One good thing about Europe: it never takes long to find a priest.
And certainly never takes long to find one that’s willing to take a bribe.
The whole thing takes probably an hour, maybe two, to arrange. I’m not quite ready to tell Elio yet, so I call around, working my contacts until I find a space that will take us on short notice. It’s expensive, sure, but with the amount of buildings that need to be preserved and the waning state of Catholicism in Europe, once money’s on the table, the priest agrees to meet us in an hour.
The sun is just breaking over the tops of the mountains when I bundle her into the car, our bags already there.
The road rolls away underneath the tires, and I feel like I need to do something. Say something. But every time I open my mouth to ask more than a surface-level question, nothing comes out.
I have truly no idea what to say to her.
Far too quickly, we arrive at the destination. I peer over the dashboard, squinting at the tiny building in front of us, nestled in a small alpine valley that would be picturesque if we weren’t here to get married and get on out of here.
It’s nice. The building is tiny. I snort.
Roisin and I are going to be married in a chapel that’s somewhere around a billion years old. I don’t know, actually, and I don’t care, because as we sit and stare at it, I’m not thinking of the stones around us.
I’m only thinking of her.
She hasn’t said much since we left the cabin. Just kind of perfunctory stuff. This morning when she got dressed, she put on the only dress in the bags that I packed for her. It’s a sundress, a light green color that looks nice with her hair and her skin, with a flared skirt and a tighter bodice that pushes up her breasts.
Distracted, I don’t notice that her hands are shaking until we’re almost at the door of the little chapel.
I pause. “Are you okay?” I ask. She might be fucking cold. I mean of course she is. I’m an idiot. It’s fucking winter up here. The wind is still icy, and I hastily shrug off my coat and put it on her shoulders.
There, that should do it.
Roisin gives me a tight smile. “Fine.”
Pointedly, I look down at her hands, because they’re still shaking like crazy.
Clearly she notices my stare. With some hesitation, she curls her fingers under her palms. “Well they don’t exactly say that having a wedding day is a walk in the park,” she mutters defensively.
Fuck. Of course this is about the whole wedding thing. Clearly, she’s been thinking about it all morning, and I was too focused to tell. “They say that, but they also say everyone gets cold feet on their wedding day.”
“Yeah,” she offers lamely.
I can tell she’s trying to walk it off, but I’m not sure why. She agreed to this. She said it was a good idea. I suck in a breath. “Roisin…”
“I’m fine, Marco. I just… she huffs.”
I pause.
Roisin’s eyes look down. “Look, it’s just a lot. It’s rushed. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… different. I don’t even have flowers or anything.”
Fuck.
I know I saw something, which felt impossible because there’s literally snow on the ground. While spring might be touching the other areas of the world, here in the Italian Alps, there’s still snow everywhere.
Tracing back our steps, I see them. There. Impossibly small flowers that are pushing up under the crust of snow in a sunny area.
“Probably some kind of fucking protected flower,” I mutter. It is on the grounds of this monastery that feels ancient, so it’s entirely possible.
Still, I reach beneath the crust of the snow and pull up enough to be a small handful.
I hop back across the snow, my feet fucking freezing because of the moisture from the snow. I hand Roisin the flowers. “Here,” I mutter.
She blinks. “How did you…”
“Saw them on the way in.”
“Snowdrops,” she murmurs.
Her hand touches mine as she pulls the little clutch of flowers to her chest.
I raise my eyebrow. “Is that what they’re called?”
“Yeah. They’re the first things that bloom in the winter. Up here, anyway. We don’t have them in Ireland, since it doesn’t snow there quite as often, but yeah. Snowdrops.”
“Well. Snowdrops. That’s what they are,” I say, watching to see Roisin’s reaction.
Her shoulders relax, slightly.
It’s not quite the reaction that I’m hoping for. I want her to be okay. I want her to feel good about this, about us.
But she doesn’t.
This is to protect her.
It’s a silent reminder of what’s important to remember right now, but looking at Roisin’s face, it doesn’t help me feel any better.
I did this to her.
I’m the one who decided that we needed to get married.
So you can keep her safe.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m keeping her safe right now. Right now, it looks like I’m the only one causing her pain.
Guilt floods me.
“Roisin…”
“Let’s just get this over with, yeah?” she says. I watch as her eyes seem to shutter, and she looks at the door to the chapel.
I want to stop her. Hold her hand. Keep her back with me.
But as soon as I reach for her, she’s already pushing the door open and walking inside.
I clench my fist, pulling it tightly against my thigh.
Let’s just get this over with.
I don’t want to be something that Roisin “gets over with”.
The circumstances aren’t ideal, sure.
But as I watch her move into the chapel, greeting the truly ancient looking man inside, I can’t help but feel a deep, unsettling feeling. I’m enraged, with myself.
Why not me? Why doesn’t Roisin want to marry me?
