Chapter 10 - The Last Page of the Old Book
The private chapel of the Bellandi mansion was small, warm, and filled with the scent of beeswax and fresh white roses. The marble Madonna looked down from her niche, her stone eyes soft under the light of thirty candles that had been lit by Enzo at dawn.
There were no reporters from the society pages. There were no city councilmen or developers from the North Shore.
There was only Arthur Grace, who had come up from McMinnville in his best wool suit, his hands still smelling of cedar and filbert soil. There was Beth, who had driven from Portland with Jonah in his little navy sweater, and there were the triplets.
Leo was standing near the altar, holding a silver tray with two rings worked in black gold and platinum. Nico was beside him, his green quilt folded neatly over his arm like a uniform, and Mia was busy trying to arrange the train of my dress so it formed a perfect circle on the limestone floor.
"You look like a real queen today, Evelyn," Mia whispered, her little fingers smoothing the dark blue silk. "Not an invisible one."
"Thank you, sweetie," I said, looking down at her wild curls.
Dante Bellandi stood before the priest, his gray eyes completely clear of the ice that had lived there for six years. He had removed his leather gloves for the first time since I had entered his gates. His hands were large, covered in the white scars of his history, but they were steady as he reached out to take mine.
"Evelyn," he said. His voice wasn't the voice of the Don who had torn down the Crane garage or threatened the police captain. It was the voice of the man who had sat under the green quilt with me while the storm was screaming outside. "I do not offer you a clean house. I do not offer you a life without a scene. I offer you a wall. I offer you three children who already belong to you, and a name that will never shrink to fit a smaller room."
"I don't want a clean house, Dante," I said, my fingers closing around his rough hands. "I want the mud. I want the ferns. I want the noise."
May you like
The priest raised his silver crucifix, his Latin words falling over the quiet chapel like rain on dry stone. When he told Dante he could kiss his bride, the triplets didn't look away. They didn't giggle or push each other.
Leo stepped forward and handed his father the ring. Nico tapped his silver spoon once against the altar rail—not in fear, but in a small, rhythmic declaration of victory. Mia simply reached up and hooked her little arm around my knee, her weight solid and warm against my silk skirt.
