CHAPTER 18.2

As 'The Barber of Serville – Overture' reached the climactic section with the violin strings, the couple became close enough to see their faces reflected in each other's eyes.

Amongst the cacophony of applauses and enthusiastic yells that almost overpowered the music, it was as if there was a bubble that was allowing everyone to experience but not understand the serenity felt in that moment, but that knowledge was exclusive for the two star-crossed lovers.

She silently watched as his gaze hovered up and down the white sheer lace dress that slipped around her curves. Saint made her feel like falling glass and under his pressing gaze her skin started breaking out in sweats, not from the heat of the sun but from looking into his expressionless eyes and not being able to determine his thoughts.

As the priest spoke directly to the crowd inviting them to witness the holy matrimony, Saint-Luc reached out to hold her hands.

“What is this Naomi?”

“You said I needed to be sure that it's you I really want – well, I'm here,” she said her eyes now welling in tears as she slipped out one of her hands from his gentle grip and rested it on the velvet of his suit jacket, “for plus riche et plus pauvre, I will love you Saint-Luc Roux.”

Before Saint could respond to his wife's declaration, the priest turned to them to say their vows. This time she meant them, with each and every word her heart swelled in adoration and was powered by the love that both scared and comforted her.

Her only regret was that Grandma Sade was not alive to see it all. Naomi knew that her grandmother would have insisted on making her dress and she would have had it no other way.

She briefly wondered how her grandmother would have reacted to her getting married at such a young age?

And to a man very much her senior?

Would her grandmother have been upset at her for not completing her degree?

Would she even be proud of the fashion show she did in her honour?

Only God knew. All she knew was that even though her grandmother was not present, her legacy very much was. ADE. Through blurry eyes as she continued saying the remainder of her vows, she saw the yellow letters she'd stitched on the place of her husband's jacket directly underneath where his heart was.

Her grandmother had been the crown of her childhood, God had placed her there to be the rock that would help see through the many shaky starts and situations and just when she was on the cusp of adulthood she'd lost her.

The crown that God had now placed in her life was standing before her and she knew her stars were finally aligned. This was her calling.

If not for the priest handing her a fold of tissue from his breast pocket, by the time she'd finished saying her vows, she'd almost embarassed herself with having people see the snot bubbles forming from her nose.

Having wiped her nose clean, she let out a long breath as she held on to both her husband's hands waiting his turn to say the vows.

“Signore are you ready to take vow?”

“Just a second, sir,” and ignoring the confused looking priest he grasped Naomi's hands tighter. “I can't do this without knowing that you have forgiven me for everything.”

For a brief second Naomi was confused at what he meant and why he would ask such a question, but just as soon mental images of walking in on her husband's adultery on New Years' Day brought back the same old tattered feelings of hurt that she'd buried so far deep in her mind to not remember, and the event seemingly so far away that it was as if it never happened.

That was the past.

The smile on her husband's face knowing that she'd forgiven him, though dazzling, rehashed her own guilt that the mere thought of what would happen if he found out what she did to both of them, chilled her core. And because of this she felt obliged to repeat the same question to him.

“Do you forgive me?”

Now it was Saint-Luc's turn to be confused. “For what?”

“For a lot.”

“I love you too much to ever feel you need to be forgiven by me.”

She only hoped that the day he found out about her deceit his heart would be as open as it was currently.

Not wanting to let stupid things she'd done overshadow the best day of her life to date, she let out a big smile as Saint-Luc commenced his part of the vows.

This was the present.

Her vision for the show was to marry her two loves together – fashion and Saint-Luc.

Naomi had only planned it up until she came on the runway claiming to be Saint-Luc's bethrothed, everything that followed after was solely improvisation.

All the pent-up anxieties that she'd had over the last month and a half, eveything just melted away. Because she wasn't sure if Saint-Luc would even accept her proposal she hadn't allowed herself to be overly ambitious to think about the food, reception, cake or anything else that goes on after a marriage ceremony, as she didn't want to deal with the embarassment that would go with him declining her.

