Sarah- Church Kiss
I can’t tell you much about my wedding day.
It was a blur of emotions, nerves, fear… and suppressed anger. But beneath it all, there was still that tiny, stubborn thing inside me. The one that wanted to make my dad proud. The one that wanted to make my family proud.
It was crazy.
One minute I was waking up, the next people were rushing in and out of my room—doing my makeup, adjusting my dress, telling me to sit still, to smile, to breathe.
“Look at yourself in the mirror,” they said.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t see myself. Not really. I don’t even remember what I looked like on my wedding day.
Then I was being ushered down the staircase of the mansion—the same place I once thought of as a castle. My castle. My home. Where I was the princess for almost twenty years of my life.
And now I was walking down those stairs… probably for the last time.
And there was my father, standing at the bottom, hand extended toward me, eyes shimmering, voice thick as he told me how beautiful I looked.
He looked like he was about to cry. But then he cleared his throat, gave me a quick
“Give me a second,” and disappeared into his office.
When he returned, the tears were gone. He was composed again, strong. The way I had always seen him. He came closer, hands trembling as he fastened a necklace around my neck.
“This belonged to your mother,” he whispered. Almost like the words hurt to speak. “She would have wanted you to have it.”
That’s when I nearly broke.
Tears threatened to spill, and my throat tightened with emotion. But my father reminded me gently but firmly, that I had to stay composed. That I had to be strong.
“Because you’re doing something brave,” he said.
And so I held it together. Barely. Thank God for waterproof mascara.
Then he helped me into the car, and we drove to the church in silence. As we waited for the doors to open, I took one last shaky breath.
Then we walked in. And I walked toward the man who, in a matter of minutes, would become my husband.
Probably.
Definitely. Until death.
Here’s the first thing I noticed about my wedding day as I walked down the aisle... Everyone had a reaction.
People were in awe. Some gasped. Cameras flashed, smiles spread, and others looked visibly pissed off to be there. I swear, even the priest had a moment. His eyes widened just slightly, like oh wow, the bride has entered.
You know who didn’t react? My soon-to-be husband.
The man I was about to bind my life to didn’t even turn around as I walked toward him. Not a glance. Not a twitch. Nothing.
And when we reached him, when it was time for my father to hand me over, the awkwardness was evident.
He hesitated. Struggled even. Like someone had to press a button just to get him to move. He finally turned toward me, took my hand, shook my father’s like it was a job interview, and then gently but robotically, pulled me toward the altar.
He wasn’t ugly. That was probably the only positive in this whole set-up. Fine, he was kind of Handsome.
He had this boyish look about him. Soft features. Kind of the type you'd see on a boy band album cover. Charmingly sad and a little too clean-cut to be mafia.
I wasn’t used to that. I grew up around sharp suits, cold eyes, and the kind of presence that made entire rooms shift. Cyrus had that. My brothers had that. My father had that.
But this guy?
He looked young. Maybe just a few years older than me. And that boyishness threw me off.
His eyes? They were sad. He didn’t want to be here. That much was clear.
I didn’t know whether to take that as a good thing or a warning.
But hey, the night was still young. I guess I’d figure it out as the day went on.
And then the wedding ceremony happened.
I didn’t even have time to continue my investigation, no stolen glances. Just a blur of prayers and tradition until we reached the moment that truly mattered: the vows and the rings.
Let me tell you something....this man hadn’t made a single eye contact with me. Not even a polite glance.
He didn’t smile when he recited his vows. He sounded like someone who had just crawled out of a desert, dry, hoarse like the words were scraping against his throat. Like they were choking him.
And when he took the ring and slid it onto my finger, it wasn’t gentle. It was almost like he wanted to break it.
I had to swallow the pain, clench my jaw, and blink away the sting just so I wouldn’t flinch. I couldn’t react. I couldn’t risk causing a scandal at my own wedding. Not when people's lives depended on it.
When it was my turn, I touched his hand to slip the ring on, and I swear I felt him shudder. It was subtle, but it was there.
Like my touch startled him. Like it was unwelcome, unholy, even. He withdrew his hand so fast, that I felt humiliated.
And so, I did the only thing I could. I looked away. I searched for comfort in any face other than the man who was now my husband.
I didn't understand. I was angry too, sure, but I wasn’t aiming my anger at him. Why was he being so... cruel?
And that’s when my eyes landed on him. The man I was supposed to initially marry.
Cyrus Cincinnati.
And at that exact moment, the priest announced:
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr and Mrs Cyrus Cincinnati.”
And in the Mafia? That means for life.
As the priest said, "You may now kiss the bride," I was frozen by his statement.
I was prepared for this, not really prepared to marry the man in front of me, but I was prepared for this wedding. I knew there was a time when the priest was going to ask us to kiss, but I wasn't expecting to kiss my now husband.
I was expecting to kiss his brother. And when I got into this church, I forgot about it. And based on the way this man has been treating me, I am so scared for this part.
And here's what Cyrus does. He picks my hand, even though I know it's a struggle for him, raises it in the air, and just says,
"Yeah, we did it!" His voice has this cheer that I never expected from his voice, given the way it sounded when he was reciting his vows.
A few people in the crowd including his brother, start cheering, clapping, standing, and everybody joins in.
It was so awkward, but everybody pretended like it was nothing. He pulled me out of the church, people clapping and cheering, going out of the church, taking pictures...
How the hell did that happen?
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