Chapter 9 - The Vows at the Cathedral
The Cathedral of St. Jude was built in 1890, a massive Gothic structure of dark granite, stained glass, and soaring stone arches that dominated the city’s historic district.
On Friday afternoon, the street outside was lined with sixty black cars, two television news vans, and thirty private security guards keeping the curious crowd behind silver barricades.
Inside, the cathedral was quiet, lit by two thousand flickering white candles.
Simone stood in the dressing room near the altar, staring at her reflection in the full-length gilded mirror.
The dress was not like Deline’s. There was no white satin, no heavy hoops, no synthetic lace.
It was made of heavy silk, pale cream, with a long, sweeping train that fell from her shoulders like liquid marble. The neckline was high, clean, and elegant, paired with long lace sleeves that covered her arms completely, ending in neat cuffs that hid the small pink scar on her right palm.
Her hair was styled in a low, classical chignon, held in place by a simple diamond comb that had belonged to Julian’s grandmother.
The door opened softly.
Walter Bellamy was pushed into the room by Nurse Clara.
He was wearing a custom dark tuxedo, his hair trimmed, his face shaved smooth. He looked twenty years younger than he had on the night of Deline’s wedding.
Simone dropped to her knees beside his chair, taking his hand in hers.
“How do I look, Daddy?” she asked softly.
Walter looked at her—at her clean dress, her serene face, and the strong, peaceful light in her blue eyes.
Slowly, his good hand reached out, resting against her cheek.
He didn't use the tablet. He didn't tap the armrest.
With a tremendous effort of will, his lips worked together, forming three low, raspy, but perfectly clear words:
“Beautiful... my... girl.”
Simone’s eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, leaning her forehead against his hand. “Thank you, Daddy.”
The organ began to play—a deep, resonant chord that shook the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral.
Nurse Clara pushed Walter to the center aisle, where Simone stepped behind him, resting her hand lightly on the back of his chair as they walked out into the vast, candle-lit sanctuary together.
At the altar stood Julian Marzano.
He wore a black tuxedo of immaculate cut, a single white rose pinned to his lapel. His dark hair was brushed back, his posture rigid, his hazel eyes locked onto Simone from the moment she stepped onto the central runner.
As she reached the altar steps, Julian stepped down.
He didn't wait for her to approach him. He bowed his head to Walter, offered the old man a short, respectful nod, and then took Simone’s hand.
His fingers were warm, broad, and steady.
The cardinal stepped forward, opening his heavy gold-bound book.
“We are gathered here today,” the cardinal’s voice echoed through the stone arches, “to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony...”
Simone didn't hear the rest of the traditional liturgy.
She looked at Julian’s face. She saw the scar along his jawline, the quiet strength in his eyes, the absolute, unwavering protection he had provided her every single day since she had dropped onto his floor.
When it came time for the vows, Julian didn't read from a card.
He looked directly into her eyes, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.
“I, Julian Marzano,” he said, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the cathedral, “take you, Simone Bellamy, to be my wife. To hold and to protect, in shadow and in light, until death parts us.”
Simone felt a warm, golden heat spread through her chest.
“I, Simone Bellamy,” she said, her voice firm, clear, without a single tremor of doubt, “take you, Julian Marzano, to be my husband.”
The cardinal raised his right hand. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Julian stepped closer.
He didn't grab her dramatically. He reached up with his left hand, his long fingers gently cupping the back of her neck, and brought his lips down to hers.
May you like
The kiss was soft, deep, and possessive—a seal placed upon a covenant that no force in the city would ever be able to break.
As they parted, the cathedral bells began to ring—a wild, joyful thunder that echoed across the stone roofs of the city.
