Sarah - The Wedding
Sarah
I will always remember my wedding reception, not for the toasts, the cake, or the food, but because it was the moment I realized my marriage was doomed.
It was the moment I knew my husband would never love me.
People came in to congratulate us, flashing teeth in polite smiles, offering blessings, none of which would be answered given what they did for a living. But behind the warmth, I could see it. The looks. The careful avoidances. The sympathy.
His family, especially, looked at me like they already knew.
At first, I thought it was pity. That they felt sorry for me because I was the Irish girl—the princess—being shipped off to live among Italians, sworn enemies.
Maybe they worried I wouldn’t be safe. That I was stepping into something dangerous, something uncertain. And maybe they were right.
But the truth? The truth was so much worse.
The whispers started soft. I didn’t catch words at first, just tone, curious, hushed, careful. His name. Hers.
And then I noticed it. The way my husband looked at her.
Not me. Her. His brother’s wife.
It was subtle, but I saw it, the flicker in his eyes when she laughed, the way his shoulders stiffened when she walked past, the way his smile, the only real one I saw that night was for her.
Everything started to click into place.
Why he couldn’t look at me. Why he recoiled at my touch. Why he stood at the altar like it was his execution.
Because it wasn’t just that he didn’t love me. It was that he loved someone else.
And not just someone else, his brother’s wife.
And now I was tied to him forever. In name, in vow, in Mafia law.
Till death do us part.
As the party wound down, I was given a few minutes to say goodbye to my family.
Cullen and I were spending the night at the hotel before heading off on our so-called honeymoon.
My father couldn’t look me in the eye. He hugged me just once, but it lingered like he was holding onto something that had already slipped through his fingers. I couldn't remember the last time he'd held me like that. I might’ve been a baby.
Then he took my hand, kissed it softly, and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away. No explanations. No second glances. Just gone. It felt a lot like a goodbye...
I was left standing there with my brothers if I could even call them that. We had nothing in common. We only thing we shared was blood and space, and barely that.
There was nothing to say. So I just said,
“I guess I’ll see you around.” to lighten the atmosphere.
My second brother scoffed. “Not in your dreams. The only way you’re getting out of this side of the country is in a body bag.”
And then he left like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
My older brother stayed a moment longer. I don’t know what I was hoping for, maybe a crumb of kindness, a crack in the ice... but whatever it was, I didn’t get it.
He just turned and walked out after him. And there I was, standing alone. Watching them leave. Watching them bounce, like I was nothing.
And the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the absence of it.
I didn’t feel anything. Just empty.
I don’t know how long I stood there, just staring at nothing.
The people I was watching had long left...probably the building, maybe even the hotel altogether.
But I wasn’t alone. The room was still full of people celebrating, laughing, drinking, dancing. The music played, the lights twinkled, the voices rose.
And yet, somehow, it felt quiet.
Dark. Empty. Like I was the only one here.
Then, out of nowhere, a pair of warm arms gently rested on my shoulders. Tender. Familiar, almost.
It had to be a woman’s touch. I turned, and standing there was Cullen’s mother, Mrs. Cincinnati.
“Mrs. Cincinnati,” I said, startled, trying to pull myself back into the moment, trying to mask everything I was feeling.
She smiled at me softly, kindly.
“Oh, I’m your mother now,” she said with a warmth I wasn’t expecting. “We’re family. Just call me mom, all my kids do.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She tilted her head slightly, her expression gentle but with something.... almost like understanding.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
Her eyes searched mine, and in them, I saw something that made my chest ache. Sympathy. Sadness.
“I know it’s hard leaving your family,” she said quietly. “It was hard for me, too, when I left mine. But I know it’s even harder for you, going all the way to the other side of the country. With no one there. No familiar faces. No one from your world.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to hold my voice steady. “I’m okay.”
I wasn’t. But I had to be. I had to look strong. Because I couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not in front of anyone.
She smiled, but it wasn’t just any smile, it was knowing. The kind of smile that made me feel like she saw right through me.
Then she gently took my hand.
“I was told your mother passed when you were very young.”
I swallowed hard.
“She died while giving birth to me,” I said quietly. “I never met her.”
“I’m so sorry, darling.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I didn’t know her.”
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
She looked at me for a long moment, as if she wanted to say more, but before she could, someone passing by called out a congratulations, complimenting her on hosting such a beautiful wedding.
And just like that, when she turned back to me, her face had shifted, no longer soft and maternal, but composed, purposeful.
“Now,” she began, her tone more brisk, “in a few minutes, you and Cullen will be leaving the venue. There’s a tradition....kind of a send-off, really, where people follow the couple to their room for the night, shouting... suggestive remarks.”
I widened my eyes. What the hell?
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