But everything had turned out perfect, and lifting up their joined hands together they faced the cheering, applauding crowd, as the priest exclaimed, “Cent'anni!”

Naomi looked further into the crowd to see that the market traders were not even really selling their produce instead they were all fully invested in the celebration and were dancing along to the tarantella that began to play once again.

She was just overwhelmed with gratitude and she couldn't go away without voicing how she felt, so making signal for the priest, she asked him to pass her the microphone.

“Mio marito non può capire tutto che sto dicendo adesso perche lui e francese. Dovevo insegnare lui, haha. Ma davvero, dal profondo del mio cuore, voglio dire grazie mille a Dio per tutti vuoi che avete guardato mio show. Anche vuoi i venditori del mercato, loso che ho disturbato il vostro affari per il giorno quindi voglio solo ringraziarvi per la vostra pazienza.”

(TRANSLATION: My husband cannot understand anything I'm saying because he's French. I have to teach him, haha. But honestly, from the bottom of my heart I want to thank God so much for everyone of you who watched my show. Even you the market sellers, I know I have disturbed your business for the day and for that I just want to thank you for your patience.)

For the next couple of minutes she thanked the priest, the children, the teenagers, the undergrads and everyone else who had participated in anyway to make the show a success and last but not least she turned to her husband.

Still speaking into the microphone she spoke in English not caring if the crowd didn't understand.

“Saint-Luc, I want to thank you for not giving up on me. For being there for me...despite everything and with God on my side, I want to continue honouring you as your wife and my beloved for the rest of our days together.”

She saw the swirl of emotions magnify on Saint-Luc's face as he gave her the most beautiful smile in response. The glaze in his eyes was proof at how much her words had gotten to him. Knowing if she stared any longer she'd find it hard to keep her tears at bay, she turned to the crowd once more, and lifted up their joined hands, “Cent'anni!”

After endlessly taking pictures and receiving so many congratulations over her couture and nuptials, with several people asking her if her collection was pret-a-porter and when it was going to be available for sale, she made the models remove the couture.

Her heart had raced in anxiety seeing the parents of the children who were holding glasses of wine in their hand, calling their children over.

“Saint-Luc, I need to get my clothes, before these kids and their parents spill shit on it.”

He chuckled in her ear, seeing how maternal she got over her material but he understood because it was made with labour of love and he acted the same way with his business. He loved seeing the spark in her eye, ignited by her passion. This Naomi was reawakened.

After all the models had changed in to their own clothes and she'd changed out of hers, she said she wanted to help with the break down and clearing of the stage, but everyone backstage gave her a crazed look and made it a unanimous agreement that she should spend the rest of the night with her husband.

Back in the middle of the square, where many people were still gathered, drinking vino and eating pizza, and music was still playing, they'd made Naomi and Saint-Luc dance the tarantella before allowing them to go. Laughing, they'd both surrendered, and although Saint-Luc didn't know the dance, his natural confidence made him a quick learner when others, in typical Neapolitan drunken cheerfulness had showed him how to move.

The journey back to the hotel was silent. They both were reeling from the surrealness of the events that unfolded before them, between them in the space of a few hours. Naomi more so, everything was still blurryin her head. Turning her head to the back, she made sure all her clothers hung up on a rack, were all still in tact, as the taxi car hit a few bumps on the road.

When she glanced at her husband sitting a distance away from her, her heart immediately swelled just watching him coolly look out the window, deep in his own thoughts. She looked down at her bare, dark brown hands, knowing that despite the absence of a visible ring, they were bound together for however many breaths she had left in her.

Half an hour later, they were finally entering Saint's hotel suite and she was grateful that she could take one night away from the constant disturbances of the drug addicts who's noises kept her up nearly every night.

Saint-Luc followed behind her as he trolleyed the rack of couture inside and that was when the silence was eventually broken. “I can't say I've actually gone to a fashion show where people get married.”

