashed out the details with my fiancee's family. We'll be giving her family 700 thousand dollars as a wedding gift. You've raised me for so many years, so you need to prepare this amount for me." I frown instantly. "Didn't I just settle your down payment for you? Besides, Tiffany's about to get married soon. I need to save some money for her own wedding gift." But Maxwell instantly smashes a plate out of anger. "Since she's marrying into another family, that means she's no longer a part of this family! Are you saying that you're willing to give your money to an outsider rather than your own nephew? "If you refuse to agree to my terms, I'll make Aunt Evelyn divorce you right now!" I turn to look at Evelyn out of instinct, only to see her pulling out a gift agreement that she has already drafted. "We don't need to prepare any wedding gifts for Tiffany, seeing as she's the one marrying into another family. Max, on the other hand, is the only son of the Larson family. You should give your money to him instead."

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

On my wedding day, Yuna Shaw, the girl my parents had sponsored blocked the door to my room, just as lines of text began scrolling across my vision. [Oh my god, is the female lead really going to marry that golden heir? He’s a psychopath. He likes cutting people into pieces!] [The female lead’s such an idiot. The match Yuna arranged for her is the smarter choice.] [Switching marriages with Yuna is the only way to survive!] In my previous life, after reading those messages, I begged to call off the engagement. Yuna insisted on repaying my family’s kindness by marrying in my place. I ended up marrying the construction foreman she had chosen. After the wedding, my mother-in-law made my life miserable, and my husband abused me. I ran back to my parents for help, only to be slapped repeatedly by Yuna when she returned home. “Still think you’re some rich young lady? Running home the moment things get hard? Someone needs to knock that out of you!” Even my once-loving parents turned cold and threw me out. “You walked out that door as someone else’s wife. What happens to you now is none of our concern.” In the end, I was tortured to death by my husband. Only after I died did I realize it had all been Yuna’s scheme. Now she stood in front of me again, her eyes sharp with calculation. I shoved her aside. “You think you’re worthy of marrying in my place?”

Three years as his fiancée, reduced to nothing more than a soulless trinket. No going out. No friends. No opinions. Every breath I took was measured against Leo's mood. For three years I obeyed him unconditionally, trying to warm the heart of this mafia tyrant. Then today, in the fitting room at the atelier, his adoptive sister Alice snatched my couture wedding gown right off the rack. She didn't even have the decency to do it behind my back; she walked straight into Leo's arms while I stood there watching. Leo barely glanced at me. Just patted her head and said, “It's just a dress. Let her have it.” Three years of patience, and that's what it came to. A joke. I looked at the two of them, that smug, triumphant, and I thought: Marciano, did you really think I wouldn't fight back?

At our high school reunion, my ex announced he was getting married. In the middle of the congratulations, someone piped up. “Hey, where’s Wren tonight? She didn’t show?” The whole room cracked up. “Wren? Probably still earning her keep in some rich guy’s bed.” “She dumped James for money, and now look at him. He’s the wealthiest guy in New York. Bet she’s kicking herself.” Someone snickered. “I heard the guy’s some fat old man. God, how does she even stomach it.” I broke up with James Thorne the year he loved me the most, and walked straight into the arms of another man, a man with money. Now he had a new girlfriend, he’d taken over Thorne Capital, and he was one of New York’s most talked-about young executives. He’d organized this reunion because he couldn’t wait to show off how good his life had turned out. “Enough. Drop it.” In the middle of the laughter, James spoke up. “I have a better life now. Whether Wren is dead or alive has nothing to do with me anymore.” “What if she really were dead?” The room went silent.

For five years, I have seen Leo Belmonte—the Don’s heir—as the only light in my life. On the day of my wedding dress fitting, he smiled and told me I was only a stand-in for his untouchable first love, Mia. Now that the real thing was back, I was supposed to step aside—go underground, follow my mother's path, and be somebody's mistress like she had been. The bridal fastenings cut my palms bloody, and all he cared about was the dress. His precious Mia ran me down on the highway in her car, and he warned me not to call the police—held my mother's ashes over my head to keep me in line. When the whole internet was calling me a homewrecker, it was him who nailed me to the pillar of shame with his own hands. The night I finally gave up, I boarded the Deluca family's private helicopter. That was when they learned the truth—I was no homeless bastard daughter. I was the only heir the most powerful Don in Europe had been searching for all these years. Once, I saw him as my light. Now he kneels at my feet and begs forgiveness, and all I feel is disgust. One day soon, I would stand at the top of the underworld—somewhere he could never reach again.