Work Text:
﴾The Proposal﴿
For a twenty-four-year-old woman, Trish felt she had lived far beyond her age. After living a lucrative musical career, abandoning it for safety reasons in relation to Passione gang and storming the world of fashion, she has been living in recent years balancing her multi-professional life among fashion columns on the internet, the production of new artists by the independent record label which she opened in her name (but which was in practice madly run by Narancia), the weekly radio program she hosted and, out of the public eye, her work as a human resources manager for the largest criminal organization in southern Italy. After all, among other great abilities, Trish was a Stand user associated with the Mafia.
As she defined herself on her fashion blog, Trish Una was a mediator of persons, willing to extract the best of the uniqueness of each one, as a good Gemini girl. And this work was never over.
Of course, not everything is work. That evening, specifically, the dinner at the Passione organization's headquarters wasn't formal in the professional sense. Closed doors with a half dozen people gathered around the long table, usually used for political deals and bargaining, covered in candy and savory, bottles of alcohol, and a beautiful cake with twenty-five candles on it; it was the birthday of a very special man: her boss, her friend, Giorno Giovanna. The familiar faces smiled and the conversation was lively at supper. It was one of the few moments during the year that Trish and her long-time friends celebrated something sincerely: every birthday was a party, where they were just to thank and celebrate that another year was lived. In a labor camp where murder is always lurking, a mobster joyfully welcomes each new year of aging.
Neglecting her darkest thoughts, Trish lifted her champagne glass and joined the group toast in honor of the birthday boy. With tenderness, her eyes registered the smiles of Bruno Buccellati, Pannacotta Fugo, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Narancia Ghirga, Leone Abbacchio, Guido Mista and Giorno Giovanna. Thinking about death and past sorrows didn't match the party mood. The woman sat down and watched Mista cutting off the first piece of cake, handing it over to his boyfriend's plate, and the passionate looks the couple exchanged. Thrilled by their happiness, and with the impulse to bother Mista, by the force of old habits, Trish shot a comment:
"And when will the wedding be?"
It was supposed to be a mocking and harmless comment, just to see Mista blush on the cheeks. Trish felt a little bad to see that everyone was silenced, looking expectantly at Giorno and Mista, and the blond himself lost the smile on his lips. Of course, there was no marriage. They were in the mafia, these things didn't happen. The woman immediately regretted the unfortunate comment.
"Trish!" Mista was, in fact, with his face full flushed, but his eyes expressed a little dismay amid the flustered stare.
"Now that you've commented..." Giorno looked thoughtfully, his index finger on his chin. Mista turned quickly to his lover, face completely red at this point. Trish felt her eyebrows arch and then furrowed her brow. Looked like the Boss caught the joke. "Let me check on something." The blonde turned in his chair, looking for something inside his workbook, leaning against the back of the seat. Around the table, Narancia, Fugo, and Abbacchio were no longer paying attention to the couple, engaged in a new topic of conversation. Buccellati watched Giorno's suspicious behavior with a limpid expression and an enigmatic smile on his face. Trish was curious - the Don was a man full of surprises. Giorno turned to the table, offering a red rose to Mista. Romantic, but the usual flirt. 'Big deal, actually', Trish thought.
"Oh, thank you, amore mio." No matter how many times Giorno turned something into flowers and gave it to him, Mista always looked embarrassed. A hopeless romantic.
"Oh wait a minute." Giorno stood and touched his glass with his dessert cutlery three times, drawing everyone's attention at supper. 'Ah, yeah, time for the Boss speech in his birthday dinner', Trish thought. "It is an immeasurable joy to share the night in which I complete twenty-five years of life surrounded by the people I trust. Each of you is special and unique, people with whom I have lived the worst and the best moments of my life, in the last ten years. People with whom I can envisage the future. You are my family. Not like the Passione family as a whole. You are special, the first and closest friends I have cultivated on this journey, and I am immensely grateful to have meaning in your life, just as you mean so much to me."
Fugo was already clapping hands, which were followed by most, but Giorno waved his hand to continue. 'Giorno, dear, you're a sweetheart, but we want to eat the dessert' Trish sighed. "You all are very important to me, which is why I want to take the opportunity of being together in a festive moment to pay a very simple tribute to a very special person." With his hand extended to Mista, Don made his boyfriend stand up on the chair, giving his hand to the blonde. Mista was still with the rose between his fingers, and this hand was wrapped by Giorno's pale fingers. "Guido Mista, my Underboss, my great friend, my sunrise and the love of my life. Being contemporary in the time you walk on Earth is enough for me to breathe, but I dare to ask for much more than that." Trish glanced at the other friends at the table, all mute watching with expectation. She turned her eyes to the couple herself, 'that's just what I'm thinking?', the girl had to physically close her mouth. "Would you like to formalize our union, Guido?"
