…Seven months later
“N
ah,” Nick shook
his head as he looked over the lavish cream-colored yacht, beyond at the water that spun and shot away from the side of the thing as it moved along the breakers and whitecaps. “This was all Taryn’s idea,” he explained to Captain O’Sullivan who stood by his side, gripping the railing.
“Del Rio yachts…” The guy shook his head, then sighed as if he’d had an exhausting day. He looked to his left and then to his right, seemingly taken aback. “This must’ve cost a pretty damn penny! This is nice!” The man held his shot glass up in a silent toast, then placed it to his lips. “Well, you’re getting married… and she’s well out of your league,” he teased.
“She is!” Nick laughed. “Don’t tell her that though. Somehow I convinced her I was some sorta great catch.”
“She should throw you back in the river. I said it once and I’ll say it again—you’re a lucky son of a bitch! Nick ‘Pretty-Boy’ Vitale is getting married!” he cheered.
“It’s my wedding day, Captain! You can’t cut me a break with the whole ‘Pretty-Boy’, routine?! Over the years, you’ve had other people calling me that crap and it stuck! The whole damn city called me that, and it’s all your fault!” He threw up his hands, then thought better of it as the boat caught a sizeable wave and dipped to the left.
“I don’t give uh shit if it’s your bar mitzvah, christening, or alien abduction, you’ll always be ‘Pretty-Boy’ Vitale in my book!”
“Oh, really?” Nick winced and sucked his teeth in annoyance.
“Really.” The man laughed, then took another swallow of his drink.
“I paid for that there apple martini or whatever the hell it is. I oughtta slap it out your hand.” Nick joked—well, half joked as he eyed the thing.
He was met with soft laughter and a rolling of the eyes.
“I want that as my wedding gift, okay?”
“What?” The man lifted a brow to match his sardonic tone. “You want what as a wedding gift, an apple martini poured in a damn shot glass? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” The man chuckled loudly, really getting under his skin.
Nick twisted up his lips like a bow tie. “No, I want you to stop all of that as my gift. Look, whatever you may have bought Taryn and me, set on the gift table at the hotel—take it back. I want you to stop callin’ me Pretty-Boy, alright? You’ve been doing it since I was in the academy!” He tried to sound angry, to show just how much he disapproved, but he was too damn happy to even let the veiled insult bring him down. “It’s like callin’ a guy that joined the army a maggot. I’ve earned my dues.”
“Oh look, Mr. Big Shot has a complaint, huh? You don’t get that as your wedding gift,” the captain said sternly. “If you look over to your left, you’ll see all the fucks I give!”
Nick abruptly turned away, hiding a grin.
“You don’t tell me what to get you. You’ll always be Pretty-Boy Vitale today, tomorrow, and the next damn day.” The big bastard stomped away, no doubt proud of himself.
Huffing, Nick checked the time on his wristwatch. He felt itchy in the black, fitted tuxedo, a custom design from that damn Jules fucker. He had to admit though that he looked nice; hell, expertly demonstrating clothing excellence, as his baby would say. Just then, Taryn’s mother approached him, her hair pulled back to show her natural born elegance. Wearing a sky blue gown that draped over her body just so, she touched his shoulder and looked into his eyes, a serious expression on her face.
“I’m so happy for you and my daughter. We love you, Nick.” And just like that, she kissed his cheek and walked away, swallowed by the lively crowd, before he could respond with something endearing and heartfelt, or even ask her to wait while he threw some crafty words together.
He looked out at the sea of people and noticed his brother-in-law who was chatting it up with a couple of ladies. To his right stood Mr. Jones with a big smile on his face, holding a glass of something that resembled champagne. As if feeling his eyes upon him, the older man slowly turned and looked his way, held his flute glass up high in the air, and gave an approving nod. Nick smiled back and waved, then continued to observe the scene.
