Stori
EVERY TIME I think of the grotto and what those few hours were like, a wave of pleasure rolls over me and crashes into my nether regions. It’s not the most appropriate thing to be reliving my latest sexual escapade while watching Zarah being photographed in her beautiful bridal gown.
She chose a dress that perfectly reflects her style. Showcasing her slim build, it lets what’s unique about her shine. It’s sleeveless and skims her body, with an extended train. A collar rises from a V-neck, and lifts stiffly up the nape of her neck framing her dramatic silver hair. Large pearl and diamond earrings display beautifully against the fabric. She looks just like a bride would want, not like anyone else
Nona, Cosima, and Nonna surround her and it’s no surprise they’ve taken to their newest family member. They’re making sure to get all the pictures they want. Even Caroline is getting in the spirit. I on the other hand feel like I’m in a movie where they blur the background and slow the film speed. I sit twirling my bouquet and smiling like an idiot
. Only my own thoughts are getting through. I can’t help it. My teenage self still lives inside me, and she’s getting butterflies thinking of her boyfriend. Why does he have this effect on me? I mean other than his sexy face, chiseled body, and big cock. I sit on the edge of a velvet chair, so I don’t crease my ice-blue gown. But I’m not here in this lovely room. I’m back in the grotto.
What I’m feeling is beyond the physical. It’s the intangible. It’s not exaggeration to say some part of his soul is in my own and has been since the beginning. I’d buried the memory of how that felt.
And it’s a revelation to suddenly see the limitations of what my life has been without him. I thought it was perfect. Now it’s perfectly clear it was not. I didn’t know that I was missing the center piece of the puzzle.
Everything’s changed.
Yesterday I almost uttered the three words you can’t ever take back.
I love you.
Just the idea I came that close scares me. You don’t say it while somebody’s fucking you. Maybe later after you’ve heard it said quietly, but not the first time you share your feelings. I think it’s too important a moment to mix with passion. It needs to stand on its own.
As women, we’re told to let the man say it first. Maybe. Sounds sexist to me. I’m not much for following rules. Yet, I’d have to agree I want it to happen that way, need to hear him say it before I do. That seems right.
But what do I know about the subject? I’ve never said those words to anyone. I wanted to say them to Oliver, but never got the chance. It was only after I had left school that I said it in a letter. A letter that I thought was never answered. He said he wrote me love letters too. Ironic that we may have had it right all along. As soon as the word “we” pops into my mind I see the flaw in my thinking. He’s not the one who almost declared his love yesterday. That was me.
And how does this change my life’s direction? I know myself, and my goals would never change. He’d never ask it of me and I wouldn’t want him if he did. If I’m right about his way of thinking, he’s proud of my accomplishments. Both of us are passionate about our careers. I’ve worked hard to achieve what I have. Now that I’m on the verge of buying the property, my foundation for life is almost set in stone. It’s never been about the money. That I already have. It’s all about my capability to secure a stable future. Maybe then I can relax a bit, enjoy the fruits of my labor. Like my father is always telling me, make room for love and everything that comes with it. The only thing I’ll have to watch out for is wanting to spend 99% of my time playing with Oliver, and 1% attending to business. It seems love can alter your definition of a successful life.
“Stori! Snap out of it! Come take a picture with us.” Zarah calls.
How embarrassing. I’m certain the other women think I’m the worst maid of honor ever to attend to her bride. I rise and move beside her.
“Sorry! I was just going over in my mind the instructions from the rehearsal. When I take your bouquet. You know, the details.”
Zarah isn’t buying my lame excuse. She knows me like a book. A big fat horny novel.
“Yeah, it’s really complicated.” She says with a straight face. “Come on, Caroline, I need my sister-in-law!”
Caroline joins us as we pose for the photographer. Leaning over she whispers, “Are you suffering from green grotto fever?”
I answer her with a guilty grin and my diagnosis. “I’ve got it bad. And how did you hear?”
“You’re not the first to go green,” Caroline says.
“Good one!” Zarah laughs.
The photographer gestures to us to move closer together and says about twenty more words than necessary, in Italian. As we lean in and plaster happy smiles on our faces Caroline elaborates.
“He told us at the rehearsal. Luca tried to get the details, but Oliver wouldn’t say a word.”
“That’s a dead giveaway,” Zarah says. “He loves you.”
It’s a remarkable thing when just a few words thrill you. Those did it for me. The camera flashes. He directs us with another soliloquy and Caroline translates.
“He wants us all by the window.”
As we move to the light, I have time my follow up question.
“What makes you think he loves me? Maybe he’s just being a gentleman. He’s a little too old to be bragging to his homies.”
Caroline speaks low, so the other women can’t hear.
“The way he looks at you, and more importantly how he never looks at other women. And then there’s the chronic hard on he has whenever you’re in the room.”
When I look at her she says, “What? I can’t help it I saw it twice!”