Mista seemed neither to be more aware of all the other people in the room. Trish felt conscious that she was grinning from ear to ear. 'Say yes, idiot!' the woman thought, wishing her friend would listen to her thoughts. "Giorno..." was all the Underboss said, looking at the rose itself in his hands. When Boss' illuminated fingers touched the rose, it returned to its original shape – a small silver ring with a lapis lazuli stone embedded in the metal. "Giorno!..." Mista gasped. Trish thought, 'this is the king of eloquence', but she knew that the scene made herself thrilled, and could only suppose how Mista was supposed to be feeling at that moment. Trish wondered if the gunman was aware of the significance of that stone in the engagement ring.
"Answer at once, I want cake!" Narancia shouted from the end of the table. Despite Buccellati's scolding gaze, the others fell into friendly laughter. Giorno's laughter was nervous, Mista's was worse. 'These two...' and Trish shook her head. Giorno's blue eyes were locked on Mista's, waiting eagerly. The other man turned his gaze several times, staring at the floor, at the table, at his friends, at the ring. As the silence lengthened and Giorno began to tremble in his hands, Mista took the full body of his boyfriend in a strong hug.
"Yes! Yes, my God, yes! Accetto di sposarti! I can't believe it! Yes! Oh, Dio mio! That's right! I... Yes!" Trish could only see Giorno’s arms in the air, the body of the Boss completely enveloped in kisses and hugs from his boyfriend. She got up from her chair and started clapping, followed by the boys.
Narancia jumped in the chair, Trish and Fugo threw themselves into the couple in hugs; Buccellati waited for the opportunity to give a hug to Mista and another to Giorno. Abbacchio patted Mista's shoulder, muttered something like 'welcome to the club,' and shook Giorno's hand respectfully. As Mista completely forgot to cut the pieces of cake and distribute among his friends, Buccellati took the task for himself. 'I've been joking, but this is serious now...' Trish thought, and distanced herself from her friends, walking to the window of the room. Looking at the crescent moon in the night sky, she decided to personally commit herself to the ceremony. 'They deserve it. It's going to be my best job!', the woman said to herself.
“Giorno, congratulations, again. Can I talk a little?”
“Of course, Trish.” The blue eyes were calm and tender. ‘A man in love, huh...’
“I want to organize a wedding. Please... I promise you, I’ll make it perfect!”
The Don was thoughtful for a few seconds, studying Trish with his eyes. "There are companies specialized in events like this, and although I appreciate the gesture, you already have so many commitments..."
Trish made a pompous pose and announced, as in a television advertisement “These companies don’t offer what I offer. Before you ask yourself 'what Trish Una offers', I say that my differential lies in a) personalized treatment – I know you more than you would like; b) long experience proven in fancy parties and c) neither you nor Mista can kill me in case of bridal crisis.”
Giorno smiled, amused by the girl's theatrical action, but arched one eyebrow. "Bridal crisis?"
“Bridal crisis. When the bride became a Godzilla, or Bridezilla, if you want, making the wedding planning a nightmare inside the dream.”
“We’re not having any of that, Trish...”
“Oh? So tell me if you're going to get married at the lakeshore, at the beach, or Mista's hometown church. Oh, are you getting married in the summer or spring? And what souvenirs are going to be offered to the guests?”
The blonde just stared, stunned by the number of questions in less than a minute. "Why..."
“Why does it matter? Good question. I'll tell you what I think. I think Mista wants to get married on the lakeshore on a spring afternoon, and he wants the guests to get little sacks of souvenir sunflower seeds.”
Giorno studied the subordinate's confident smile for a few more minutes. Finally, he shrugged. "How much will your services cost me?"
"How absurd! It's my gift, you idiot." Giorno raised another eyebrow, in which the woman quickly added a low "Boss."
“Trish... Thank you.”
“I said it’s my gift, Boss.”
“No, I mean... I was waiting for an opportunity. Thank you for the timely moment you created.”
﴾The Preparations﴿
"We still have a month, Trish."
"You meant 'we only have one more month, Trish!'"
"We only have one month! My ladybug! This is madness!"
The three gangsters, each one in an armchair, arched their heads behind the seat and let out long sighs. Mista was the anxiety personified, he had millions of ideas and nothing was enough. Trish was almost regretting it. As the boys set the date for the end of May and did nothing else since the engagement, the woman had to make them set up a meeting on holy Sunday afternoon to discuss the details of the ceremony. Giorno just wanted to eat the pudding in peace.
Trish got up and took a notebook from her purse. "Okay, let's review the basics of the basics, I know you have a lot of unplanned events and a busy schedule, but that is going to have to work.” The two fiancès looked at the friend apprehensively. Outside they could be the most dangerous men in the most dangerous gang or whatever, but in Trish Una's territory, they just had to cooperate and no one gets hurt. “I love you guys, and I'm going to make this marriage go as planned, even if it means to turn your life into a little hell.”
"Trish, I don’t know exactly what the big issue is in setting up a wedding party. I've had so many parties in the last couple of years... It's the case of checking suppliers and paying everyone." At least Giorno was getting into the business mood.
