Alessandro Capitani stepped toward me.
We met in the glow.
I blinked up at him. He grinned at me.
“Angel eyes,” he whispered.
Papà took my hand and placed it in Corrado’s, and after papà told the church he would be giving this woman to this man, we walked together, footsteps in sync, meeting Padre Greco at the altar.
The service was in Italian, and Corrado had practiced his vows. He spoke them perfectly, each word understood, each word loud enough that the entire congregation heard his promises.
“Io, Corrado Alessandro Capitani, prendo te, Alcina Maria Parisi, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita.”
I did the same.
“Io, Alcina Maria Parisi, prendo te, Corrado Alessandro Capitani, come mio sposo e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita.”
Before Padre Greco announced us as husband and wife, Corrado cleared his throat. “Ho trovato qualcosa per cui vale la pena morire.”
I stared at him, the amber in the air moving around him like smoke, and cleared my throat. “Ho vissuto per te, anche quando non sapevo che esistessi.”
I have found something worth dying for.
I lived for you, even when I didn't know you existed.
Padre Greco announced us as husband and wife. Then he told Corrado that he may kiss his bride.
Mio marito—my husband—placed his hands on each side of my face, his touch warm and firm, his thumbs skimming the corner of my mouth, and leaning in, he kissed me in heaven, creating something sacred between the two of us.
The air was still hot as we walked arm-in-arm toward my grandparents’ casa. Famiglia and amici followed behind us—their laughter and animated conversations reflecting all that I felt.
I had never seen the look Corrado wore on his face before. “What are you thinking?” I whispered as he helped me down a particularly steep slope of road. Our village twisted and turned with the shape of the terrain, molded by the hands of it.
“Many things,” he said, the light hitting his eyes and turning the hard amber into dark honey. “But they all revolve around one central point. You. I miei occhi d'angelo.” My angel eyes.
I smiled at him, and he kissed me. Rowdy applause broke us apart but did not steal the smile from my face. Nothing could. I laughed against his mouth and continued to laugh throughout the entire evening.
We had only had a few days to plan, but what we did in those days turned out to be spectacular. Like the dress, I wanted a sense of tradition mixed in with a dash of modernity. Our roots and our extending branches. Where Corrado and I had come from and where we were headed. Twenty-four hours that would stand the test of time.
Our reception was held at my grandparents’ casa, but it was usually traditional for the reception to be held on the street where the bride lives. Since we needed more space than what my parents’ casa had, and my grandparents’ place was in a more rural area, we decided to have it there.
Mamma along with numerous members of our famiglia came together and cooked their famous ragù to serve with pasta. Tables were lined with homemade cookies and liquor. Two of my uncles played the mandolin and the fisarmonica. Some guests had already started to dance.
A small stage had been built in the yard, but no one would tell me what it was for. The backdrop was the mountains and sea in the distance.
Papà had enlisted the help of Corrado and some of the other men to string hundreds of lights from the trees. The entire yard glowed as the sun sank into the horizon. The hundreds of candles I had brought from Bronte flickered from the centers of every table, adding to the light and softening the moonflowers woven between. I had made each and every candle by hand during my darkest hours. Now they created a light for all to see me by.
I did not care about all. I only cared about him.
He was talking with Uncle Tito and Nicodemo, and I had been having a conversation with his nonna, who had traveled from New York with a few other members of his famiglia to attend our wedding. Perhaps he felt my eyes on him, calling to him in a language only the two