Chapter 8 - The Wedding Dress
I made my own wedding dress.
My father insisted.
Noah wanted to buy me something extravagant.
I refused.
"This shop made my mother's wedding dress."
He touched the fabric.
"Then this is where ours should be made."
For weeks, the shop became our little world.
My father measured me.
Noah wasn't allowed inside.
He complained constantly.
"I don't understand why I'm banned from my own fiancée's shop."
"Because you'll see the dress."
"I can pretend I didn't."
"You have a terrible poker face."
He laughed.
The wedding was small.
Family.
Close friends.
A few trusted members of Noah's organization.
Paulie cried before the ceremony.
I saw him.
He denied it.
"No tears."
"Your face is wet."
"Humidity."
I laughed.
Then the doors opened.
Noah stood at the altar.
His eyes filled immediately.
I had never seen him look at anyone that way.
Like the entire room had disappeared.
I walked toward him.
He whispered:
"You look beautiful."
"You've seen the dress."
"I saw the dress."
His voice broke.
"I hadn't seen you wearing it."
We exchanged vows.
Noah's was simple.
"I spent my life believing I had to control everything."
He looked at me.
"Then you taught me love isn't control."
He took my hands.
"It's trust."
I cried.
We kissed.
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And for the first time, Noah Moretti was no longer the feared mafia capo.
He was simply my husband.
