The storm remains contained, still keeping its distance.
Fiamma must have made a pact with some saint because the celebration is continuing outdoors despite nature's threats.
Beautiful tents illuminated by strings of lights are spread across elegantly arranged tables with such exquisite taste that, if this weren't my wedding, I would probably be jealous.
I see the dance floor, worthy of royalty, and enough alcohol to drown an army.
It wouldn't be an Italian wedding if we didn't have more wine than any human being should ever be capable of consuming.
We're welcomed with music, applause, and enthusiastic cheers from countless guests, even though I don't know a third of them.
We greet politicians, judges, businesspeople, and even celebrities.
“My dear! My dear daughter!”
Fiamma hugs m
