Mario Invitation Template Novels & Stories

They talked for a few more minutes, but he wasn’t willing to budge on his parents. If they didn’t approve of our marriage, I didn’t want their names on the invitation. So I found an invitation template that didn’t mention parents, brides or grooms. Just Adam Beller and Javier Marisco invite you to join in the celebration of their marriage. I loved the creamy paper, the type face, the slight raise of the type against the page.

The invitation arrived on a Tuesday morning. It came to the apartment, a proper paper invitation in an envelope with good weight to it, the kind of invitation that said the event had been considered rather than arranged. The envelope had Marco's handwriting on the address line, which was a specific quality of handwriting I recognized from three years of working alongside him, the handwriting of someone for whom making marks was a professional act and who brought a certain precision to all marks accordingly. I opened it at the kitchen table.

Unfortunately, Naomi and her mom were out shopping, so I couldn’t see them. “I was going to deliver this personally, but it looks like you’re the last to get your invitation—even though you’re the boss,” Gabriele said, placing a fancy invite in front of us. The room was filled with cousins, all excited for the upcoming event. Marco picked it up. The invitation was black, with the family’s gold seal in the middle—very elegant and formal. “Thanks,” Marco said, though he didn’t sound thrilled. “Since I’m always with my wife, I guess I was bound to be last. That’s why I gave you the job, Gabriele, right?”

Mario hissed, a smirk dancing at the corner of her lips. “What way?” I asked and he grinned. “It’s gonna be a surprise, leave the game to the planner, bro,” he said, patting my shoulder fondly. I smiled, feeling better. Well… there’s a way out of this somehow. I don’t care about how Mario does it, I just want to go back to chasing back my ex-wife once again. “Get your suit ready; your wedding is going to be on the headlines for months. It’s going to be the best,” Mario said and I grinned widely, understanding what his mischievous eyes were saying to me.

Then, he raised his head, and there it was—that awkward, almost pitying look in his eyes as he glanced at me. "Apologies, ma'am," his tone was stiff, professional. He handed the invitation back to me. "This is blank. There's no valid information to verify your identity, no official stamp from Bloodmoon Pack. I can't let you in." Blank? My mind buzzed like a struck gong, and my stomach dropped like a rock. I yanked the invitation back from him and stared at the inner page. Dear Moon Goddess! It really was blank—just an empty, glaring sheet of black!

Holding on to his sister as she drove, Mario replied, "Work has been slow, Mei. Just pray that I can be successful again like I used to be, Little One." Once they arrived at their parents' house, Mario’s phone buzzed with a W******p message. He opened it right away. "Good afternoon, Mario. This is Inez. Would you be available to teach private fitness sessions at my home tomorrow morning?" A happy smile spread across Mario’s face. Ms. Inez was asking him to train her at her place. He quickly typed a reply. "Good afternoon, Ms. Inez. Yes, I can make it. Could you please send a location share for your home address?" Mario responded.

"The wedding is tomorrow at Trinity Church. Every family in Chicago got a goddamn invitation." Tomorrow? So soon? My heart pounded against my ribs, trying to break free. "Boss, you okay?" Marco looked worried. "You look pale." Just then, a knock at the door. "In," I forced myself to say. Leo walked in. He was holding a fancy envelope. "Damien." His tone was formal. "I have something for you." He placed the envelope on my desk. Gold lettering. Expensive paper. A wedding invitation. My hands trembled as I opened it.

“Good. Now, let’s go see what this ‘mail’ is all about before you start brooding again.” I can’t help but laugh. “Lead the way.” We finally get here and I yank the mailbox open, expecting some random junk mail, maybe an overdue bill or two. But what I pull out? Nah, it’s got my blood boiling in seconds. It’s an invitation. A slick, expensive-looking envelope with the Nardoos’ seal stamped on the front in thick, black ink. “Are you kidding me?” I mutter, staring at the thing like it might explode. I rip it open, eyes scanning the neat, professional handwriting inside.

I’m sure that it’s not an invitation since our motif is beige and white. My curiousity is killing me, is this an invitation to an organization? But I strictly requested Sir Arnold that no mafia organizations be invited. To avoid commotion and as much as possible to avoid Martini. When I opened it, my forehead creased. It was a picture of a child which I just saw today, but in an unexplainable way, my heart throbbed. I look once again at the face of the boy before my eyes land on the handwritten below picture. “Meet Amari, your two-year-old baby boy Jada Young. Do you want to meet him?"

No past, no baggage, just us. In the envelope on the table, there’s a credit card. Unlimited balance. You can take it and run if you want, I won’t stop you. The PIN is your birthday. I’ll see you soon. —Mario I blinked, then read it again, a small laugh escaping before I could stop it. Of course. This was his way of making things interesting, of turning something as simple as we starting afresh into some elaborate, playful scheme. Crazy, unpredictable, ridiculous Mario.