Trish shook her head. "A marriage, Don Giovanna, isn’t a business dinner, although in some cases it may be, it’s not your situation. It’s a ritualistic party that includes celebration, official recognition, and homage, something that says out loud ‘here’s our love nest’, do you understand?"
Mista nodded positively with enthusiasm as Giorno nodded slightly, eating another bite of his chocolate pudding.
"As I know you, and I know what you are alike and what you are different about, I figured that just asking a lot of questions like a regular ceremonial interview would be counterproductive. Instead..." The woman went to the wall room and pulled out a mural on casters, with a pinned conceptual map. "...I introduce you, sirs, the Passione attack strategy #6577, titled 'Till death'. Cute, huh?"
“...This is my board.”
“Yeah, GioGio, it’s a beautiful board. You decided to engaged one night and get married 45 days later. I’m an angel. Or just crazy.”
“I’ll bet ‘angel’. Or ‘brave soldier’”, Mista commented. Thank you, boy. “It looks like those crazy romantic comedies, isn’t it?” and the Underboss turned to his lover. Giorno smiled to his fiancè, looking amused by the turn of the events. “I’m aware that organizing a wedding in a short time requires a lot of effort, but, fortunately, this isn’t the typical traditional wedding.”
“Good. Excellent. You are understanding me, I’m understanding you, we are...” Trish pointed from her to them twice. “We are having communication intelligible and this is fantastic. So, I have a plan. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Totally.”
“You have carte blanche.”
“You go, girl.”
“Enough”, the woman smiled, a little blushed. “If you follow my plan, arranged in this mural, you will see that the schedule is divided into six parts. Each part corresponds to one week, from the engagement day until May 28th. And we’re late because only the first column is complete. We have already organized: the first guest list - just close relatives and close friends; the style of the party - cake with champagne, I loved it; the place – a lakeshore and, by the way, Giorno, what a sweeping idea!”
“Thank you, dear. I always knew that Mista dreamed of marrying by the lake” while Mista hid his pink-cheeked face, Trish winked at the Don, thinking 'what a classy liar'.
“Continuing. We're at the end of what would be the second week, but there’s no invitation for godparents, nor preparation of the printed invitations, no one was at tailoring shop, incidentally, no supplier. I don't even know if you guys are having a bachelor party!” The two men looked at each other, visibly embarrassed. "Fine, let's rule out the bachelor party." If any of them made any protest, Trish didn’t see it, so quickly she removed the card from the box where it was written 'bachelor party'. “And the godparents would be...?” the woman turned back to stare the two men.
“But I am The Godfather” Giorno mocked. “I mean, we’re not getting married at a church because I still can’t change Vatican rules and I have no intention of breaking with the Catholic Church and instituting a new branch of Christianity. Yet.”
“Honestly, I would invite everyone from the old team to be godparents, and you would be the sole godmother” Mista added. “This traditional pattern doesn’t match anything with the ceremony we’re thinking.”
The girl sighed. “Understood. No godparents so.”
"Trish, I appreciate your efforts, but this marriage is ours and we have to be responsible for the event. At least allow us to take part in the tasks, like a team. I'm accustomed to bargaining with entrepreneurs, I can search suppliers and deal with basic services such as food and photography", Giorno spoke with such a neutral expression that Trish didn't know if he was being a serious, responsible groom, or just bored with the preparations.
"That's right, Trish, give the orders, you're good at telling others what to do" Mista smiled with such conviction, giving thumbs up to his friend, that it softened the sense of criticism in the Underboss comment.
“Fine, but as I said before, I'm going to make this marriage go as planned, even if it means to turn your life into a little hell.” ‘Or mine’ the woman told to herself.
With less than four weeks left for the wedding, Trish conferred with Giorno, at the end of each day, if he was already with the suppliers closed. In general, this is a time-consuming step at the beginning of the organization of a wedding, as it demands weeks of negotiation and experimentation on the quality of the services provided. With all due credit, Giorno proved that the experience and ability to negotiate with suppliers over the years was more than valid, so that before the end of the following Saturday Trish already had in her notes the contracts of confectionery, a photography team, a band of violinists and a traditional graphic. It still lacked the beauty and decor services, but that could stay for the next week.
On Saturday afternoon, the woman accompanied the two fiancés in several wedding-dress stores. Giorno didn’t seem to mind buying one more suit, but Mista was torn between a traditional costume and something more 'springy', as he put it. Trish had never seen the two men have an argument in her life, but even the most passionate couple has to disagree at some point. And that should be even more common in the preparations for a wedding party.
“I think you are beautiful in this tuxedo, but Giorno... We’ll marry on the edge of a lake, one of the most beautiful in Italy, you know, fauna, flora... And we in tuxedos? It's totally out of context.”
“Guido, it's our wedding. What do you want? Wear tunics and flowers on the head?”
“Not a bad idea...”
“No.”
“Gio!...”
“No, it’s not happening. I already have the design for my wedding suit. I won’t dress like I'm in a hippie rave.”
