Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (67 page)

Marc’s gaze returned to the stone. “There was a time when I didn’t even claim that I knew Gino, much less that we were brothers. I was so angry.” Tears poured unheeded down his cheeks again. Thank God he was finally able to express emotion over his loss. Angelina had no doubt he’d stood on this spot back in 2002 and watched as his brother was laid to rest with a mixture of remorse and hatred for what Gino had done with Melissa.

“But so many things are clearer to me now. We might not have been the kind of brothers who hugged a lot, but he always protected and loved me, probably since the time I invaded his family out of nowhere.”

Angelina smiled. “Somehow I think having you as a brother did Gino a lot of good.”

Marc remained silent a moment. “Do you really think he forgave me for shutting him out for the rest of his life?”

Angelina nodded. “I’m sure Gino learned very quickly what was important in life when he joined the Marines and deployed to Afghanistan. I have no doubt the two of you would have figured out what Melissa was really after given time.”

“He was in-country only a short while, a line replacement for some casualties in Adam’s unit. Despite that, Adam said he served honorably and with distinction. He died a hero. Remember Staff Sergeant Anderson?”

“Yes, I met him and his family at Karla’s wedding. Gino saved his life.”

Marc nodded and stared at the tombstone in silence.

“Marc, I think what’s most important is that you eventually come to forgive yourself.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can.”

“Your responses to what happened back then were normal for a young man not terribly experienced with women.”

Marc sighed.

“We all make mistakes, Marc, especially when we’re young. Gino and you would have shared a bottle of wine toasting your good fortune at having gotten rid of her.”

Marc almost laughed at the image. She was happy she could help him picture what that reunion might have been like. “Most of us have time to remedy our misjudgments. You and Gino didn’t have that luxury, but until you make peace with him and accept the fact that he just made a stupid mistake, I don’t think you are going to find peace within yourself.”

Marc didn’t say anything. She hoped her words would convey to him the need to forgive and move on.

A blast of wind hit them, and Marc stood and helped her up, pulling her closer when she began shivering. She hadn’t dressed for this visit, but thanked God Marc had brought her here.

“I need to get you back in the car, but first…” He paused a moment and cleared his throat. “Gino Zirilli D’Alessio, this is long overdue, but I’d like you to meet my girl, Angelina Cristina Giardano.”

She’d wondered what the Z stood for. Zirilli. The maiden name of two complicated sisters who had mothered two equally complicated brothers, Marco and Gino.

“It’s a great honor to meet you, Gino. Thank you for getting your brother off the hook of that b…
creature
Melissa. I can’t tell you how much I personally appreciate you for rescuing him from her clutches, so he would be ready for me when we met.”

Marc turned toward her, and she looked up at him. “Thank you. I needed that kick in the ass right about now.”

“I know.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Brat.”

“Always.
Your
brat. Don’t you ever forget it.”

For the first time since they’d come here, Marc grinned. “I’m not sure I could ever have prepared for you. Angelina, you came charging into my life like gangbusters. I’ll never be the same—thank God.”

Chapter Thirty

D
amián paced across the floor for the tenth time and glanced at the wall clock over the arched doorway.

Marc chuckled. “Two minutes since the last time you looked. Stop worrying. Savannah’s not going to leave you standing at the altar.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

Who the hell knew? He certainly had no hesitation about marrying Savannah. The two of them were perfect for each other. He couldn’t believe at this very moment she was standing on the other side of San Miguel’s Church, preparing to walk down the aisle and into his life—forever.

How’d he ever come to deserve someone like her—or Marisol?

He shot his gaze to the case on the bench across the room, and his heart pounded harder. Why was he so fucking nervous? She’d seen his stump. She’d accept his decision to do this, probably would ask what the fuck had taken him so long to get there. But that was for later, at the reception.

His polished dress shoe pinched his foot, but he wanted a formal Marine wedding. The Corps had saved his life in a lot of ways. He’d enlisted as a lost kid with no direction in his life and come out a man forever changed by the events in Fallujah. The men and women he served with had saved him, too, when he’d thought life was no longer worth living. Many of them were a part of his family now.

“You all right, man?”

Damián glanced up at Marc and nodded. For the first time in years, he did feel all right and knew what he had to do. He sat on the bench and reached for the case opening the lid. Inside lay his new prosthetic blade. He’d planned to wear it for dancing at the reception. The thing hurt like hell if he had to stand still on it for long periods. But on this very special occasion, he had a point to prove—to both Savannah and Marisol. No more hiding and pretending. He’d only been hiding from himself. Savannah, his daughter, and his friends loved and accepted him just the way he was. He needed to accept himself, too. His body would never be whole or perfect again. He had to live with some limitations.

Today, he wasn’t just binding himself before God to his beautiful Savannah, he would be deepening the bond with his beautiful daughter, also. When he asked Savannah and Marisol to make him a permanent part of their lives, he wanted to do so honestly. No more pretending. No more secrets.

Damián removed the more realistic-looking prosthetic that had enabled him to mask his disability pretty well since he’d been fitted for it in Denver all those years ago. He pulled the new blade out of the case and drew up the leg of his dress blues. Soon, he was adjusting it to the perfect fit.