There he was amongst fellow officers, his friends, all huddled close as the boat rocked from side to side. He was certain he was going to get seasick, lose his breakfast right there over the side of the damn thing, cause a disgusting display on the most important day of his life. He’d been on ferries all his damn life; he also used to love to swim in the summertime whenever he got the chance. But his gut did a number on him, screaming at him things were getting serious—he was settling down, and he should be alarmed at such a notion. He’d be a married man in less than thirty minutes, so no more horsing around and desire to play the field. And though the thought of it all attempted to overwhelm him, it did no such thing, despite how his prehistoric tuning tried to convince him otherwise. No, he stood content in the knowledge that this was it, and he embraced the feeling…
For he desired no other woman.
His bride-to-be had gone incognito, not even answering his calls in the past day, ignoring him as if he were some jealous ex-lover that couldn’t catch a hint. She’d already warned him she had a lot to do to prepare for their special day and didn’t want to be distracted. He hated her for it… for he wanted her near him the previous evening, her exposed skin against his own, comforting and soothing, as he lay deep inside of her love. Taryn had made an honest man of him, and for the first time in his adult life, he never wanted an additional woman in the mix. His thoughts were so consumed with her, the thought of another warm body in his bed did
nothing
for him but leave him cold and unmoved.
Only she will do… No one else can compare.
She’d captured and captivated him and from the moment they caught icy, white flurries on the tips of their tongues in a contest to the frigid death. At that moment, he’d known his heart was gone, taken, stolen. The
true
thief of the relationship had been revealed. And she wore heels…
She had him. It was a motherfucking trap and a wrap, and he happily stayed behind bars.
Just then, music began to play in the distance—the soft, beautiful harmonies of Michael Bublé, singing ‘Everything’. The guests moseyed on to their seats after enjoying the magnificent panoramic view of the alluring city of New York. Just then, the tangerine-colored sun begun to set in the dusky lavender skies. A soft breeze blew, forcing strands of his hair to block part of his vision, his sight clouded by waving threads of hair. He swiped at them, brushed them back with a curl of his fingers, then stood with his hands crossed over his stomach. He cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter, not completely certain what to do with himself as his patience quickly wore thin. Standing there, he waited…wished. So in love.
The minister approached, tapped his shoulder, then flipped through his worn, dark brown bound Bible and placed his index finger along the lines of scripture.
In deep thought, Nick faced away from him, staring down at the white floor as the waves splashed and sloshed against the boat. His eardrums took in the music of the river beating against the vessel, so crisp and clear, as though it came from a seashell placed to his ear. He tried to stay serious and dignified so as not to make himself a fool among these people, but he couldn’t help grinning and feeling like he’d grown twenty feet tall in spirit.
I remember the first time I looked at you, Taryn, the first time I saw you. I was fresh out of detox, but high all over again, overdosing on your beauty. The way you walk… it’s like your limbs are liquid, and you’re just going with the flow of nature.
Your confidence… you look like you have your shit together even when you’re scared to death—chin always held high, looking regal and elegant, like a black swan with a golden crown…
The way you speak…
You say things succinctly, honestly, yet in a beautiful and abstract manner all at once. At the same time, your words have edge; New York is inside of you, through and through…
The way you sit, move and lie… It’s like you’re dancing with each sway of your extremities…
Your scent… so sweet like freshly bloomed flowers, so feminine and natural. I can’t really describe it, but if I could, the best thing I could say is, you smell fresh, uninhibited, and free…and I can’t get enough of you…
Yes, she was freedom. She was a ticket out. Inside of the rehab center, Taryn had become the thick, smoggy air and the shoreline breeze, the tall, gray buildings clawing at the sky, and the bright yellow taxis stalling bumper to bumper on 5
th
street. She was all the shit he swore he hated until it was gone, far from his vision, and beyond his desperate reach. All the things he wished he could have, but didn’t muster the courage to imagine… She was everything, and then
everything
times two…
I won… I got the girl! She’s mine…
His chest rose up and down against the fabric of his jacket while he sucked in air, the coolness tickling his teeth from a smile that refused to be banished. He tried to compose himself as the obsessive thoughts attempted to get cozy within his mind.
