My heart was beating twice too fast, and I couldn’t get rid of the shy grin on my lips. I gave the dress another twirl, and its long red train effortlessly wrapped around my ankles. I shimmied a little to shake the fabric loose.

“Is it too much?” I asked.

Pablo stood with his mouth half open, caressing his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Well, I told you to dress nice, but–”

“But what?” I mumbled, as a lump grew in my throat.

He smirked, and sighed. “The rule of thumb is that you don’t outshine the bride”

I grabbed his hand before it slipped under the fabric, right where the dress’ slit opened at the top of my hip.

“Rules are meant to be broken,” I murmured. “And I’m going to break your thumbs.”

He let out a chuckle and kissed me. Not on the temple, not on the forehead, not on the cheek. He kissed me right on my smiling lips, as his hand gently pressed between my shoulders, bringing his heart a little closer to me.

I could feel it thrumming in his chest, beneath his half-open shirt, pounding faster than it usually did. Perhaps it was because he’d just snorted yet another line of cocaine, or maybe it was just the effect my dress had on him.

“We should go,” he said, as his hand slipped to the small of my back. “Hernan wants us to be there early.”

“So I can wear this dress?” I asked. “Or is it too provocative?”

“I mean, at this point, it’s this one or nothing,” he shrugged. “And I don’t think Manée would be happy if you showed up naked at her wedding.”

“Do you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“Of course, she will,” he answered, and started walking me back to the car, “but there’s no avoiding that, Gordita. You’d still outshine her in a potato sack.”

Despite the few dozen cars blaring their horns behind our backs, Pablo still took the time to fix my hair once I sat in the passenger’s seat. His fingers followed the curl of a loose strand, gently stroking my cheek on their way down.

I took a deep breath as he started the car, and began to drive down the street. No matter what came my way, I would survive this stupid wedding. I’d try my best to do so, at least.

“Don’t open the window, you’ll mess up your hair,” he said, just as I lay my finger on the button.

I turned to face him, and he was staring right at me. Yet, the car was speeding ahead, Pablo’s hands were steady on the steering wheel, and his foot pressed down on the gas pedal whenever we drove down a wider street.

“Look at the road,” I told him.

“I can’t,” he replied. “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“You’re about to drive off a cliff,” I lied, as I pointed at the road ahead.

Pablo grinned, never breaking eye contact, and gently pat me on the knee. “That’s okay, I’ll die a happy man.”

“Stop fucking around,” I spat, pushing his hand off my thigh and back onto the steering wheel. “You’re acting all creepy.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

I frowned at him as if I was annoyed, but pinched my lips to hold back a smile. After all, I was nothing but a silly love-starved girl who’d craved to be showered in compliments and longing gazes for my entire life.

I carefully picked up the long train of my dress, folding it over my knees so it wouldn’t wrinkle too much. I caressed the soft fabric, delighted by how expensive it felt and made me feel.

If at this point in time, I had to name Andrea’s main qualities, I’d mention her great taste in fashion, her good eye to find clothes that show off the best in somebody, and her talent to find the right words to try something bold and daring. She would have been an amazing designer or stylist. She’d probably be dressing up A-listers, had her past life not brought her to where she is.

We arrived at the church, by some miracle still alive, healthy, and in a single piece. Juan and his father were already there, smoking cigarettes in the afternoon sun as they nonchalantly leaned against a sky-blue vintage convertible.

Juan was dressed in a sleek, nicely-tailored black suit, hiding his hungover eyebags behind dark shades. He looked as handsome as he always did, perhaps even more than usual. He greeted me with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, before turning away to hide it.

“Emilia,” Hernan muttered, as his eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering halfway.

He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and stayed silent for a good minute. Pablo’s fingers tightened around my arm, as I instinctively covered the top of the dress’ slit with a trembling hand.

Juan’s gravelly voice cut through the tension like a machete chop. “You guys want to see the venue? It’s really pretty.”

We all exchanged polite smiles and courteous nods, and Hernan finally tore his eyes away from my curves to go and open the heavy wooden doors.

It was an old church, with worn stone walls as high as a cathedral’s. The roof must have crumbled away over a century ago, letting sunlight and blue skies pour in through the arches and empty domes.