“A-a hippie- ah!...” The gunman made a mouthful with his lips, annoyed. Giorno remained impassive, analyzing the suits arranged in the clothes rack of the store. 'Glad I came', Trish thought. She had a job to do.
"My loves, let's focus for a moment?" she started. "I believe Mista is right to point out that there is a certain lightness of fabrics that the climate and the environment of marriage demands." Mista's eyes widened in anticipation, and Giorno glared coldly at Trish. "I don't want to say that you have to walk barefoot or anything, but the suits can be softer and, in my opinion, in light colors. What do you think?"
“Well, I’m not against shoes either...” Mista remarked.
The two men looked at each other and nodded slightly. "Great! Let's think of off-white and gold for Giorno and... Light blue and silver for Mista." Trish couldn’t contain herself and squealed with satisfaction. "I can already see, you will look beautiful!"
Another discussion had to do with the invitations. Nothing about the design, the text or any detail of the concrete objects, but about to whom to send them. Trish had entered the room with the sole intention of confirming a list of names, but now she was following a real relationship discussion in Don Giovanna's office.
“I'm a family guy, but my family sucks! You don’t know them.”
“Of course I don’t know, you never introduced me. Your sisters follow me on social networks and haven’t the slightest idea that I suck your-“
“Why do they follow you on the internet? They don’t even follow me on the internet! Those two didn’t even send me a postcard last Christmas!”
“You don’t look for them!”
“You know what, I don’t care, it's all past. My family is Passione now. It's been like this for years, everything that matters to me is here.”
“Guido, I feel that way too, but it's our marriage, we're forming a family and our actual families won’t be there? It’s at least a dark irony.”
“I think we're a much better family than the blood we didn’t pick. I don’t miss my childhood, I was miserable and nobody cared about my dreams. And you, your mother ignores you solemnly, it seems like she never gave birth to you in her selfish life.”
“Don’t talk like that about my mother!”
“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot how holy she is... Seriously, Giorno, do you think she's going to show up this time? It was easier for your vampire father with two genetic codes to come back from the dead!”
“Okay, shut the fuck up!” Trish rose from her chair. “I thought it would be good for you to let go of the heart troubles a bit, but we're wasting time.” Trish picked up the cell phone and clicked the stopwatch. “You have exactly three minutes to decide whether your relatives are on the guest list or not, and it’s not ‘this’ or ‘that’ relative. It's either 'yes, kin', or 'no, kin'.”
Four seconds passed as the two men stared threateningly, then turning their faces at the same time to Trish and saying in unison, "no, kin." Good, very good.
To complete the week, Giorno insisted on taking by himself the Mista's original task to look for the little souvenirs. The blond made Trish walk with him, high-heeled, through all Naples flower shops, searching for the seeds of ‘perfect sunflowers’. What were the perfect seeds, Trish couldn’t say, but the city had no such thing available?
"It could be the seed from another plant," the girl tried, sensing that arguing with the boss would be useless.
"No, it has to be a sunflower. Mista wants sunflower, and it will have sunflower."
"Giorno..." Trish felt that nothing good would come by insisting with Don Giovanna at the moment. It wasn’t enough for the superhuman stress of the mafia's daily life, preparing a wedding could even affect a couple in strange ways. 'I just hope we don’t have a triple bridal crisis', the woman thought, feeling a callous aching on the left foot.
"Hey, Trish, where Giovanna and Mista are going to spend their honeymoon?"
"Right here in the office, Abbacchio."
“Oh... That’s an original destination. I hope they don’t fuck on the porch. Again.”
“I do dispense information”, the girl said between chuckles.
“Well, it looks like I'm going to have to think about another wedding present. What do you think of a sack full of scorpions?”
“Excellent.”
“Show the video again, Trish. Look there, Gio... Drop the balloons at sunset will be fantastic!”
“And where will those balloons stop?” Giorno looked very displeased. Trish sighed.
Mista raised his spleens in the air, next to his body, with an expression of confusion. "...Relevance?"
“Passione is supporting a city hall candidate whose campaign platform base is sustainable economy and environment’s protection policies, and we’ll pollute the lake's natural environment with colorful latex because, for some reason, seeing balloons flying against the sky for five minutes seems fantastic?”
Mista snorted and sank into the chair, arching his head for a moment. Then he rose up and stood beside Trish, opening his spleens wide. "Now? That's all you can think of, the fucking politics and your business! It's our wedding, dammit!"
"Guido, don't act like I don't put our interests into having a beautiful wedding party in the background... I must remind you that Passione is not 'my business', it's the work of all of us here, the interests of the organization go through everything that can become public of our actions. We are public people, please, my sunrise... "
"Whatever."
Trish kept quiet all the time. As the two fiancés didn't say anything else, the woman only had to scratch in her notebook the item 'balloons in the setting sun'.
“They're not going to have a bachelor party.”
“Hmn.”
“They aren’t going to have a honeymoon trip.”
“Hmn-huh.”
“They won’t invite their relatives to the ceremony.”
