Page 99 of No Vow Broken

“You know him?” I asked Slash.

“Si, this is Marco Detti, an acquaintance of mine from the Vatican. Apparently, he’s now the official Vatican photographer.”

Marco approached me and without taking his eyes from my face, lifted my hand to his lips before kissing it. “It’s my sincere pleasure to meet you,” he said in accented English. “I finally can meet the woman who has captured this devil’s heart.” Then, to my surprise, he lifted his camera and took a quick snap of Slash and me.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. “We aren’t even dressed yet.”

He grinned and said something to Slash in Italian. To my astonishment, Slash actually blushed.

I looked between the two men. “What’s going on?

Marco chuckled. “Pardon me, but I took your picture for my baby sister, Emmalina, who dated your husband-to-be years ago. Unfortunately, she hasn’t completely gotten over him. She made me promise I’d send a photo of the two of you so she’d know for sure he’s no longer on the market, as you Americans say.”

I looked at Slash, who gave me a sheepish smile but didn’t deny it. Shaking my head, I linked arms with him.

“Come on,Romeo, let’s go inside.” Arm in arm, we strolled into St. Michael’s together.

FIFTY-TWO

Lexi

Slash headed to one side of the church, where the men’s dressing room was located, while I followed Mom to the women’s room. It was a small room with wooden beams on the walls and ceiling, a small table with two chairs, a large oval mirror, and a lumpy couch with a flowered cloth cover. Rose was already there waiting for us, her camera out and several attachments laid out neatly on a table.

“Wait. You’re going to take pictures of us getting dressed?” I asked her.

“I’d like to take some photos of the dress on the hanger, the veil, maybe some artful photos of you once you are dressed or half-dressed with your mother helping you. Whatever you’d like and however comfortable you are posing.”

I wasn’t comfortable with posing at all, and the thought of a stranger snapping photos while I took off and put on my clothes made me shudder. Mom seemed to sense my discomfort, because she put a hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s get the dress and veil out of the garment bag and let her photograph that,” she said. “Then, once we’re dressed, we’ll have Rose take a few photos of us together and maybe me adjusting your bodice and veil. Would that work?”

“That would work,” I confirmed.

We wrestled the dress and veil out of the bag, and Rose hung it carefully on a hook protruding on the wall. She took at least a hundred photos of the veil, the dress, and the veil and dress together. She took some photos of my ring, the dressing room without us in it and assorted other angles. At some point, she lightly touched the veil lightly.

“Are these bullet holes?” she asked curiously.

“There’s a story behind that,” I said, but Mom interrupted me.

“A story we don’t have time for now,” she said firmly. “We need to get you dressed.”

Rose snapped a few more photos and left the room. Mom closed the door behind her and turned to face me. “I’m getting you dressed first, and then I’ll get ready.” She put a hand on my shoulder looking me in the eyes. “You know, I’ve dreamed of this day all my life and it’s finally here. My little girl is all grown-up and getting married.”

“Well, technically, I’m already married, but I know what you mean.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she gave me a big squeeze of a hug. “Oh, Lexi. I’m so happy for you.”

I awkwardly hugged her back. “I’m happy, too. Thanks, Mom. I couldn’t have done this without you. I really mean that.”

I slipped out of my clothes and into a light-blue silk robe Mom handed me. I’d never seen it before. It glided over my skin like water. I tied the belt at my waist.

“This is nice. Who does it belong to?”

“You,” Mom said. “It’s a wedding present from me. Now sit down in front of the mirror and let me do your hair.”

I sat without complaint, and Mom started to brush. The last time I remembered her doing my hair, I was a kid, crying and complaining because I had to be a pink flower in a ballet recital. Once onstage, I had crashed into the little boy who was playing the watering can, knocking him off the stage and sending him to the hospital with a broken wrist. I hadn’t done much ballet after that, and Mom had given up trying to get me to sit still to get my hair done. But things had now come full circle as I’d gone from child to adult.

These thoughts ran through my head as we heard a helicopter getting closer.

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