Two young maids were still lighting the last half of what seemed like thousands of candles, sitting in alcoves and hanging from chandeliers. Huge arrangements of red and white roses climbed like vines from floor to ceiling. Faded frescos hid beneath their dark green leaves and colorful petals, and their painted biblical figures seemed to dance and come alive under the light of shivering flames.

The scent of melting wax and the perfume of fresh flowers meddled with the old, musty smells of dust, moss, and decaying stucco.

It was one of those sights that cuts your breath and breaks your neck as you try your best to glance at every high-perched corner. One of those that gets etched in your head, never to be forgotten, and comes back to haunt you in a distant sweet dream.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

Pablo grinned, flicking a red rose with the tip of his finger. “It matches your dress.”

Hernan made a weird face, some kind of downturned smile with a scrunched-up nose, like he was trying to swallow a bad taste.

“Pablo, come take a look at the reception area,” said Hernan. “I think the decoration Manée chose is tacky, but I want a second opinion before I send the staff to change it before she gets here.”

“After you, Martha Stewart,” Pablo answered with a curt nod. “Juan, are you coming?”

“Sure, let me finish my cigarette,” he answered, turning his head to exhale a cloud of smoke through the doorway.

I didn’t follow Pablo and Hernan as they walked down the aisle and disappeared through a side door. I stood still in the warm sun and cool breeze, the hairs on my neck standing on end as I took in the view.

Juan just looked irresistible whenever he wore a nice suit.

“How do you feel?” I asked him.

“I feel many things,” he sighed. “None of them good.”

He nibbled his lips, taking off his sunglasses as he entered the building. Now that his dark eyes were uncovered, I could see him staring at every line and curve on my body, longing for every inch of covered skin.

“Why did you dress like that?” he said.

“Andrea told me I should,” I mumbled.

A glimpse of a cut-off laugh lit up his face. “Sneaky bitch. I like her.”

I laid a hand on my chest, right above my pounding heart, and replied with a cold, quivering smile.

“Is it really just because of Andrea?” he added.“Or is it because you want to ruin my marriage?”

“I’m sure you don’t need my help with that,” I chortled.

His lips bent into a smirk as he stepped forward, picking a rose from a bouquet beside him. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw you yesterday night.”

“That kind of stuff doesn’t really scare her away,” he said with a bitter chuckle. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He planted the rose in the palm of my hand, his gaze dancing across my collarbones. I nervously twirled it between my fingers, looking over my shoulder to check if we were alone.

“You could just say no,” I suggested. “You know, when the priest asks if you’ll take her as your wife.”

Juan grinned, genuinely this time, and his forearms tensed as he leaned back on one of the old wooden benches.

“Or you could object,” he joked with a twitch of the chin. “Stand up when he asks and confess your love to me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then what? Pablo throws a tantrum and murders everyone?”

“In the heat of the action, we run out of the Church hand in hand, and escape into the sunset in the nice Italian car my Dad hired for me and my bride,” he answered.

“I like that,” I murmured. “It’s dramatic.”

A mischievous spark lit up his deep eyes. “I dare you to do it.”

My teeth clenched behind my smile, and a lump grew in my throat again. I wished I could do it, but I knew it would forever be a scene I’d only act out in my daydreams, and think back to in a few years, painfully wishing I’d done it. My jaw seized up as I choked on a tear.

“Don’t cry, Em,” he whispered, as he wiped a drop away from the corner of my eye. “It won’t change anything.”

“That’s the thing,” I murmured. “I don’t want things to stay the same.”

He nodded, and our silence echoed within the church’s crumbling halls. I felt my heart chipping away at itself with every rushing beat, and looked up at a lilting dove sitting on a cornice, as I sniffed back another tear.

Bird shit dribbled down the wall, and splattered the once-pristine white roses. I let out a bitter chuckle, and Juan smiled again.

“It’s a beautiful venue,” I said to break the silence.

“You look stunning, too,” he replied.

“Thank you.”

His eyes were smoldering as they caressed my curves from a distance, sparkling like the dust in the golden rays of sunlight. His jaw clenched and he swallowed his lips as I traced a line up my leg with my fingertip.

He blinked twice to clear his mind, and threw his cigarette butt through the church’s doorway.

“Want to go help my dad decide if the napkins should be rolled up or folded into flowers?” he muttered.