“Well now you have,” said Naomi as she sat on the edge of the king size bed, taking off her shoes giving her husband an exhausted but satisfied smile.

It was gone past six in the evening and Naomi realised that save for the ice tea and chewing gum, she hadn't eaten anything else. Crossing one leg to rest on her thighs, she massaged the soles of her foot with her hand as she stretched her neck to the side watching her husband, who was now approaching her.

“Wait!”

Surprised, at the command, Saint stopped. “What? Why?”

“I want you to pretend you're on the runway, and do your best catwalk for me.”

She fisted her hands and held it below her chin pretending it to be a microphone. “And now for the closing act!”

Saint lightly chuckled at this before saying, “Oh but I need music.”

“Ha okay,” she said grabbing her phone, before selecting an uptempo song off of her playlist, “alright walk to this.”

Complying, Saint walked to the other end of the room. Buttoning up his jacket properly, he started panthering his way over.

Although Naomi had suggested her husband pretend to be modelling for her out of some light hearted fun, the strong gaze that shined from his blue-greeny eye and the unabashed, offensive, unapologetic masculinity that pounced on him really had the ability to make Naomi want him the way only a wife can only want her husband.

She loved watching Saint-Luc's love faces, his large manly body covering hers, overwhelming her.

“They're all yours Saint-Luc, nobody else's,” she'd told him.

“Look at me,” the sexual hypnotism in his voice gave Naomi no choice but to do as she was told, “you're not a cocotte.”

“What does that mean?”

“You're not a prostitute, you're my wife.”

Something in the way Saint-Luc said those words made Naomi pause in her hazy heaven to look into her husband's intensely beautiful eyes to see the need of reassurance.

She knew if she were to climax, her tristesse could ruin things so sitting up she knelt infront of her huband and reached for him, running her hands through his hair, she brough his head closer kissing him, before making him lie down.

“I love you Saint-Luc.”

And after they'd loved on each other Saint-Luc was about to roll over on his side knowing her need for space post-coital but before he could do so, Naomi had encircled her arms around his neck, and as a result their sweaty, sticky body were pressed together.

“Are you okay madmoiselle?”

“Now I am.”

But then just as quickly she gently pushed her husband away for him to sit up. “Saint, you haven't taken your insulin. You need to take your insulin.”

“Alright, madmoiselle, I'll do as you say,” he said getting off of the bed and reaching for the menu card by the bedside.

Naomi didn't appreciate the humour he seemed to find in all this – the image of him unconscious, was one she couldn't ever take for granted.

Twenty minutes later and they were eating their dinner, two plates of spaghetti carbonara for her because it happened to be that the more expensive the meal was the smaller the portion of food will be.

For Saint his plate was bland as usual, a chicken Ceasar salad. They ate in silence by the large window, looking over at the darkening blue skies illuminated by the stars.

“Won't your parents be mad that you had a wedding without them?”

At the thought of her parents her heart constricted but not wanting Saint to notice that the thought of her parents finding out about her marriage gave her anxiety, she let out a small smile.

“Hey feel lucky, you would have probably been in debt from the dowry they'd demand you pay. Twenty goats, 100 yams, 5 bottles of the best palm wine, 80 sacks of basmati rice, probably 100 plantains since my dad loves it so much.”

Saint couldn't keep a straight face as Naomi counted off with her fingers what her parents would require of him to have their daughter in marriage. “That's funny because in my mother's culture the bride is the one who pays the dowry to the groom.”

“Oh where's your mum from?”

“From UAE, but her family moved to Turkey when she was six.”

It occurred to her then that other than his his sister-in-law, she knew little of his family. Determined not to allow negative thoughts to penetrate the joy between them, she grabbed his hand.

“I love you Saint-Luc.”

“I love you too Naomi.”

The tenderness in which Saint-Luc proclaimed those words back to her, made her want to cry all over again. Reaching up over to him, their heads met in the middle of the table as their lips sank in to one another for a kiss.

Her cup was finally full and running over.