That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [95]
"I'll have to send domeafavor.com a thank you note," she said.
He squeezed her tighter. "You're bad."
"I know. But I'm also very thankful Maria got a wake-up call. Even if she thought it was one from the Twilight Zone."
"Yeah. She saw all those eyes and the guilt was just too much. She's been involved with this guy for a couple of months, but was too scared of her father's reaction to tell the truth. Apparently he's not only non-Italian, he's also Jewish and has been divorced."
Thinking of the hell she'd put all of them through, he was angrier about Maria's silence than anything else. The thought that she'd fallen in love with someone else didn't bother him a bit—because he'd done the same thing.
Shrugging, he added, "That's why she's been such a witch to be around lately. She decided to try to get me to break the engagement by being as horrible as possible."
"She succeeded," Rachel said, her tone dry. "We started calling her the Nazi bride."
"My brothers told me last night they'd been calling her the Bride of Chuckie. Mark couldn't stand her, which was why he's kept his distance lately."
She tilted her head back and feigned innocence. "Does that make you Chuckie?"
"No, I think that makes Dr. Schwartz Chuckie. I'm lucky."
She rolled her eyes, even as she shook with laughter. "That was pretty lame. You're no poet." Then she added, "But you know what? We're both lucky."
They remained silent for a moment, absorbing everything. Their past, their future. The present, wrapped in one another's arms, naked, exposed, with their feelings laid bare.
And finally she put him out of his misery.
"The answer is yes, Luke. I will marry you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"YOU'RE SURE it's all right with you that I'm not Catholic? And not Italian?" Rachel asked, nibbling her lip as she shared one last moment in the back of the church with Mr. Santori before the older gentleman walked her down the aisle. "I know how much that means to your family."
The elder Anthony Santori patted her hand and shook his head. "Don' you worry. My nephew, Father Frank, he's coming to the reception later to bless the union. You don' have to be married in the Catholic church to be blessed by it." Then he shrugged, his brown eyes—so much like Luke's—twinkling. "And as for not being Italian? Well … nobody's perfect."
So Rachel was walked down the aisle with laughter on her lips. Her new family all around. And a song in her heart.
The only thing that could have made these slow—but joyful—steps up the aisle better would have been if her own father could have been here escorting her. But Luke's father was a kind, loving substitute and as they neared the altar, he leaned close to whisper, "Welcome to the family, little one. Your mama and papa, they are watching and are so very proud."
She had tears in her eyes as she stepped up to stand beside her groom. He gave her a quizzical look, and she flashed him a dazzling smile telling him her tears had been happy ones.
The wedding took place at a lovely, non-denominational chapel on the grounds of a local university. Because they were getting married only two weeks to the day after Lucas had proposed to her, there had been no time for Rachel to take the required classes to be married in the Roman Catholic Church. But Luke didn't mind, and his family didn't seem to, either.
That had been a pleasant surprise. His family had been absolutely wonderful. Not with one word or a single look had anyone made her feel less than … bridal … during the past two weeks. If they wondered just what had gone on between her and Luke while he'd been engaged to another woman, well, they were courteous enough not to ask.
"I love you, Rachel Grant," Lucas whispered as he took her arm. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world, because of the love in his eyes, and the happiness of their friends and family, who filled the small chapel to overflowing.
Rachel's closest