He's Strong. He's Hot. He's Foreign. (And He's in the Mafia?)

“I heard you shouting with your brother last night,” Peter commented over lunch, which was my breakfast actually. I had finally gone to bed at three o’clock last night and had woken up mere minutes ago at the crack of noon.

“Well I guess we have that in common” I muttered, poking at the pasta pesto I had heated up from last night.

Peter smirked and brushed some hair away from my face, “It was no big deal Jane, my brothers and I have as good of relationships as you and Jeremiah.”

I rolled my eyes, “But you just looked so angry, I’ve never seen you like that.”

“I run a dirty business, honey, I can’t always be nice,” he murmured, getting up and putting his dishes in the sink.

“What were you fighting about?” I asked, turning around in my chair to face him, my legs crossed against the back of the chair.

“Stuff that doesn't really concern you, Jane,” he said frankly, showing signs of agitation now. He pulled a chair right next to mine and sat down, leaning in so our faces were inches apart.

“The best thing you can do for your situation right now is to not question what I handle in my business. Do you really want to walk around with the weight of all the horrible shit my family does on your chest? Why would you want to concern yourself with that? I can provide you a comfortable lifestyle, more comfortable than most, and I can love you. Marriage doesn't mean becoming part of the mob, Jane, and I will do whatever I can to keep you away from it,” Peter said, holding my face in his hands, his voice level.

“But marriage does mean becoming two parts of one whole,” I choked out, “And I know you’re trying to protect me Peter, but…I want to protect you too…and I don’t wanna be that wife who just sits at home waiting for that one phone call to hear if her husband’s alive or not…”

Peter held me against his shoulder as I let the tears pour down my face after my worst fear was finally said aloud: Peter gone.

“I’m right here, Janey, no one is going to kill me, I swear to you,” he whispered, stroking my hair.

“Now why would anyone wanna kill you, ruskie?”

Jeremiah had sauntered into the kitchen, dirt and sweat staining his work clothes. He whipped off his gloves and threw them down on the kitchen table before crossing his arms and observing the scene before him.

“What do you want?” I snapped, standing up and wiping my tears away hastily. I picked up my plate and dropped it into the sink, jumping at the loud sound it made.

“A tuna sandwich would be nice,” he smirked, “Just try not to get your tears on it, Jane.”

Not being able to take Jeremiah anymore, I turned around and punched him in the face with all the force I could muster. Peter stood up, an incredulous look on his face. Jeremiah staggered back slightly, letting out a surprised laugh.

“You’ve gotten stronger, Janey!” he exclaimed, an almost crazy look in eye, “Your beau must be giving you some self-defense lessons or somethin’!”

“Make your own fucking sandwich!” I exclaimed, my fist still clenched, angry tears pouring down my face.

“She’s adorable, ain't she?” Jeremiah chuckled, looking over at Peter, who was looking slightly worn.

“Are you two going to go like this forever?” Peter asked, looking at each of us in turn, “Because I have to admit it is getting quite boring to listen to the two of you constantly attacking each other.”

“Old habits die hard, ruskie, and me and Janey got lost time to make up for,” Jeremiah smirked, looking over at my sour face.

“Jane will only be here for another week, could you at least learn to appreciate your sister?” Peter said, sounding like an exasperated mother with two bickering children.

“I'm not getting my sandwich, am I?" he sighed, "Oh well, I was going to meet up with Mitch anyways, see you later Jane....ruskie."

Jeremiah downed the last of his beer, crushed the can in his hand and tossed it in the trash. He smirked at my sour expression, grabbed his jacket and walked out.

"I hate him," I mumbled, resting my head against Peter's chest as he wrapped his arms around me.

"You know what, darashya?" he said, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger so our faces could meet, "I do too."

I laughed and kissed him, happy that he had finally put his annoying optimism about Jeremiah to rest.

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The next week went by with no more explosive arguments between me and Jeremiah, but Jeremiah still never lost the chance to make a snide comment, hoping he would send me over the edge. I had met with my Aunt Clara and she gave me my mother’s wedding dress, which I would wear for both of the weddings. It was simple but extremely elegant with light beading around the bodess and a long train. As I stared at myself in the mirror one rainy Tuesday before the wedding, all I could do was hope that Peter would love it as much as I did.

“What are you going to do about food and seating and all that stuff?” my Aunt Clara asked as she stuck pins in the dress, deciding where to hem.

“Well, I’m renting out the church hall and Diane said that the diner she works at would cater…and I really don’t care where everyone sits,” I said, paying more attention to my reflection in the mirror.

“Did you even send out invitations?” she asked incredulously, “God, Janey, with that rich fiancé of yours you think you could hire people to get all this done.”

“I really don’t wanna make this any bigger than it needs to be,” I muttered, smoothing out my dress, “And besides, the whole town already knows, and I asked Father Patrick to tell people that anyone who wants to come can come. Just mention free food and that church will fill up in the blink of an eye.”

“I just think that there’s a classier way to do this,” she said, pursing her lips disapprovingly, “What’s the rush?”

“What makes you think I wanna stick around?” I snapped, “You done?”