Just the way his girls were a perfect fit in his life.
Mierda
, they
were
his life. His very blessed life.

He stood up and tested his weight by bouncing on it a couple of times, as he’d done in the physical therapist’s office at the VA where he’d picked it up last week. All week, he’d been trying to decide when he should wear it, but something always held him back.

Checking the clock again—twenty minutes before the ceremony would begin—he turned to Marc, one of his
padrinos de boda
and his best man, who had tears in his eyes.

Fuck that shit
. Maybe he shouldn’t do this.

“’Bout damned time.”

“Don’t fuck me up today. I’m not going to bawl like a baby in front of Savannah and Marisol.”

Marc grinned. “Nothing wrong with a man showing emotion. I can make you an honorary Italian today if you want.”

Fuck.
Damián felt the tears burning the backs of his eyes. No way in hell would he shed them. “Thanks for standing beside me, Doc. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stuck by me after Fallujah until you finally got through to me…”

“I think Adam’s the one who finally got through that thick skull of yours.”

Damián shook his head. “Dad wouldn’t have known I was having adjustment problems if you hadn’t called him out to Balboa.”

Marc opened his mouth as if to argue but smiled instead. “I think we all rescued each other—well, at least to the point of survival mode—until the girls in our lives straightened out our shit.”

Damián grinned. “That they did. When are you and Angelina going to make it official?”

Marc shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

Before he could admonish his friend not to waste too much more time, the scent of cinnamon wafted to him and Damián glanced up at Marc. “Do you smell that?”

“What? Did you forget your deodorant?”

Damián would have told Marc to fuck off but couldn’t form any words as his throat closed off. He reached down to twist his pinky ring and remembered too late it had been removed to be resized for Savannah’s tiny finger. She would be the third Orlando bride to wear it. The ring had been worn by Damián since
Mamá
died, but he knew she would be pleased to see his father’s family legacy passed down to another generation. Until recently, he’d never pictured having a wife of his own—and
never
imagined it would be his beloved Savannah.

A tear splashed onto his hand.

I’m gonna make you proud, Mamá. You, too, Papá. I’m going to give my family all the love you showed me growing up.

* * *

Anita Gonzales pinned the blusher veil to the mantilla on Savannah’s head. “How does that feel, sweetie?”

“Right. So very right.” Everything about this day felt so perfect. She and Damián would be forever bound today, not that anything could tear them apart, with or without this ceremony.

They had chosen to use the Mexican wedding tradition of having
padrinos
and
madrinas
, patrons of various symbols of support and guidance for the newlyweds, mainly because so many people wanted to contribute to their lives in this way.

Anita had been a mother to her since she was nineteen and now was becoming a mother figure for Damián, too. Both had lost their own mothers way too young.

“Maman, listen to how my dress sounds when I swish like this.” She looked down at Mari who did half turns back and forth, setting the crinolines and taffeta to rustling. The translucent blue of the gown reminded Savannah of the butterflies that had visited her at the beach cave two weeks ago.

“Maman, I hope you’re with me today.”

Breaking with tradition, Mari’s dress wasn’t a miniature replica of Savannah’s. She wanted her daughter to be her own person and hoped her life wouldn’t be marred by hate or negativity.

Savannah heard the music filtering through the closed door to the vestibule. Time to line up for the processional; she took Mari by the hand as Karla picked up the basket of rose petals and handed them to the little girl.

She surveyed the scene through her opaque blusher veil. Karla’s protruding belly gave Savannah a moment’s pang of regret for dragging the woman from Denver to Eden Gardens for a wedding so close to her due date. She’d tried to let Karla off the hook from joining Adam as their
Madrina y Padrino de Lazo
, the godparents who would carry the rope-like rosary beads to wrap around the bride and her groom to symbolize their unity and commitment. But her new sister-friend still had insisted on making the trip here after her obstetrician ruled out air travel. She and Adam had taken the leisurely drive over four days, twice as long as usual, with lots of stops along the way.

Savannah’s commitment to marriage with Damián could only be made in their home church—the place that had given her so much comfort and solace when she’d thought there was no sanctuary left in this world.

She realized, though, her sanctuary had now shifted to wherever Damián was, including their new home in Denver. He provided all of the love and protection a woman could ever want or need. But this had been his home church, too, and Savannah knew he would feel closer to his parents if they held the ceremony here.

Her adult bridal party wore black taffeta with translucent, blue satin accent bows. The tea-length off-the-rack dresses could be worn at other occasions by the girls, making them a more practical choice. She’d hate for them to spend too much on dresses only to be worn one day. And she knew of many better uses for her unexpected inheritance from Maman.

Damián’s sister Rosa Espinosa, her
Madrina de Ramo
, took her son José’s hands and positioned them palms upward. “Now, remember how we practiced?” The boy nodded, his gaze intent on the pillow embroidered with the two rings representative of the ones Marc would present to be exchanged between Savannah and her groom.

Angelina, the
Madrina de Copas
, walked toward the arched door, opened it, and peeked outside. She nodded and then turned back to the party in the dressing room. “Ready, girls?”