The Day
Cross POV
The reflection in the tall, stand-up mirror was a familiar sight, and yet, somehow new, too. It certainly wasn’t the first time that Cross had seen himself in a tux. He’d worn a bowtie before.
And yet, none of this was the same at all.
It was his wedding day, after all. His one and only wedding day. There would never be another day like this one in his lifetime.
Not when he was marrying his childhood love. Catherine had always been the girl of his fucking dreams.
Cross intended to soak in every moment of this day that he possibly could. He couldn’t wait to marry Catherine, but he also didn’t want to rush the day, either. Not if that meant he might miss something.
He had been waiting for this day for far longer than he could even remember. It was finally time to enjoy what this day actually meant.
Always.
It meant always.
Cross tugged up the sleeve of his jacket, and checked his watch. A new gold Rolex with diamonds on the tips of the minute and second hands. A gift—for his wedding—from his sister and her husband.
They knew his tastes well.
The time said he only had a short while left before he needed to go downstairs, and take his spot. The knock on the door of the private room drew Cross’s attention away from the time and his reflection in the mirror.
“Yeah, it’s open,” Cross said.
His mother and father slipped into the room, and quickly closed the door behind them. He still heard the murmurings of those who were gathered outside waiting for him to finally come out. Their family and friends, and probably some of Catherine’s people, too.
His mother gave him a brilliant smile, while his father whistled low.
“Look at you,” Calisto said.
Cross chuckled. “You say that like I don’t look good every day, or something.”
His father grinned. “You and that arrogance, son.”
“Wouldn’t be me without it.”
Emma’s laughter colored up the room. “No, it definitely would not be you, my boy.”
Calisto stepped aside to let his wife come closer to their son. Emma’s outstretched—warm and familiar—hands cupped Cross’s cheeks. Her hands that had never hurt him, and only showered him with love throughout his life.
He adored his mother.
“How did the dress reveal go at the Astoria?” she asked.
“Amazing.”
Emma beamed. “Yes?”
“Yeah, Ma.” Cross shrugged. “She’s so beautiful. Blew my damn mind.”
“Really?”
Cross laughed. “I might have cried a little.”
Emma stroked his smiling cheeks with her thumbs, and her gaze glistened with unshed tears. “I hope you know that we’re all so happy for you. We are all so proud of you, Cross.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you do look quite handsome.”
Cross pulled his mother closer, and kissed Emma’s forehead. He felt her soften at the action, and her fingertips patted his cheeks. Their silent I love yous.
“How ready are you for this day?” his mother asked.
“Beyond ready.”
“That’s the only answer I want to hear.” Emma let him go, and reached for her clutch Calisto held. “I have something for you—for good luck.”
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”
Emma waved a hand high. “It’s a silly little thing, really.”
“Well, thanks, Emmy,” Calisto grumbled.
She looked back at her husband, but just as quickly, her gaze came back to Cross. “A silly little thing that means the absolute world to me. Call it my good luck charm, I guess.”
His mother pulled out a small poker chip from the clutch, and handed it over. Cross eyed the chip, and ran his fingertip across the embossed letters on top. Then, he squeezed it tight in his palm to keep it safe.
He didn’t need details about it, where it came from, or why his mother wanted him to have it. Just the fact that she had given it to him—and on his wedding day, no less—was more than enough for him to cherish it.
It had been hers.
That alone made it special.
“Thanks, Ma.”
Emma patted his cheek once more. “Our wild child—I always knew you were going to be amazing, Cross. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Emma gave him one more smile and kiss, said her goodbye, and then left him alone in the room with his father. Calisto came close enough to slap Cross on the shoulder, and waved at the two chairs resting beneath a large painting.
“Sit with me?” Calisto asked.
Cross did, and the two stayed quiet like that for a few moments. He didn’t mind the silence. Not when it came to his father. Some of his most fondest memories with Calisto were moments just like this one.
Finally, Cross said, “Thank you, Papa.”
Calisto glanced over at him. “For what, my boy?”
“A lot of things.”
“Try me.”
“Being mine—my father. For doing the wrong thing with Ma all those years ago when doing the right thing probably would have been a hell of a lot easier. For making me who I am, and for loving me despite of it. Thank you.”
Calisto simply stared at Cross for a long while, saying nothing. He didn’t mind that, either. He had needed to say those things—to make sure his father knew what was inside his heart because he didn’t often express it well otherwise.
“You are everything that I ever did right, Cross,” Calisto said, “even when it was wrong.”
“Yeah, I know that, now.”
“I’m glad this cycle of lies in our family and in our bloodline ends with you. I was never very proud to carry this name—Donati. It only reminded me of pain.”
“And now?”
Calisto smiled. “Well, now …”
“Hmm?”
“Now, it reminds me of us—of your mother, of you and of your sister. You all have given me every reason to be proud of our name, and not ashamed. And today, we get to add another Donati to the mix.”
Yes.
Catherine, that was.
Catherine Donati.