That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [97]
"What's giving you that anticipatory look?" he asked as they walked down the aisle, past their smiling—or happily crying—family members.
"Thinking about tonight," she admitted, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "You're going to die when you see my wedding nightgown."
He stopped. Came to a dead stop in the aisle, and turned to face her. "Tell me it's the peach silk," he growled.
She gave him a nod, and a tiny, wicked grin, at which point her new groom pulled her into his arms. Ignoring everything—location and audience—he caught her mouth in a hot wet kiss that screamed of his driving need and incredible want. And his love.
By the time they pulled apart … by the time she could think again … she realized the entire congregation had burst into a round of spontaneous applause and cheers. They were still cheering as the newlyweds left the church and dashed to the horse-drawn carriage waiting for them at the end of the walk.
As they rode together, cuddling on the velvet-covered bench, Rachel had to laugh at the joy of it—the beauty of the sunny day, the profusion of flowers lining the walk, and the well-wishes of everyone they passed. Chicago loved weddings. Even the drivers on the busy streets who were interrupted by the carriage didn't seem to mind so much as they clip-clopped down
Taylor Avenue
.
"I'm so glad we decided to have the reception at the restaurant," she murmured.
"That made my parents very happy, too," he admitted. "My father thinks French food is fit only for dogs."
Laughing, she hugged his arm close. "I love your father. I love your whole family."
"They love you too. Almost as much as I do."
They arrived at the restaurant and were greeted by well-wishers who lined the street and filled the entranceway. As they alighted from the carriage, a few of Luke's Italian relatives tossed colorful pieces of candy at them, startling her.
"More candy-covered almonds, called confetti," he explained. "They represent the bitter and the sweet parts of marriage and are meant to bring happiness."
As long as they didn't bring stains to her beautiful gown, or put anyone's eye out, that was fine with Rachel.
Inside, they were immediately overwhelmed by the flowers, the people, and lord, the food. Luke's parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all taken turns in the kitchen in the preceding days and the tables overflowed with every Italian dish imaginable. As well as a few southern ones Mrs. Santori had sneaked in, in honor of Rachel. The sight of Grandmother Santori sampling grits was one of the highlights of the afternoon.
It seemed that every time she turned around, someone else was lifting a glass, shouting, "Per cent'anni!" which, Luke had explained, blessed them for a hundred years.
A hundred years. Didn't sound long enough to live with the incredible man who hadn't left her side all day. But it would do for a start.
In all, their wedding was a great success, in spite of the fact that Luke's great aunt Leila was a kleptomaniac who kept stealing trays full of Italian cookies and sneaking them out to her car. Mark and Nick, the twins—so tall, dark and handsome they made Rachel's girlfriends turn into flirtatious southern belles—got retrieval duty and stole back the stolen cookies.
Luke's uncle Johnny kept pinching the rear ends of all the ladies in attendance, including Rachel's aunt Ginny who, truth be told, didn't seem to mind so much.
Meg scared them all with a few false labor pains. Tony and Gloria's oldest son decided he didn't like being ring bearer if he didn't get to keep the pretty gold ring. Rudy Martinelli began to weep when he asked Rachel for a dance, then thanked her for indulging an old man's whim by wearing the dress.
They ate. They drank. They danced. Rachel kept opening her white satin bag—a "borsa" Luke's mother called it when she'd presented it as a gift last week. And people kept right on stuffing money inside.
Finally, late in the evening when she was dancing with one of Luke's great-uncles, who