“Huh-huhmn.”
“Is this a wedding or a divorce party at the lake?”
“Panni, please. It's their wedding, every couple has the right to marry as they see fit.”
“This doesn’t make sense! They’re acting stranger lately. Before, it was disgusting to see how close they were to each other. Now, it’s a pain to see how they shun and stare disguised. It’s as if we’re back in time and they didn’t know how to say they were horny for each other. It annoys me.”
Trish continued to check out the photo album options that the vendors had to deliver to the sample as she listened to Fugo. If even Fugo is worrying openly about Giorno and Mista's relationship, maybe it was time to talk to the lovebirds.
"Okay, that's the order, correct me if I'm wrong: between four-thirty and five o'clock in the afternoon, the guests arrive and are greeted by Polnareff and me and the music is light... Okay, Mista, your wedding won’t start at four o’clock, it’s five! Five! It starts when you guys arrive! Now, listen... Five o'clock in the afternoon you come in and go to the altar and Polnareff gives the speech and... Coco Jumbo brings the rings – are you sure that the turtle is trained to do so? Well, it doesn’t matter now, then, vow exchanges and ba da bee, ba da boom, you two married, then toast and cake and party, is that right?"
“It’s a way of summarizing it” Giorno mocked.
“Ba da bee, ba da boom, girl!” Mista was dubious whether he was teasing or sincerely enthusiastic. “But, uh... what's this vow story? I already did that, if I remember correctly.”
“Well, this is an individual task. Mista, Giorno, you will think well and write on a paper the promises of loyalty, love, and companionship you will offer to each other on the day of the ceremony. I suggest you don’t leave it to write at the last moment.”
"Oh. Yeah, I... I can do that." Trish looked at Mista with a little pity. The man had wide eyes and a completely confused smile.
“And Giorno...” the woman held firmly on the Boss's shoulder “I know the wedding party is yours, but, please, don’t exaggerate in the speech. We want to hear vows of affection, not a rally.”
"..." The blond seemed to have something to retort, but he didn’t dare.
“One more thing. A wedding party is the celebration of a loving relationship, and relationships have ups and downs. Like everything in life, the party won’t be exactly like what you may have imagined, so, please, don’t take everything so seriously and leave the preparation’s bigger problems to me. This is why grooms rely on ceremonialist’s help to organize the celebration. Marriage is the sharing of two lives in one. Remember that, my dears.”
Six days before the wedding, Trish woke up in the middle of the morning in her room at Passione's headquarters with more phone calls. She had already confirmed and reconfirmed suppliers, attended to several RSVPs, passed on decoration, confirmed furniture delivery, bought tulle and more tulle (so much tulle, Giorno Giovanna!), confirmed, unmarked, re-marked and reconfirmed schedule in aesthetics for everyone (everyone for real, even Polnareff wanted to do his hairdo professionally) and Mista had left to her half of the damn jute bags to tie by hand, with the perfect sunflower seeds that Giorno ordered in a village in northern Italy. Trish was determined to take the afternoon off.
“Hi, may I come in?”
“Hmn? Hey, Nara Boy... I missed you. Please, sit down. How are you going?”
“I'm good. I wanted to know, then... Do people love each other forever?”
“Oh. That is a difficult question. I can only speak for myself, and I love you very much, do you know that, little brat?” Trish opened her arms wide and smiled, gathering dark circles under her eyes. Narancia slipped into the embrace, curling into the woman's lap like a domestic cat.
“I was the night watchman yesterday and saw Giorno and Mista quarreling in the leadership room. This morning, the Boss didn’t come down for breakfast. I think he's surviving only from pudding in his room.”
Trish laughed a little as she smoothed his friend's hair. “This sucks... It’s the effect of groom anxiety. You'll see that once they're eating the damn wedding cake, they'll be clinging again and talking about the most shameful romantic nonsense on Earth.”
“I hope so!” the boy turned to his friend and gave her a worried look. “You seem to be suffering from this same pre-marriage ailment.”
“Haha, I can tell... Planning a wedding is a Herculean task.”
“Why?”
“Well, because there are many steps and a huge schedule to keep-“
“What bullshit. Whether you have a big birthday party, or just go to a pizzeria, or do nothing on your birthday – it's still birthday, and you get old anyway. If Giorno and Mista love each other and are together, the party is only bonus points.”
Trish continued stroking Narancia's fringe, not answering.
With twenty minutes to one o'clock, Trish sent an email to Giorno, confirming that all the steps were completed, and attaching the 'groom's day' information about the beauty schedule he and Mista would have separately. It was Friday early morning, and after weeks Trish would have more than twelve hours of a day off.
She slept late that day, and when the woman checked her mailbox in the afternoon, she noticed that Giorno hadn’t answered. It was a rare behavior because the Don seemed to become one with his smartphone. He must have been moving ahead with work into the office to be free the next day. Nothing to worry about.
﴾The Wedding﴿
"Trish, Giorno isn’t answering the phone."
"He must be at the spa, Bruno."
