The music began and the world disappeared.
I stood there, at the start of the flower aisle, my father's arm linked with mine, and all I could see was him. Marco. My future husband. My love. My life.
"Ready, my daughter?" my father asked, his voice choked.
"I am, Dad. More ready than ever."
He squeezed my arm and we began to walk.
Slowly. Each step an eternity. Each flower on the ground a memory. People stood, all eyes on me, but I only saw one pair of blue eyes at the end of the aisle, shining with tears he wasn't even trying to hide.
The little old ladies were in the front row, all crying. Teresa sobbed so loudly you could hear it between the cello notes. Maria wiped her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. Dorotea, the tough one, had a red nose and wasn't hiding it.
Rosa, beside