Aunt Clara sighed and nodded, getting to her feet while I rushed into the bathroom to get changed. She acted like my tortured teenage years had never happened; like she had been a caring guardian and Jeremiah’s antics were mere practical jokes. I didn't really care about making peace with her. She was a coward. This whole town is full of cowards.

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“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” I mumbled, sitting up in bed with Peter in my room the night before the wedding.

“Yes,” he whispered, rubbing my shoulder, pulling me closer to him.

“And then the next day we’re leaving!” I exclaimed happily, jumping on top of him, my arms around his neck, “After two freakin’ weeks we’re finally going home!”

“I am home wherever you are, darashya,” Peter said, tapping my lips.

I laughed, “So…if we were both sitting in a cardboard box, that would be home too?”

“Even better…there would be no room for Jeremiah,” he smirked, kissing me.

“Peter…we’re not supposed to do it the night before the wedding…” I whispered as he moved down to my neck, his hands sliding down past my waist.

“We’re technically not supposed to do it at any time before the wedding,” he chuckled in between kisses.

“Yeah I know…but it’s like triple bad luck to sleep together before the wedding!” I said matter-of-factly, “And I wouldn’t be saying this if it weren't true, you know that.”

“Fine, we’ll stay abstinent for this one night,” he sighed, sitting back and moving some hair away from my face, “But you better get ready for tomorrow night.”

“Oh now I’m excited,” I said, not being able to hold back my laughter.

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“I’m surprised you showed up,” I muttered as Jeremiah and I stood outside the doors to the church, “I thought you said you do everything you could to stop this wedding.”

“I’m surprised I showed up too, Janey,” Jeremiah muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his black suit, which Peter had lent him.

“So I’m guessing you approve?” I said, looking up at him, not being able to hold back a smile.

Jeremiah met my gaze, narrowing his eyes at me, then relaxing into a smile, “Well, at least with him, you have a shot at making some decent-looking babies.”

I playfully punched his arm, holding back a laugh, “Thanks asshole.”

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” he said, holding out his arm for me.

I drew in deep breath, let it out slowly, and gripped wrapped my arm around his, completely ready to become Peter’s lawfully wedded wife.

The doors opened and the whole congregation stood at my presence, but as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, they could only focus on Peter, the beautiful man waiting for me at the end of the aisle, my light at the end of the tunnel. Peter, all dressed up in a tuxedo especially tailored and bought for this occasion, beamed at me as Jeremiah led me down the aisle. I could not stop happy tears from running down my face as it dawned on me: Peter was officially mine forever, and I was his.

“Janey,” Jeremiah whispered in my ear as we stood in front of the altar.

“Yeah?” I whispered back, not looking at him, but keeping my eyes locked with Peter’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered so quietly, I barely heard over the organ playing and people murmuring to themselves.

I broke Peter’s gaze to snap my head to face Jeremiah, fresh tears pouring down my cheeks. He had just said the words I thought were not a part of his vocabulary. I let out an elated laugh and leapt into his arms, squeezing my brother tight, feeling connected to him for the first time in a long time.

“Now go get married for Christ’s sakes,” he said after setting me down. I laughed again and kissed his cheek before turning to face Peter, who was grinning down at me. He held out a hand for me and I took it, taking my place across from him at the altar.

“White is a beautiful color on you, my love,” he murmured, taking my other hand too as Father Kiernan began the whole wedding speech as the congregation took their seats.

“I never thought that would happen,” I mumbled, “My mascara isn’t running, is it?”

“No,” he chuckled softly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear, “You are absolutely stunning.”

“Likewise,” I giggled before turning to the priest and letting the ceremony continue.

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I tore that fancy dress off my body as soon as the after-party was over and swapped it for jeans and a t-shirt. The rest of the after-party happened as one would presume; I slow danced with Peter to Celine Dion, we shoved cake into each other’s faces, Peter removed the garter from my thigh (scandalous), and Diane caught my bouquet, much to her apparent dismay.

“Jane! Wait!” I heard a frantic voice call as Peter and I were packing the last of our things into the SUV.

I turned around to see an old blue station wagon pulling into the driveway, driven by a hysterical Diane, Michael and Sally in the back with sour faces. It looked like they had packed their whole lives into their station wagon.

“Hey…” I said unsurely as Diane leapt out of the front seat, looking elated.

“We want in,” she whispered, leaning in and catching glances at Peter, who had stopped packing to observe the situation.

“Excuse me?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“I dumped the son of a bitch and took the kids, packed up everything, and now we want to start over in the city! I mean, I don’t know why I hadn't thought of it years ago!” she said, her face practically glowing with liberation.

“So…you just wanna up and move to the city?” I said unsurely.

“Now don’t you judge me Jane, you did the same thing three years ago…and you were only eighteen! Well I am twenty-three thank you and I can make my own decisions better than you could back then! And I decided that I need to get the hell outta this hick town so my kids can grow up with more than a bale of hay for a friend!” she exclaimed.

“But this is different Diane, you have kids, you have to think about what this will do to them…you have to think about money…Mitch-”

“-Jane, if she doesn't like it there, she can always go back, can’t you?” Peter interjected, wrapping an arm around my waist.

Diane’s face lit up, happy to have one supporter, “See Jane! It’s not like the decision is permanent!”

I rolled my eyes; she obviously did not see my point, “Fine, you can follow behind us.”