Page 39 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“Interesting, isn’t it?”
I turn around to find a couple of women with graying-blonde hair smiling at me.
“Shame they commercialized it. Not as easy as turning up with a wedding ring and a bunch of flowers these days.”
They must be visitors too; their accents are English.
“Can’t people get married here now?” I ask.
“Oh, they can, but you need paperwork.”
“Kind of defeats the object of an impromptu wedding if you have to plan it in advance.” Her friend rolls her eyes and introduces herself as Kay.
“I got married here.” The slightly shorter woman, Tracy, leans in close, sharing the information in a conspiratorial whisper. “First time around anyway.” She chuckles and coughs at the same time, covering her mouth with a handkerchief.
“Did you run away to get married?” I don’t know these women, but I’m already invested.
“She had to.” Kay elbows her arm and winks at me.
I wait for Tracy to elaborate as the meaning behind the elbow-nudge slowly dawns on me, making my face grow hot. “Oh…” I don’t know what else to say.
But if they notice my embarrassment, it doesn’t show.
Before I can apologize for asking too many questions, Eoghan comes in and snakes an arm around my waist, nuzzling my neck.
Their faces light up when they realize that I’m not here alone, reading other people’s love stories and imagining my own happy-ever-after.
“Excellent.” Eoghan greets them with his dazzling smile, and I see a faint flush spread across their faces. “Ready, ladies?”
“Ooh, an Irish accent,” Kay says. “I’ve always had a soft spot for an Irish accent.”
“Shame you didn’t find one to marry.” Tracy has a wicked twinkle in her eye.
“Are we ready for what?” I peer up at Eoghan, who avoids meeting my eyes.
Instead, he slips his hand into mine, locking our fingers, and guides me towards the exit. “This way,” he says to the two women over his shoulder.
I don’t look around, but I hear their footsteps following us.He has that effect on people; they don’t seem to be able to refuse him.
We walk around the building and stop outside a black door with thick metal hinges.
“Do you trust me?” Eoghan asks again, and I nod.
“This is so exciting,” Kay whispers to her friend, loudly enough for me to hear. “Nothing like my wedding. I was still trying to find a way out of it when I got here.”
My pulse is racing, and my heart is beating frantically as I step inside first.
It’s a small room, draped in white voile and littered with creamy-white votive candles on tall metal stands. In the center of the room is a blacksmith’s anvil on a tree stump; the sign on it reads:Old smith marriage anvil.
A woman wearing a black skirt-suit gestures for me and Eoghan to stand in front of her, and I oblige, my crazy heartbeats making me feel queasy.
When I raise my eyes to meet Eoghan’s, a sense of serenity settles inside me. This is everything I want. After today, we’ll never have to be apart again.
“I do.”
I know it’s out of context, but I want Eoghan to know that, yes, I want to marry him. I don’t care about flowers and rings and vintage dresses. I don’t care about buying sexy lingerie for our honeymoon or having a big party where our families get paralytic drunk and make themselves look silly on the dance floor. I don’t even care that our witnesses are two complete strangers whose names will now be forever etched inside my mind.
“I love you,” I mouth to Eoghan.