“No,” I snorted. “Do we have a choice?”

Juan raised his eyebrows, sighed, and stretched out his hand. I held it tight as we walked down the aisle together, and only let go as we approached the side door. I snuck the rose he’d given me in the center of a white bouquet, and stepped out into the courtyard.

It was a pretty peristyle, where thick marble columns framed a lush garden with an old fountain in the center. Light drapes and string lights stretched from one porch to another, gently swinging in the wind and glimmering in the sun.

Pablo and Hernan were standing by a table in the covered area, surrounded by tables, more flowers, and unlit candles, engaged in a senseless screaming match that resonated around the colonnade.

“Emilia, your boyfriend is as useless as ever,” groaned Hernan, as he slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the porcelain plates.

“Please just tell him you don’t like the fucking lotus flower napkins,” Pablo sighed. “So he can finally shut up about the fucking lotus flower napkins.”

“I like how the napkins look when they’re rolled up,” I said, pointing at one of the plates they’d set up as an example. “Less is more. It looks modern.”

“Great,” Hernan huffed. “Now where the fuck am I supposed to find three hundred napkin rings in the next three hours?”

Juan rolled his eyes. “I told you, you should have told her earlier that you wanted to change the napkins.”

“Will you ever shut the fuck up, Juan?” barked Hernan. “It’s your job to keep her in check.”

“Just use the rings from your personal jewelry collection,” Pablo muttered. “I’m sure your big ogre fingers are the same size as these dumbass napkins.”

“Those rings are expensive,” he spat. “I don’t want people to steal them.”

“Hernan, no one steals anything from weddings,” Pablo retorted. “I don’t even take home the stupid party favors. All they do is clutter up cupboards and rot there for decades.”

I shrugged. “My mom used to steal the centerpieces.”

“Don’t you fucking touch my centerpieces,” Hernan grumbled, wagging his finger at me as he walked away to go annoy one of the maids.

Pablo let out a loud, tired sigh, and tugged on the collar of his shirt.

“I think your father is a Bridezilla,” he said to Juan.

“Yeah,” he sighed as he let himself fall down in a chair. “Wait ’til you see Manée. She called me crying this morning because she couldn’t find something blue to wear, and I suggested this old ugly pair of panties she wears when she’s on her period. She said it wouldn’t be perfect enough, and then she called me a cunt and said my mother was a whore and I don’t deserve her.”

Pablo raised his eyebrows. “Geez.”

“Yeah, go figure. I blocked her phone number so now she won’t stop sending me angry emails,” Juan chortled. “She sent one with a selfie attached to show me I’d ruined her expensive makeup by making her cry. It was funny.”

“Happy wife, happy life,” Pablo mumbled.

“Yup. Can’t wait,” Juan answered. “We should head back to the forecourt. The guests will be here any time soon.”

The first thing I noticed as the guests began to turn up, was that my dress attracted a lot of attention. Perhaps a little too much. It caught every eye, and they all undressed me in return.

Some gazes were searing, almost predatory, and hung for too long on my hips. I caught a few people looking over their shoulders as they walked past me, and one woman slapped her husband’s cheek for craning his neck too hard.

Other stares seemed to be burning with jealousy, staring at my clothes and then down at their own. Those ripped my red dress to shreds in their jaded imagination, their feelings hardly concealed behind a deep, outraged frown.

I crossed my legs, uncomfortably swaying from one foot to the other. Meanwhile, Pablo stood proudly by my side, with his chin up and his hand around my waist, so he could push me a step forward whenever he greeted another man.

“The Lady in Red,” Oscar said with a smile as he walked up to us. “Andrea told me I should be prepared.”

I winced. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s not bad, it’s just...” he murmured, raising his eyebrows. “It’s a statement.”

Oh God, I thought. A statement? Perhaps I’d gone overboard, and people would notice I’d only dressed this way in a desperate attempt to ruin the entire night. They’d see my provocative attire and immediately jump to the right conclusion, that something was going on between me and Juan.

I shook my head to soothe myself, and wiped my clammy hands down the side of my dress. I was just overthinking again. Most people would just think I was looking for attention, or just your usual, run-of-the-mill narco arm candy. The wedding would pass, and in a day or two, everyone would forget me.