"Trish, seriously, I got two messages from Mista bothering me with his bridal panic. I'm not Narancia or you, I don’t have the patience for this nonsense."
"You have no patience at all, Pannacotta."
"Mista won’t get lost on the way to the lake, eh? Will he be late, just like those brides from rom-com movies?"
"Most likely he’s on the altar before the altar itself is set, Nara."
"I hope no one cancels the wedding. I bought fine-toed shoes that I won’t wear on another occasion."
"You mean 'the shoes Bruno bought’, right, Abbacchio? And, please, don’t curse the wedding, it's going to happen."
"I'm not cursing, on the contrary."
"I called again and he doesn’t answer. Trish, do-"
"Aaaaargh!!! Jesus, Mary, Joseph!" Trish got up from the chair, letting rolls of hair fall to the floor. The woman stared at the boys, all of them already dressed in character, standing in the anteroom where hair and makeup professionals were preparing them for the ceremony. "I can deal with a groom in crisis, I can handle two fiancees in crisis, I can even deal with myself in crisis with the grooms. Now, I've never seen in my life a whole family bridal crisis of this fucking magnitude! And stop smiling at me, assholes! That's not a compliment!" She sat down again in the chair, and the hairdresser put the lace back on the pink top. "Every little thing is gonna be alright.”
Everything went wrong. ‘Of course, everything had to go wrong when two mafiosi decide to marry. It's like a low-cost comedy movie. I should have known’, Trish thought, standing beside Polnareff by the small wooden platform that served as an altar.
She arrived with Polnareff and the boys around two-thirty in the afternoon, and she was terrified that nothing, absolutely nothing was ready. Immediately, Trish began to call from all the available cell phones next to the equipment to the suppliers.
"You're joking with me, I confirmed the strawberry cake three days ago! What nonsense is that 'no strawberries were asked'? I do speak Greek, by any chance? Cake for celiacs? What celiac people? We’re Italian people! Look, it doesn’t matter, just bring me some damn cake!"
"Yes, the contract says eight hours of service, but when are you going to show up with the photographic equipment? Yeah, it's a daytime wedding, technically. Surcharge? Of course, there are no electrical outlets, we’re at a lake! If you're not here in thirty minutes I'm going to tear up this contract and shoot the party with my cell phone, I bet my work is still better than hearing so much stupidity!”
“Yeah, I'm seeing a lot of chairs and trestles and some wood on the floor here. What I'm not seeing is an altar set up and tables arranged according to the guest map I've attached in my last email. Of course, I did, I have printed. Are you literate, my dear?”
“WHERE’S THE FUCKIN’ TULLE?!”
Trish threw the cell phone on the floor, furiously. She picked up another cell phone in her pursue bag and checked the time: 2:53 p.m. 'No panic, Trish. You have a job to do’, she said to herself, in a mantra.
The boys were mounting the palenques and easels on the lawn, rolling fabrics and bags of flower petals on the floor. Fugo found a giant tulle roll behind a tree. 'I'm going to do a negative review on every site these horrible companies announce in their lives, ah, they'll see', Trish would say to herself as she ruined her red nails by pinning LED lights around the little altar set up by Abbacchio.
About twenty minutes later, a small van loaded with crockery, cutlery, goblets, champagne, sweet, savory and cake, parked near the lake. It was not a strawberry cake. 'Mista will kill me', the woman thought. It was a cake of nuts and chocolate zest, with the blessed dough for celiacs. It's in God's hands now.
The photography team had already arrived and the decorator's car had finished the job 'which should have been done in the morning, you worthless idiots'. Fortunately, the old Buccellati Team boys made an effort to assist the suppliers who came and went, so things took someplace at the edge of the lake in a hurry. Now the boys were sweaty, their shoes muddy and their hair disheveled, but they smiled so confidently at Trish that she even smiled back.
The woman checked the big picture. Table of cake, table of sweets, table of foaming, table of cutlery, bowls, and plates. Chairs lined up, tables laid out (not like on the guest map, but now fuck it), altar looks gorgeous, which is amazing. Polnareff rereading his speech at the altar reading shelf. The violinists didn’t come, but there was still a piano laid out on the stage beside the altar (because Giorno demanded a white grand piano at the ceremony only for aesthetics), then something could be arranged. Guests coming in, ok, show time... The woman checked her cell phone, which was somewhere on the lawn - it was 4:46 p.m. Three messages from Mista and one missed call from Giorno.
“What? GioGio, calm down, okay... I can’t understand what you’re saying, the connection is really bad here...” Trish lied to her phone. Of course, she understood her boss’s voice. She just doesn’t want to. “Tell me where are you. I said, text me. Do you hear me? Text me, bye!” and the woman turned off the call without blinking. This isn’t that bad. It’s normal. It must be normal.
The grooms didn’t want a gigantic party, so there were only around fifty people sitting in the chairs, waiting. At a glance Trish watched Polnareff chatting animatedly with Buccellati, at the foot of the altar; Fugo and Narancia near the liquor table, subtly taking care of some nonsense guest to start sipping before the ceremony. Abbacchio was approaching a car that parked near the lawn. Mista had arrived at exactly five o'clock in the afternoon.
