Two months later …
JOHN LAUGHED AS the men crowded him into a hotel room. His father followed in behind his uncles, cousin, and grandfather with baby Tiffany on his hip.
“Come on,” John said, “I am sure I can fucking dress myself, now.”
“We have to make sure you don’t run,” Giovanni joked.
“And we have to have at least one drink before you head down,” Andino added.
He gave his cousin a look. “I’m not drinking.”
Dante gave John a light slap to his cheek as he passed. “One drink will not hurt you—we’ll make it a beer.”
Fine.
A beer he could do.
“Here,” Andino said, throwing the garment bag at John.
“Christ, that’s a four-thousand dollar Armani suit. Be easy, Andi.”
Andino pointed a finger at his cousin. “Get your ass dressed.”
Lucian gestured at the attached bathroom. “Get ready in there. We’ll be waiting when you’re done.”
The rest of them were already done up, and waiting on him. Frankly, they had kept him running and on his feet from the moment he woke up to a splash of cold water being dumped on his face that morning.
Fucking Andino.
“I hope you all did this to Andi on his wedding day, too,” John threw over his shoulder.
“Nope,” someone called back.
“Assholes.”
He shut their laughter out by closing the bathroom door. Finally, he had some kind of silence for the first time all day.
John stood there and soaked it in.
Soon, nothing would be quiet.
A room full of guests.
A dinner.
A party after.
It was a lot of stimulation, and probably the only thing about this whole day that had really concerned John. Still, anticipation curled heavily in his gut, mixing with the lingering longing that hadn’t left him since he knew he loved Siena.
He was getting married to the love of his life today.
Nothing else mattered.
• • •
“All right, I’m fucking dressed,” John said as he left the bathroom.
Surprisingly, only his father and Andino were left in the room. Well, and little baby Tiffany sleeping over her grandfather’s shoulder.
“Where did everybody go?” John asked.
“To get the drinks,” Andino said, flashing him a grin. Coming close to John, his cousin pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “You look good, man.”
“I better.”
Andino laughed. “Don’t pump that ego up too big, huh?”
“Too late.”
“It’s a Marcello thing.”
That was the excuse they all used.
Nothing ever changed.
“I have to go grab something from Haven, but I’ll be back,” Andino told him.
John nodded. “Sure, man.”
Once Andino was gone from the room, John took a seat beside his father. Lucian gave him a small smile all the while patting his granddaughter’s bottom in a rhythmic fashion to keep her asleep.
Things with Cella weren’t necessarily better, but they weren’t horrible, either. At least, his sister could stand to be in the same room with him, and didn’t make it her second job to glare at him. She was still grieving, though, and so John opted to keep his distance.
Time would heal wounds.
After all, time had healed his wounds.
Well, time and Siena.
“You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?” Lucian asked quietly.
John nodded. “I know, Dad.”
He reached over and stroked the sleeping baby’s cheek.
“She’s precious,” Lucian said. “I thought very little would compare to when my children were born, but let me say, grandchildren are something else entirely. I look forward to having more, and soon.”
His father gave him a pointed look.
John rolled his eyes. “Not even trying to be sly.”
“I have moved beyond that stage in my life. It doesn’t get me what I want.”
“Children are not on the table for a while.”
Lucian frowned. “Why not?”
John shrugged, but didn’t offer any information as to how much the thought of children terrified him to his core. He still struggled with the idea of passing on a life that sometimes felt like a punishment, rather than simply a difference.
“Ah,” Lucian said like he could read John’s mind.
John cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“You still think about that genetics test we did years ago, don’t you?”
“And the information you found about Lina.”
Lina being his father’s biological mother.
Lucian cleared his throat. “And yet, despite the fact she was bipolar, all I remember about my mother is how beautiful, loving, and wonderful she was, John.”
“Perhaps your perspective is colored by the fact she died when you were like seven, or something.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think it matters, either.” Lucian smiled faintly again. “You should never—ever—be afraid to have a child just like you, son. You were an amazing boy who grew into an incredible man. You were perfect—more like me than your mother, but with just enough of Jordyn to color you up. You made your mother and I better people, John. You made us better parents. We learned to stop and take account of ourselves, and of others. We learned not to be ignorant in our thoughts and feelings about things people suffer with, and often suffer in silence.”
Lucian shrugged, adding, “You were, and still are, one of our greatest gifts. And if anything I have ever done makes you afraid to be a father, then I am sorry.”
“You are the best father.”
“Who still makes mistakes sometimes,” Lucian said.
“That’s what humans do.”
It had just taken him a long time to realize that.
“Please don’t be afraid to have a child like you, John. Don’t ever be afraid to become a better man because of it, either.”
• • •
John stood at the end of the makeshift aisle. Silk and tulle and bushels of white and pink flowers covered the place in light colors, and floral scents. Guests had already filled the fifty or so white chairs set up—their ceremony was small, but their party would be massive.
Siena liked the harp, so a woman dressed in purple played one in the corner. An ordained minister waited behind John and Andino, ready to begin whenever those doors at the back opened.
They could have had this ceremony in a church, as would have been better for la famiglia, but John refused to wait. He would not spend time on useless couple’s counseling when he already knew what he wanted for the rest of his life.
He didn’t need a priest to confirm it.
Siena was his.
And he was hers.
Andino’s hand clapped John on the shoulder. “You ready?”
John nodded.
Sweet Jesus.
He had been ready for his whole life. It just took three decades to finally meet her. Because that’s what Siena was to him—his life.
“Yeah,” John said.
Andino nodded to someone in the back, and the waiting man stepped up to the doors. He swung them open, and took a step back to get out of the way.
There, waiting, was Siena.
In her A-line, ivory lace wedding dress that swept the floor, and trailed behind her with a four foot train. Her veil kept her face hidden, but not quite enough. He could still see the way her painted red lips curved with love when his gaze landed on hers.
She was beautiful.
So perfect.
He was going to spend the rest of his life loving this woman, and making sure she knew it every second of every single fucking day of their lives.
She had been his catalyst.
She had been his saving grace.
She was his everything.
Loving her forever was the least he could do.
“Your turn,” Andino said.
Yeah, it was his turn.
He promised, after all.
She wouldn’t walk alone.
John made his way down the aisle in a quick stroll. Siena stayed still at the very end, waiting for him.
He probably should have waited until the end of the ceremony to do what he did.
It was the custom.
Tradition.
John didn’t care about any of those things. The second he met her at the end, he bunched her veil up, flipped it back, and kissed her hard.
Laughter lit up the room.
Siena’s smile curved against his.
“I love you,” he told her.
“I love you, John.”
“Are you ready?”
Siena nodded. “I have been ready.”
They turned to face the now-standing guests.
A future was waiting.
Finally.