I wasn’t even the only one who’d overdressed for the occasion. Andrea has switched her light brown frock for a beautiful golden gown, with shiny pearls and jewels dangling from gilded strings, glittering like dew in her sunrise, clinging to sheer fabric that hid nothing of her naked body.

“You look amazing,” I said. “So, you changed your dress?”

Andrea answered with the widest, whitest grin I’d ever seen. She held my hands and squeezed them tight, looking up at me with dreamy eyes like we were the two finalists standing center stage before they announced the lucky winner of some prestigious beauty contest.

“You really inspired me,” she whispered. “You’re so brave.”

My smile froze, and I swallowed my spit. “Wow. Thanks.”

Her shoulders shuddered with a pride-filled breath, and she let go of my hands, before disappearing in the ever-growing mass of guests.

People are fucking weird, I thought. It was just a dress.

I caught a glimpse of Juan standing in the center of the crowd. He wore his brightest fake smile to thank all the people who congratulated him. He looked my way every now and then, to share an awkward chuckle or a desperate sigh, before his attention was stolen by some distant relative.

“Are you alright?” asked Pablo.

“My feet hurt,” I lied, scrambling for an excuse to explain my frowning face.

“Heels and cobblestone don’t work well together,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “Should we go sit?”

I could feel the heavy glances and evil eyes weighing down on the back of my neck as we walked up the nave, all the way to the empty front row.

I tried to forget them by keeping myself busy with Pablo, losing myself in mindless chatter about what we’d have for breakfast tomorrow, or playing thumb wars and other stupid hand games. I leaned back and watched the birds flying above the open roof, while he played with my hair and I silently prayed I could shoot across the sky, never to be seen again.

The church’s benches slowly filled up as a small orchestra began to play and music floated in the air. The front row stayed as empty as it was when we first got there.

“Is Juan’s mother coming?” I asked.

“No, she’s– uh, far away,” he stuttered.

I frowned. “Did she die?”

“Nope,” he sighed. “She just... left.”

“Doesn’t she want to come to her son’s wedding?”

“She’s fine where she is, Gordita,” he muttered.

“Oh, okay,” I mumbled. “Why, is she actually a whore?”

Pablo answered with a snort, and by turning his head away.

I leaned over to glance at the other side of the aisle, where the bride’s side was filled with a few rows of empty seats.

“What about Manée’s family?” I asked. “Are they coming?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he shrugged.

Soon, Hernan came to sit down beside me. Despite all of the empty space on our bench, he sat so close to me that I had to squish myself against Pablo’s chest.

“Do you want to sit on my knees?” asked Pablo, one eyebrow frowning in confusion.

“No, I just– sorry,” I stammered. “Never mind.”

“You can if you want to, but we’re in a church, Gordita,” he whispered wearily.

“Leave it,” I hissed. “It’s fine.”

He shrugged it off, but now Andrea was tapping on my shoulder, excitedly waving both of her hands at me when I turned around, as if she was all the way across the room and not sitting in the row right behind us.

In the distance, Juan was already walking up the aisle, a tall black spot drowning in a sea of white and red roses. Slowly, and with a steady step, he strode ahead, faintly smiling at the people he hadn’t greeted yet. The look in his eyes was grim, more fit for a funeral than the best day of his life.

This was the strangest wedding ever. The groom wasn’t happy, and neither he nor his bride seemed to have brought any family, aside from Juan’s father who couldn’t take his damn eyes off my bare legs, even as his son stepped up onto the altar.

I gathered a bunch of fabric to close the tempting slit, silently cursing Andrea for making me wear this godforsaken red dress. I tried to look at Pablo in search of some comfort, but his blank face stared straight ahead.

Things only got worse when the Wedding March began to play. The violin tune to Here Comes the Bride floated in the air, but it sounded off-key, as if the orchestra was greeting Darth Vader instead of a pretty young woman in a wedding dress.

Confused stares and hushed murmurs stirred the church like a brewing storm, and Hernan started to turn red in the face. Up on the altar, Juan’s shoulders were wriggling, and his lips twitched with repressed laughter.

Pablo pulled me closer to whisper in my ear. “I bet you that fucker paid the orchestra to do that.”