We all start laughing, and the photographer captures the moment between friends.
“Fig was right. He called it months ago,” Zarah adds.
I come to my senses. “Why are we talking about this right now? Enough. It’s about your love story today,” I say. “Did you hear you’re getting married?”
She gets this excited look on her face that reminds me of when she was very young. She purses her lips together like she’s holding back the joy that’s about to burst from inside her.
“I’m really happy for you, my friend,” I say hugging her gently, being very careful not to mar the perfection of her dress, makeup, or hair.
“Love you,” she says taking my hands in hers.
“Love you back, honey.”
She turns to Caroline and brings a hand to her shoulder.
“And I think I could learn to love you too, beautiful. Even though you have a stick up your ass once in a while.”
Caroline finds her new sister-in-law’s straight shooting funny. And she liked being called beautiful. “Turns out I like you a lot more than I originally planned as well,” she says with a pointed look. And that’s about the oddest and most real version of bonding I’ve ever witnessed.
It’s a relatively small group of family and friends waiting downstairs to witness the nuptials. The bride and groom requested the invitations be kept to a manageable hundred and fifty. That’s what will fit in The Vault, the outdoor dining area under a high stone archway, where the dinner will be served.
Her in-laws were agreeable to everything she and Fig proposed, especially the limited guest list. Their business connections alone would be in the hundreds. Probably more. Even the Dragoni extended family would exceed the number. So only those closest to Fig made the cut.
As an only child of a single deceased parent, Zarah’s list consisted of one. Me. She has other friends and family she loves, but to ask someone to shoulder the cost of this destination wedding was out of the question. Her aunt in New York is giving a reception for the bride and groom when they return from the honeymoon.
“Are we ready?” Cosima asks. “I think it’s time.”
Zarah nods and looks around at our faces showing the excitement we feel. The moment is rich with anticipation. I see it in every expression. This is it.
The late afternoon sun is putting on quite a show. It shimmers on top of the water, making you think of sparkling diamonds cast across the sea. The sky’s painted in hues of pink and scarlet with an orange streak separating the two. The effect couldn’t have been better if it was ordered.
Fig and Zarah stand at an altar, before a priest, under a rose draped arch. Fig looks so handsome, and happier than I’ve ever seen him.
But it’s Oliver who has my attention. Not only is he wearing the hell out of that tuxedo, but he just winked at me when the priest said, “Love is like a river, being called to the sea. Somehow it finds its way over rocks and detours until it becomes part of a greater thing.” Be still my heart.
When they’re pronounced husband and wife, a swell of joy rises from the crowd and rains down on the bride and groom. For their first married kiss, Fig takes more than the expected three seconds. He gives his wife a good one, then bends her back in his arms for the finale. Zarah matches his enthusiasm with her own. And when he returns her to an upright position, she slaps him playfully on the ass. The crowd responds with their approval, and even Father Mancuso nods in agreement while eyebrows lift to the heavens. I hand Zarah back her bouquet and watch as the newlyweds face their guests.
The quartet begins to play “Here, There, and Everywhere”. The two female violinists, the male cellist and viola player all dressed in formal wear. They sound like you’d see them on a grander stage. That’s how good they are.
Fig and Zarah lead the procession away from the altar, down the aisle and onto the open space. The flower laden tiled veranda is the first stop post ceremony. Luca and Caroline are next. Oliver offers his arm, and we follow our friends. The four of us are the first to congratulate the newlyweds. It takes no time at all for the guests to leave their seats and surround the bride and groom. Oliver and I step back to make room for the well-wishers.
He wraps an arm around my waist, and leaning in to my ear he whispers, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”
I look up at the face I love.
“I want to be beautiful for you. Just you.” I declare my intentions.
Then we’re unceremoniously interrupted by some friendly relatives, who want to meet Fig and Luca’s friends. Damn their good sense and kind nature. For the next hour or so we mingle. Champagne and hors devours are passed around. Zarah and Fig, and to an equal extent Luca and Caroline, are lost in a sea of Italian relatives and friends. The sound level rises with every conversation until it almost drowns out the quartets selections.
“Come on,” Oliver says taking my hand and leading me away from the crowd.
He guides me up a tier into the surrounding gardens. There’s a small patio where the quartet performs above the reception. He says something in the cellist’s ear, then takes me in his arms for a slow dance in a corner where no one can see us. We fit together, his body and mine, and dancing is our ideal medium. As he holds my right hand against his chest I can feel his heartbeat.
“What did you request?” I say as the musicians come to the end of the song.
“Something to fall in love to.”
He says it not with a smile, but with a look of intent. Did a lark just start singing? I hear the first notes of “When A Man Loves A Woman”, and the pure deep voice of the cellist singing. Oh. Perfection.
“This’ll do it,” I say.
There’s his smile.
“Your eyes are stealing all my words,” he says.