Trish's phone vibrated in her hand. A text message from Giorno said 'I'm in my car, on the northeast side of the lake, find me there'. Okay, something of groom's nervousness, Trish had read many wedding blogs and was prepared for anything. And besides, she was Trish Una, she knew how to deal with people. As Mista's gaze met hers, the distance, with the most nervous and contented smile in the universe, the woman sighed and walked over to him.
“Where is he?" Mista asked quietly, between his teeth, smiling at the guests who came to greet him.
"Giorno's already coming, I just got a message", Trish replied, also between her teeth, smiling falsely at the guests, waving. "Do not panic. And don’t move from here."
"
I'm already in a panic, I'm going to have a heart attack, I'm going to die and I'm not getting married!" Mista's broad smile seemed manic when combined with the man's scary look.
"It's all right, my dear. I'm going to get that blonde to you."
Discreetly, the Underboss grabbed Trish's arm, bringing her into a friendly hug, and whispering, his eyes fearful. "Please bring him to me." Trish just nodded, seriously.
“What happened, my friend?” Trish watched the blond, elegantly attired, his hair loose on his shoulders for once in a lifetime. He was sitting in the driver's seat, the car door open, and his bare feet touching the grass. The pair of white shoes with gold accents between hands, his eyes downcast.
“This is not right. I'm going to ruin Guido's dream.”
Trish glanced at the clock on her cell phone display. "No drama needed, delays are a classic of weddings, Mista nor will care for ten more minutes of waiting. He has waited for years..."
“There it is. He always has to wait” the blond hid his face with both hands. “I'm going to be the worst husband on the planet. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Trish could see his boss shaking his whole body. It was a strange reaction, but she had seen it more than once. It was like crying. 'Maybe Giorno wasn’t ready for this step, after all. I don’t know if I would marry so young either...' she thought, leaning against the body of the car. “You’re right, Giorno." Blue eyes turned to Trish, very wide. “You suck. You were a boyfriend’s boredom, a shit for a fiancè and will probably be going to suck as a husband.”
“I’m not joking...”
“Me either. I would never marry you. Someone has to be a cuckoo lander to want to marry you. Someone has to be crazy to want that.”
“...” The Don stared, transfixed, at the edge of the lake.
Trish burst out laughing. “And that person exists! He’s there, waiting for you on the damn wedding party I regret the last hair of my left eyebrow for wanting to organize! Giorno! You aren’t required to marry, but if you have consideration for your fiancé, go to that altar and say that you want to cancel everything, apologize, I don’t know.”
“I’m a coward, I know...” the blonde started to shake a little, and Trish bent down to hug her friend.
“No, you aren’t. You just love Mista too much and feel afraid to hurt him. Afraid of a big step ahead, and that’s common. If you want to cancel, I’ll support you.”
They stood there for a moment, hugging in silence.
“Do you think I’m a shit of a fiancè?” Giorno’s voice was low against Trish’s skirt.
“Yes... And no. Although I think you could improve on some attitudes, and Mista also, I have not yet met a more perfect duet than the two of you together. If you don’t marry today, almost nothing will change. You know, Narancia told me the other day if it's your birthday and you're not going to the pizzeria... Or you go to the pizzeria... Oh, whatever. The message was that what you already have is an important matter, which is true love and a healthy relationship full of mutual respect and companionship. The party is bonus points.”
“It's been a year since I owe a raise to Narancia”, Giorno said quietly, making Trish chuckles. “I know I love Guido. I don’t know why I felt so affected.”
“You said once that you’re only human. Sometimes we can’t understand ourselves.”
Giorno disengaged himself from the embrace. Trish watched, confused, the blond pull off his coat and pull his shirt out of his pants. Touching the pair of shoes on his lap, the blond created a flower wreath and laid it over his head. “Let’s get married.”
“I thought you didn’t want to look like you were in a hippie rave.”
“Shut up and show me the way, godmother.”
Trish didn’t want to cry. She wasn’t going to cry. She was fine, she was not marrying, but... Okay, maybe, just maybe, a speck has hit the eye. Mista had got rid of his coat, now only in a waistcoat and a button-up shirt. ‘Dio mio, he’s crying and laughing at the same time’. Trish suddenly realized that she was arm in arm with Giorno, walking along the carpet of petals as if she were the bride's father. In that case, the groom’s mother? She felt her cheeks warm and another speck in her eye. 'It was for his mother to be doing this, I suppose', Trish thought. When they reached the altar, the woman handed Giorno to his fiancé, nervously winking at Mista. As she turned to stand beside Buccellati and the others, she noticed that Mista's hat had turned into a wreath. 'That's too cheesy, I'm going to cry', she thought. And maybe she was tearing.