I tried my best not to smile, but I still let out a loud chortle, which seemed to reverberate forever beneath the tall stone arches. Hernan glared in my direction, but it wasn’t long before he was once again mesmerized by my bare skin.

I shouldn’t have worn this stupid dress, I said to myself. I started to feel sick to my stomach, and cold sweats stuck the tight red fabric to my skin.

Still, despite all the terrible feelings, Manée’s face as she reached the altar made it all worth it.

Her wedding dress was beautiful, and must have cost more money than I would have ever made in my entire life. It had an intricate lace bodice, embroidered with stones that shined brighter than diamonds, and a long feathery train fit for a future royal. But her frowning face, her grimacing expression, the disgusted air on her tense traits, it all ruined the perfect illusion.

She didn’t look at her groom, they didn’t share a tearful smile. Instead, she stared straight at the front row, her eyes widening as they looked right into mine. From there, her scalding glare made it down to my breasts, then my waist and legs, rage slowly bubbling in her pupils.

I took a deep breath and lifted my chin. For a second, I wondered if she was about to burst into tears, start screaming, or perhaps morph into a big scaly monster and rip apart a nearby building.

Instead, she put on the most terrifying, soulless smile I’d ever seen, and calmly turned to face her husband.

An air of unease smothered the church, filling even the priest’s voice as he awkwardly welcomed the assembly. Manée’s fingers fidgeted with her bouquet, and her mouth twitched into a frown whenever Juan’s gaze wandered down to where I was sitting.

I could hear the whispers behind me, and understood them all, even those uttered in a foreign language. I knew that everyone wondered who the Lady in Red was, where she came from, who’d invited her, and what she was doing here. Quiet rumors and gossip climbed up my spine like a painful shiver, but I kept my head up high, and tried not to flinch whenever my pounding heart threatened to crash through my ribs.

“Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,” began the priest. “We are gathered here today in the presence of God and this community to celebrate the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony. Let us begin in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Pst,” Pablo whispered. “Gordita.”

“What?”

His fingers wrapped around my tensed-up fist. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.”

“Not now,” I hissed.

Pablo smiled, and insisted. He didn’t really care, and I didn’t pay much attention to the opening prayer anyway. I was too busy fending off Pablo’s thumb when Juan wasn’t looking, and pushing it away when he was.

After three defeats in a row, Pablo finally let go. Hernan grabbed my hand, and I yanked it away.

“We need to stand, Emilia,” Hernan whispered.

“Oh, sorry,” I breathed out with an awkward chuckle. “I thought you wanted to play thumb wars.”

Manée shot a glare over a shoulder, throwing knives in our direction. I cleared my throat and stood up straight, pinching my lips like a scolded child as the assembly prayed, or sang, or something. I moved my lips, mumbling nonsense as I pretended I knew the words to the hymn, and Pablo laughed when he noticed.

The priest’s solemn voice echoed in the church again. “After God’s word has been proclaimed, let us now listen to a reflection on these readings.”

“Again?” groaned Pablo. “This is so boring.”

I shushed him, and he nudged me with his elbow, pointing at the confessionals in a corner behind him.

“Stop it,” I whispered. “Be serious.”

The priest proclaimed something about the meaning of marriage. No one listened, because everyone knew that on this day, and for this specific wedding, marriage meant absolutely nothing.

Like a message from the sky, a raindrop fell and stained the marble gray. It was a sign from God himself that he pissed all over this union.

“Dear Juan and María Renée, today you stand before God and his Church to enter into the covenant of Holy Matrimony,” said the priest.

“What?” blurted out a distracted Manée.

The poor priest sighed, and a hushed, awkward laughter shook the assembly. Manée looked like a deer in headlights as she tore her envious eyes away from me. Her face turned the same shade of red as my dress. It was cruel to laugh at how much she embarrassed herself, but damn did I enjoy it.

“Pay attention,” Juan hissed.

“I am paying attention, you dick,” she seethed.

The priest nervously scratched his ear as he followed his script. “Your love for each other mirrors the love of Christ for his Church, a love that is selfless, sacrificial, and enduring.”

Another raindrop fell. And then another. The pitter-patter of water smacking old stones grew louder and louder, and the guests behind us started to cover their heads with their prayer books. Perhaps Manée should have waited until next summer if she wanted to have her wedding in a roofless church.

