“I love you,” I say into the dark room around us.
She’s quiet for so long that I wonder if she even heard me. Eventually, though, she snuggles in and says, “I know. I love you, too.”
It’s different than I expect it to go down, but it suits us all the same. She already knew, maybe long before even I did. I won’t rush us because I’m not stupid, but she’s mine and I intend to make it legal one day.
5 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Epilogue
There’s a faint murmur of conversation coming from behind me. We don’t have a big crowd here, but it feels like there’s just too many. Alex promised me this is a small wedding, as far as these things go. My nerves are on edge, and all I can think is how I should have let her talk me into fucking eloping when she mentioned it. I wanted to give her more than some cheesy roadside chapel and an Elvis impersonator. I wanted to give her the wedding she didn’t get the first time.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Apparently we’re getting married on short notice. At least, those are the kinds of questions I’ve been fielding since we set the date. Nosy people who have no fucking place keep hinting at bullshit reasons for only having a four-month-long engagement. If I have to watch my girl tell one more person that she’s not pregnant, I’m going to fucking lose my shit. It’s not like they know—how could they—but it hurts her, so intent doesn’t matter. Every time she has to address it, she fights off the impending sorrow that sinks in. We’re still coming to terms with it, the fact that we can’t have kids. I’ve looked into shit Mindy doesn’t know about, to see if we could go about procuring a kid or two in another way. So far, nobody wants to give a kid to a man with a reputation like mine. I try not to let it bother me, because finally, after spending my entire life thinking otherwise, I know I have a good heart. I might be everything they fear, but because of Mindy, I now know I’m more than that.
“Nervous?” Ryan is standing beside me in the nicest things he owns. Ma made a point to buy us each a new pair of jeans. She said that we had to dress up a little. Not that either of us have minded. I’ve caught wind of the things Ryan has been saying to Alex. He wants to marry her, but she’s not ready yet. It’s a damn good thing my brother is as closed off with his emotions as he is. The desperation is all over his face. Sometimes, when I look at him, I have to stop and wonder if this is real. For so long, neither of us knew we could want this kind of commitment. Settling down isn’t something we ever talked about. Pop always said it was something we would just do, like it’s not that big of a deal. And now, standing here, waiting for my girl to come to me, I know he’s right. This whole wedding is all for show, to give Mindy something she doesn’t want to admit she needs. And I’ll always give her what she needs.
“Only because I have to say a bunch of shit you fuckers will never let me live down in front of all these people.” I peek over my shoulder only to realize everybody is still here, much to my dismay. It was Mindy’s idea to get married in the field between Ma and Pop’s house and ours, but it’s just too wet outside, so we opted for doing it inside the house.
“Proud of you, brother. Don’t think I ever told you, but your woman and I had words some months back. She’s good people. I have no doubt that crazy bitch is gonna protect your six.”
BY THE TIME the music starts up, I’m wiping blood from my mouth and glaring at my brother, who’s pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the nose bleed. Good thing Ma put us in black jeans and black button-downs. The blood doesn’t show as well as it would if we’d been in white. Harry’s gonna love this when he sees it. As it is, Mindy’s mom, Claire, is in the front row with the most displeased expression on her face. She mumbles something to Holly’s mom that earns them both a severe look from Ma.
My palms are sweating and my heart rate has spiked. Fuck, I’m really doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t have a clue what Mindy’s wearing, and the longer the music drags the fuck on, the more nervous I get about it. What if she looks like a doily? Or worse—what if she looks like a marshmallow? I’m a shit liar with her. I can’t stand here and tell her I like her dress if she looks like something out of one of those bad TV movies she likes to watch. Fuck. We should have eloped. The next time I decide to be a good guy, I’m going to remind myself of this moment.
Fuck this shit.