And Polnareff started his speech:
“Today is a day favored by the gods, which is everywhere, in the air we breathe, in this beautiful landscape... Let's make a minute of silence in the name of this moment, in honor of all who had the great opportunity to be here, blessing and wishing all the better for Giorno and Guido. A moment of open-eyed silence for this paradise! A moment of silence in homage to our loved ones and the true feeling of the word: love! This paradise came to this couple and to all of us who live and share this beautiful story full of will and perseverance that I will try to translate here most visually and beautifully possible. Inside this box is all the symbolism that everyone should always remember at all times of their lives - never forget the true and only importance of taking care of our garden, so they never ceased to be present: the butterflies!”
Polnareff opened a small wooden box on the reading shelf, and out came a flurry of blue, red, yellow, and white butterflies. They circled Giorno and Mista and went on a journey through the skies. Then Polnareff announced, "I ask Giorno and Mista to make their vows of love before the Nature of this Earth."
Giorno removed a small folded paper from inside his pants pocket, and read aloud, looking at Mista from time to time “What would I be without seeing your smile? Without your joy, without your loyalty, without your warmth at night, your jokes and your words of encouragement to wake me up and sleep every day, knowing that life is worth the thought of being lived? Above all, what would I be without your friendship? When I think that life is so short and we have the happiness of finding love in the bonds we have created between us, I feel completely alive. Because before I met you, I didn’t know what it was to love and live. And I lived. I lived with you for the last ten years and it was a lifetime. And I want to live as many lives as the gods allow me, always by your side, to grow old and enjoy the little paradise that we have among us. I will love you every day, and every day a little more, Guido Mista.” Before thinking, Mista joined his beloved fiancè in a passionate kiss.
And then, Mista laughed a little bewildered. “I think this wasn’t the protocol, my bad, haha...” Despite the words of apology, the Underboss held Giorno in his arms, vaguely remembering to speak near the microphone. “I decided not to write my vows. I wanted to look you in the eye the moment we were getting married and say exactly what I would feel. And all I can think of is the day we met. I thought 'Giorno Giovanna, this guy has an impact' and I think that often after ten years! You didn’t try hard to change your attitude. Not complaining, haha... And, wow, we're here. We went through so much. So many nightmares, so many joys. And all this load of past has a much better taste because it was divided with you. I’m very anxious to share with you all the joys and sorrows, victories and difficulties that the future holds for us because I know we will overcome everything because you’re my luck. My love. My life. And my husband. I'm all yours forever.”
As the two lovebirds exchanged thrilled glares, Polnareff resumed speaking into the microphone “Finally, I have the right to, on behalf of our household, wish you some things that I consider essential. May the love be watered day after day. Respect be the foundation of everything. The fun always starts again. The good moments be many and be remembered when necessary. The bad moments serve as learning but never gain a bigger weight than they should. And, may you have a beautiful life ahead of you and I wish everyone here be together to see it and share all of this. Be blessed.”
"What do you want, Una?"
"Shut up and do as I say, Panni."
"What a polite woman."
"We need music, come on. You know how to play the piano."
"And how I'm going to play what, Trish Una?" Despite the annoying face, Fugo was already sitting by the grand piano on the deck.
"You start with Ab and Fm. Then just follow the rhythm in Db."
"It's not like I'm a professional, Una. I... I don’t want to ruin the wedding party."
"Keep calm, my angel. We're all drunk on champagne and cake, and I honestly loved that mass for celiac."
"Yeah, you aren’t sober."
"Come on, come on, Polnareff, give me the microphone! Turn that chair wheel, Uncle Pol!"
After a few adjustments, Fugo finally began tapping the keyboard efficiently. 'And the nerd has talent...' Trish thought as she turned on the microphone. "Hey, long life to the grooms! I would like to thank everyone for your presence and pay a simple tribute to these dear friends, you’re the sweetest couple I know, and I wish the best in this new phase of your life!"
"We have to thank you for helping us with this party, Trish!" Mista was hugging his husband with a bottle of champagne in his hands.
"Tell us how to reciprocate", Giorno added, already more excited after some alcohol inside his veins.
The woman said seriously to the microphone "If one day I ever volunteer to plan another wedding party, get me into an asylum... It's healthier... Okay, 1, 2, 3, 4!... Uh... 5!"
Fugo started again playing the piano. Trish intoned:
“Well, I found a man
Stronger than anyone I know
He shares my dreams
I hope that someday we'll share our home
I found love
To carry more than just my secrets
To carry love, to carry children of our own
We are still kids, but we're so in love
Fighting against all odds
I know we'll be alright this time
Darling, just hold my hand
Be your girl, you'll be my man
And I see my future in your eyes
Oh, baby, I'm dancing in the dark
With you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass
Listening to our favorite song
When I saw you in that dress
Looking so beautiful
I don't deserve this
Darling, you look perfect tonight”
Under applause, Trish received a strong hug from Fugo and Narancia. The brunette still played with her "Are you so moved like this, Trish Una?" 'Ah, brat, shut up'. Yes, she was.
[LA FINE]