“Do you, Juan, take María Renée to be your wife?” asked the priest. “Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and honor her for as long as you shall live?”

I held my breath. I think everyone did. Juan looked up to the sky, shook a few droplets of rain from his raven hair, and sighed as he stared back at the bride standing before him.

I sat still and watched, wishing I could stuff my mouth with popcorn as I enjoyed my front-row seat to this tragic spectacle. Manée’s nostrils were flaring, her chest heaving with racing breaths, her eyes filling with trembling tears as she waited for Juan to answer.

Say no, I prayed.

Please say no.

“I do,” Juan answered with a cheeky grin.

My heart clenched, my gut stirred and my shoulders seized up. Envy coiled in my throat, strangling me like a hangman’s noose.

I swore I’d heard a gasp, somewhere at the back of the church, and perhaps also a muffled laugh coming from the row behind us. I bit my lip and sucked in a deep breath. As much as it sucked to be me, at least I had to remember: at least I wasn’t Manée. At least I wasn’t being humiliated at my own wedding, battered with rumors thrown like rotten tomatoes as I stood at the altar.

“Do you, María Renée, take Juan to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and honor him for as–”

“I do,” she answered hurriedly.

Pablo let out another laugh and I slapped him on the wrist. It was hard not to grin, but I was starting to feel sorry for the girl, and figured it was time to be the bigger person.

“If there is anyone present who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence fell again, and time stood still. A dove flew away, flapping its wings as thunder rolled in the distance. The blue skies above the roofless church were long gone, leaving place to turmoiled clouds.

A strong breeze blew down the aisle, blowing out a few candles and rattling the heavy wooden doors. Juan stared at me out of the corner of his eye, and I wondered if anyone else did too.

Was this the right time to stand up and scream out my love? Should I run to the altar and kiss him? Had Pablo brought his gun, and would Juan and I have time to run out of the church before any of us got killed?

We could escape as the storm took over. We could run as it rolled in, let the assembly cry and fight, and sob and yell, and gouge each other’s eyes out, leave them to drown in a flooding church, in a deluge of rain, rage, blood, and tears.

Manée started to smile, and so did Juan. Their fingers laced together, and he stroked her arm as she shivered in the cold wind. Her feathered train fluttered like the wings of an angel, as she gently batted her tear-stained eyelashes. The green-eyed monster hiding under my skin reared up its ugly head again.

I could feel my legs shaking, and my lips trembling as they ached to speak up. Words gathered and jammed up in my throat, as sharp air inflated my chest, threatening to burst out of my lungs. My blood ran both cold and icy, and my head felt both light and heavy, as a thousand thoughts spun like a hurricane inside of me.

But I stayed quiet.

Lightning struck nearby as the priest lifted his hand to bless the rings, and for God’s sake, what other sign did they need to know this marriage wasn’t meant to be?

“Lord God, bless this ring as a symbol of the vows and commitments made here today,” declared the priest, raising his voice to beat the growing storm. “May it be a sign of the unbreakable bond between Juan and Maria Renée. We ask that you consecrate this ring with your love, that it may remind them of the love they share and the promises they have made. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The ground trembled, the sky rumbled, and my lips began to quiver.

“Juan, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity,” said Manée, loud enough for all to hear. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

She struggled to slip the ring around his finger, and Juan half-heartedly answered:

“María Renée, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

The clouds ripped open as they sealed their fate. Torrents of water poured onto our heads, ruining hairdos, battering the roses, drenching nice suits, and melting the makeup off all the pretty faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you Mr. Juan Sandoval and Ms. María Renée Sandoval, whom God has joined together in holy matrimony,” declared the priest, as the howling wind and roaring rain drowned out his words. “By the power vested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. Juan, you may now kiss your bride.”

Juan gently wrapped his arms around her, a tender look in his dark eyes as he stepped closer. As if things weren’t bad enough, he swept her off her feet like the guys do in movies, and tried to convince the crowd of his commitment by giving Manée the world’s most nauseating, passionate kiss.

To the beat of thunder and applause, Juan and Manée hurried off the altar and ran down the aisle hand in hand, their faces beaming with bright grins, showered with soggy confetti and a deluge of cheers.

I thanked God for the heavy rain, for no one could tell apart its freezing drops from my burning tears.

Lady In Red

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