I feel like some lovesick chump!
When laughter finally burst free, fresh tears streamed down his face while he looked up and around, avoiding eye contact with anyone looking in his general direction. But it proved too late; his fickle emotions told on him, for he soon felt a tender touch on his back. He looked over his shoulder and took note of the minister, giving him a warm smile and a sliver of comfort as he endured the moment. The sounds of the water grew louder, crashing, matching the tempo of his racing heart. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t make it go away, for his eyes were soon competing with the waves until his face was soaking wet, just like the roaring waters around him.
Ahhh shit, I’m fallin’ apart here…
The tears started to blur his vision. He swiped at his face, but it was no use. Like a torrential rain, an internal storm, the monster poured out of him, groaning and dying… The damn thing was no longer content to stay within him. The seating had been rearranged and the creature comforts were null and void.
He was
too
in love; his heart had been made hostile, not fit for any demons to dwell in.
…And then, there she was.
Dressed in a simple eggshell white gown, her head covered with a thick hood, and a teardrop shaped crystal bindi dangling between her brows. Several of her friends surrounded her, dressed in shimmery sky blue gowns, fussing over her as if she were fragile petal presented to him in the manner of a judiciously wrapped gift of distinction.
…And the sight of her
did
make him feel like a fucking king.
Two of her friends, statuesque women with pleasant smiles, pulled her hood slowly back, revealing her cropped hair and causing the crystal adornment to come into full view. The ladies moved towards the front and stood close to him as her father walked her up the aisle to him. The man nodded towards Nick, offering a pleasant, sincere smile, and a pat on the shoulder. Taryn had made it perfectly clear she did not wish to be ‘given away.’ She told the minister that she was giving
herself
away to her husband, and that was that. The man retook his seat while the ladies once again surrounded his bride.
Vicki reached in front of her, adjusting Taryn’s gown just so. His woman’s tresses moved him, the black waves lustrous, alluring, sexy, reminding him of the surface of the water they sailed upon. Lust and love merged inside of him, creating the perfect cocktail.
Shit, baby… you’re beautiful! I’m going to fuck the shit outta you after our reception…have you screaming, creaming and clawing at my back all night long…
He smirked at his seedy deliberations while her spirit ascended upon him like the sun after a hard, turbulent rain. He held her hands as they faced one another and he studied her, wishing he could read her damn mind. He needed to touch her, keep her as close as could be. A slight dewiness covered her cheeks, and her succulent lips, lush with a hint of neutral gloss were begging him to kiss her. He swallowed harshly, resisting the urge to do just that, and squeezed her fingers, praying he’d stop shaking. His heart sang song after song as she smiled up at him.
It’s just me and you against the world, baby…
“You look like a walking dream,” he whispered, causing her to chuckle lightly and cast him a wink.
“You don’t look so bad yourself…” she flirted, filling him with joy.
He turned towards the minister, ready to get down to the nitty gritty…
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, in the presence of these witnesses, to join Nicholas Raymundo Vitale and Taryn Bailey Jones in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace…”
“I dare you!” Nick looked around the area, his face twisted up, itching for a fight. The entire audience erupted in laughter. Feeling a bit foolish after the outburst, he had to laugh at himself.
“You are crazy.” Taryn snickered as she tightened her grip on his hands.
“Yeah… crazy about
you
,” he cooed, causing the woman’s cheek to warm with color.
The minister continued on, until it was time to present their rings to one another.
“Please repeat after me…this ring is a token of my love. I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am…”
Nick examined her for a second or two, then recited the words, “This ring, Taryn, is a token of my love.” He slid the thick, platinum wedding band on her finger. “I marry you with this ring, with all that I have, and all that I am.”