Upset, I follow her into the church.
Roisin doesn’t want me. I’m forcing her into this.
Maybe the only protection she needs isn’t from anyone…
Except me.
The whole ceremony takes less than thirty minutes.
Probably.
I’m sweating bullets, and it’s the longest thirty minutes of my life. All I can think about is Roisin.
Is she happy? Is she okay? I want to look over at her, but the priest keeps droning on and on in Italian, and I know I’m not supposed to look over at her…
Finally, the priest wraps up. He stares at the two of us, and then says in Italian, “You can kiss your bride, young man.”
I freeze.
Roisin looks up at me. “What’d he say?”
“He… we’re done,” I grunt.
The priest gives me an eyebrow raise, but I quickly grab Roisin’s hand. “We’re done,” I grunt.
She makes a noise, but follows me out of the little chapel.
I tug her over the stones and shove her back into the car. I can’t help it; I feel like a fucking caveman right now. I overwhelmingly want to bring Roisin back to a house and fuck her senseless.
I start up the car, the Land Rover roaring to life as I practically burn the tires screaming out of the small gravel parking lot.
“What the hell was that?” Roisin says, barking at me.
“He was being creepy.”
“What did he say?”
I squeeze the wheel. “He told me to kiss you.”
Roisin’s jaw drops. “Like, as in kiss the bride? The totally normal, regular thing that people say to newlyweds basically every single time?”
The leather of the car steering wheel squeaks under my fingers as I grind down on it.
“You’re kidding, Marco. Seriously? That’s what he said?”
“He was a fucking creep.”
She rolls her eyes. “Jaysus Christ, Marco—”
I jerk the wheel of the car, making Roisin squeak. There’s not a lot of space on these tiny mountain roads, but I manage to pull over into a little space tucked up against the side of the rocky face, the gravel spraying from under our tires as I do.
Roisin screeches. “What in the—”
I cut her off, my lips covering hers as I silence her.
The kiss isn’t soft, and it isn’t easy. It’s full of all my frustration, and the confusion, and the deep anguish I feel every time I think about what I’ve done to Roisin. What I’ve brought on her.
What I’ve fucked up, and I’m now worried I can’t ever fix.
What I want.
I know it’s not right. She might not want this. Hell, I probably just ruined her whole life.
But I don’t fucking care.
Under my lips, she’s stiff, and I hate it. I hate that she might hate me.
When I want her so damn badly, I can’t fucking stand it.
I scoot my hand around to the back of her neck, gripping her tightly, twining her beautiful hair in my fingers as I tug gently. Roisin gasps, and I take the opportunity to explore her mouth.
I’m so fucking sorry.
I want you so fucking bad…
She moans, and my world lights on fire.
Roisin kissing me back changes everything. The hunger roaring inside me softens, turning into something less violent.
But no less hungry.
Her fingers trace the outline of my jaw, trailing down my chest. I love how strong she is, how capable and tough she is.
And even though I know it’s completely illogical, all I want to do is protect her from every fucking asshole with a gun that wants to hurt her.
I break the kiss, moving along the side of her face, kissing and licking until I find the place where her neck meets her shoulders. I bite, gently, rewarded by a little moan from her that makes me go harder than the fucking granite around us.
“Marco…”
Something loud screams by. A truck, a bus, I don’t fucking know.
It’s enough to snap me out of my frenzied state.
I lean back, panting, staring at Roisin. Her eyes are wide, and I can see a red mark forming at her neck.
It gives me an insane amount of satisfaction to know that I marked her.
She parts her lips, swollen red from our kiss. “Why?”
“Why what?” I growl.
“You didn’t want to kiss me in the church.”
The worry in her eyes makes my stomach churn, but I put my hand up, gently cupping the side of her cheek.
Warily, she looks at me before leaning into my hand for just a fraction of a second.
“Every time I kiss you, Roisin, I don’t want to stop,” I whisper. The truth feels painful to let go, but her eyes snapping to mine encourage me to keep going.
I gently run my thumb over her lips.
“Every time I kiss you, I want more. I want to fuck you senseless, until you’re screaming my name, and every fucking time it’s not the right time,” I practically growl.
Her cheeks flush red, and I’m reminded that when she blushes, it spreads down her neck in a very, very sexy way.
“So no,” I grit out. “I didn’t want that old fucking man there. I don’t want to kiss you in a car on the side of the road, or in a hot spring. I want you where I can have you, and until you name the time and place, I can’t fucking kiss you like I want to. Because if I do, I won’t ever be able to stop.”
I drop my hand, the truth hanging uncomfortably in the car. I pull back out, following the road as we drive back toward the little cabin that I rented.
Roisin hasn’t said anything. Part of me paces like a fucking dog in a cage, worried that I said too much.
Most of me though?
Is relieved.
The truth is out there. She has it now.
And I don’t want to take it back.
