Page 132 of Merciless Monster

“I swear I could see the beads of sweat from where I was sitting in the first pew.”

“You should have seen how his fingers trembled when he took the ring. I was sure he would drop it,” Dante laughs.

Dante, Angelo, and I are in the car, on our way to the reception.

“So, what did you think of the ceremony, son?”

“It was so long,” he sighs.

“Forty-five minutes isn’t that long, sweetheart,” I interject.

“It felt like forever,” Angelo says again.

“Don’t worry, my boy. All that’s left for you to do now is play and eat,” Dante chuckles. “You look very handsome today. I saw a few of the girls checking you out.”

“No they weren't!” he insists, with a great amount of disgust at such a vile thought.

Dante and I laugh heartily at our son’s expression. He even throws in a few eyerolls to drive home his point.

“You look so beautiful, Mia,” Dante coos. “Don’t you think your mom looks stunning, Angelo?”

“Yes, Mom looks very pretty.”

“Thank you, my boys.”

The car comes to a stop.

“Okay, Angelo. Hold my hand until we’re inside the venue, please.”

“Ah, Mom! I’m not a baby.”

“Listen to your mother, Angelo,” Dante says in a stern voice.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Dante and I are very careful with Angelo after the kidnapping incident. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to remember anything other than the excellent strawberry flavored ice cream he ate that knocked him out. I’m so relieved about that and so is his father, who is still struggling to forgive himself for the chaos he introduced into our lives.

The reception hall is stunning, with an outside lawn area that leads onto a private beach. White marquees, white tables, bright flowers, food, a live band—postcard perfection.

“Your family sure knows how to throw a party.”

“That we do. How about a glass of champagne to wet your whistle?”

“You read my mind.”

“Okay, sweetheart. You can go play now,” I tell Angelo after I take off his jacket and I’m happy that he’s safe.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says and rushed off.

The happy couple is surrounded by well wishers, all shoving envelopes into a bad Lisa’s holding. It’s an old Italian custom that is alive and well in these parts of Italy. The wedding guests bless the newlyweds with cash. Some give lavishly, some generously, and some as they can afford to; but everybody gives. It’s considered an insult not to give.

“Ciao, bella.”

“Oh, hello, Mrs. De Luca.”

“Basta! Call me Mamma.”

“Sorry, I will. The food smells delicious, Mamma. You did an amazing job.”

---