There were severe thunderstorms on the day of our wedding. We got married in February in a little chapel in Vancouver. The church had a bell tower that they promised they’d ring once we were married. We’d expected rain, but nothing like the torrential downpour we got.

“Relax,” said the photographer. “Rain on your wedding day is good luck.”

So I relaxed. We needed all the luck we could get. The streets were overwhelmed with puddles and our handful of guests had to play hopscotch to reach the church. My mother came into the room where I was getting ready ten minutes before the wedding was to start. She kissed one cheek and patted the other.

“I’ve never seen you so happy,” she said. “That warms my soul.”

“Is Sam here?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Your brother wouldn’t miss your wedding, my boy.” She smiled. “I know you butt heads but he still loves you.”

I shrugged like it didn’t matter but it did. The relationship I had with my brother wasn’t my choice. He always hated me, even as children, and over the years his resentment had just deepened. When she left I texted Yara.

You still want to do this, right?

WHY?! She texted back right away. Did Ferdinand say I was a flight risk?

I laughed as I stared down at my phone. He had.

Even with all of her trepidation about the wedding I never doubted she’d show. Ferdinand asked what her flight risk was, and I brushed him off even though I knew he was serious.

I’ll be there, Lisey. I love you deeply.

When Yara walked into the church, her shoulders and face were spotted with raindrops. She looked ethereal…glowing in the dim lighting of the chapel. My heart beat wildly in my chest and I smiled so much my cheeks hurt. She looked steadily on as she walked down the aisle, her eyes fixed on my face, holding a small bouquet of white flowers. She didn’t smile back at me, her face neutral. It looked like she was trying to be brave, but I didn’t see that at the time, that was something I realized later.

As we took our vows, we were interrupted by the rumbling sound of thunder. I had to pause twice just so she could hear me. And when Yara said, “I do,” the lights flickered and everyone gasped. What foreboding. The only time she was herself the entire night was when we were alone for a few minutes in the bathroom while I held up her dress so she could pee. She giggled and hid her face while I teased her for being helpless. We kissed at the sink as she washed her hands. And then later when we walked hand-in-hand back to our hotel instead of hailing a cab, letting the rain soak through our wedding clothes so that when we finally got to the lobby we left puddles all over the floor.

I booked a suite on the tenth floor; the elevator ride was long and excruciatingly cold. When we reached the door, I stopped her so I could carry her inside. She made a show of rolling her eyes and acting irritated, but I knew she liked it.

“That was fun,” Yara said, once we were inside the room.

“The wedding?” I asked, only half serious.

“The rain,” she replied simply, turning around so I could unzip her dress.

I had an idea. “Can you go stand right there…by the window?” I shrugged off my suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.

She narrowed her eyes, but surprisingly did as I asked, walking stiffly to stand in front of the wall of glass. Behind her was the city, the lights colored and twinkling. I took a picture of her standing there, her mascara running, and her white dress plastered to her body. I could see her nipples and the pink of her thighs where the material clung to skin. Long tendrils of her hair were stuck to her neck. She was more beautiful than she’d ever been in that moment, and I had to look away so she wouldn’t see the emotion on my face.

“Yara Lisey,” I said, setting my phone down.

When she smiled her lips puckered as she tried to bite back laughter.

“It sounds nice,” she said. “Like a musician’s wife.” She wiggled her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips.

“Help me take this thing off, will you?”

She turned her back to me again and I unzipped the dress, licking rivulets of water off her neck and back. She shivered and I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or me. When she turned around there was that hungry fire in her eyes, so I kissed her good as she flicked open the buttons on my shirt.

Later we lay in bed, waiting for our room service and touching each other almost shyly like we’d never done it before.

“You’re a husband,” she said. “Is that weird?”

“No, not even a little bit. I knew I would be as soon as I saw you, English.”

“You haven’t called me English in weeks,” she said. “I missed it.”

I thought back, trying to remember why. “I guess we’ve just been busy.”

“Busy?” She frowned. “Too busy for nicknames?”

“Too busy for affection. Isn’t that fucked up? The weeks before a wedding all of the softness in a relationship goes away.” We hadn’t fought very much, but there had been days of quiet stiffness when neither of us chose to speak to the other.

She laughed. “Well it’s over now, thank God. We can get back to living.”

“Yara Lisey,” I said.

And then the doorbell rang with our food and I stood up to put my robe on. I was happy, so happy; the way you feel when you realize that out of the billions of people on the planet you’ve found your one.

She didn’t stick around long enough to change her name.