Holding me close he moves me around the space with a kind of easy grace. It’s tender. His body so close to mine, it takes no effort to follow his lead. Good at everything. That should be his tagline. Gliding together in perfect harmony, I’ve never been happier than I am now. As the song comes to its final few lyrics and I wrap my arms around his neck, he gets a serious look on his face.
“Would it scare you if I said I love you?”
“It would scare me if you didn’t,” I answer.
“I love you, Stori,” he says looking deeply into my eyes. “I can’t keep it inside any longer.”
I feel my soul rise with his words. Just as I’m about to respond, we’re interrupted by the sound of Luca’s footsteps and his voice. Damn it!!
“Lovebirds, you must return to the nest. We’re going in to dinner.”
He parts the foliage between the trees and sticks his head in for comic effect. Reading the look on our faces, he knows the mistake in his timing.
“Sorry. You’ll have to pick up where you left off after dinner. Come on. Oliver, we have to give our toast. If you don’t come my father will no doubt blame me.”
He turns and leaves the way he came. Before we follow, I stop Oliver and whisper the words I want him to hear.
“I love you too, Oliver. I love you, I love you.”
“Well, now you waited too long to respond. I’m taking mine back,” he teases.
I grab him by the front of his shirt, pull him close, and give him a stern warning. “No take backs! You love me.”
The Vault is the most magnificent romantic setting. Two long tables under the carved stone archway hold the entire one hundred and fifty people. Spectacular Venetian glass chandeliers run the length of the table, hanging from the high ceilings. The flowers, oh the flowers. Arrangements of all white peonies and lilies, hydrangeas and roses, spill from tall vases that dot the tables.
I think I died and went to heaven. Not because of this perfect spot on Earth, but because he told me he loved me. That moment is still with me. I feel the indescribable current that’s running between us. It’s separate from the sexual, apart from the physical. The acknowledgment of our love has brought it to the surface where no doubt lives. We’ve barely let go of each other’s hands since it was said. A hundred looks have passed between us, and I don’t give a damn who detects it.
My attention is diverted, by the tapping of a knife against a crystal flute. Luca rises.
“Mi familia, y compadres. Family and friends. We’re here to toast this beautiful couple. I will make mine in Italian, and Figaro’s ‘other best man’ will do his in English.”
The crowd laughs at his use of air quotes. He begins. Although Oliver and I and even the bride can’t speak the language, we all three can tell whatever he’s saying is from the heart. Almost immediately he gets teary. He touches his brothers shoulder, and blows a kiss to Zarah. It seems like he’s good at speaking without notes, because people are laughing, even his father.
Then everyone gets weepy. It makes Zarah and I mist up, even though we don’t know what’s being said. It’s watching the faces of everyone here. I can tell Luca is well loved, just by the expressions. As he wipes his tears away, he extends a hand towards his mother and father and says something that makes Santi and Cosima cry. They both nod their heads in agreement of some loving declaration.
Fig rises and takes his brother in a warm embrace. Luca kisses him on the lips, and the guests roar their approval with applause and whistles. Cosima blows her sons kiss after kiss.
Before he sits down, Luca turns to Oliver. “Follow that, my friend.”
The people laugh. Oliver rises.
“I don’t even know what was said, brother. You could have been reciting the ingredients for manicotti.”
More laughter. He’s got the crowd now. I’m sort of surprised he looks so at ease. He’s not a man of many words, he’s more of a listener. But I can tell he’s relaxed and full of love for his friend, and that’s what makes a good speaker.
“For those who don’t know me, I’m Oliver. Fig and I met in high school when we were Freshman. He invited the whole class to his home for a party and we bonded over a shot of the most expensive wine in his father’s liquor cabinet. That’s how young we were. We thought we’d take a shot of it. Sorry for that, Santi.”
The crowd laughs as Santi throws his hands in the air. Fig and Zarah are loving the moment, their faces bright with joy.
“I think that was the last time I saw Fig do anything wrong. Just one small sin. He calls Luca and I his best men. But he’s probably the best man here. He’s one of the good guys, and that’s not always such an easy job. He’s a good brother and a good son. I’m one hundred percent certain he’s going to make a good husband. I like that he’s true to his character, which is honest and steady. But he also likes to have fun. And that’s going to serve him well being married to this one.”
The people laugh when he pitches a thumb in Zarah’s direction.
“He knows who he is and what he wants. He wanted Zarah. Said he knew the moment he saw her in Italy. I believe the heart knows when the search is over. I’m really happy that magic happened for Fig. I met Zarah in grammar school, knew her in high school, but hadn’t seen her for seventeen years until a few months ago when she and Fig invited me to dinner. She’s a hell of a woman, who I’m proud to call a friend. You’ll all be glad to know Fig ended up with the person who will cherish him as much as we do. And if you can believe it, just a little more. So, here’s to you my friends, and to your love.”
He raises his glass and we follow. I see the bride and groom wiping their tears. So am I. God, I love that man.