"Too bad," said my mother. "You can wear
high heels all you want. But don't come complaining to me. It's your choice.
Take responsibility for it." The day of my wedding, I definitely had several good
reasons to complain, but I was too excited to do so. I got up at dawn with my
mother and my sisters. It was snowing; Montreal was gray and icy. I did my
makeup myself. Then little hands were fluttering all around me, dressing me and
doing my hair. My hairdresser had to rack his brains and even add a fake
chignon so that he could attach the pearl riara that Mirella Gentile had
created. "It's
too heavy. It'll hurt your head," he said. "I don't give a damn. Even if you have to stick
pins in my scalp, I want to wear that tiara. I'll deal with it." I knew I wouldn't really be satisfied with this
celebration unless I gave the best of myself. For me to be happy and satisfied,
I've got to put a lot of energy into what I do. That's how I am. I truly
believe that you get nothing from nothing. Our
wedding was spectacular—like nothing ever
before seen in Quebec. A very elegant, romantic dream. Thousands were massed
along the route of the convoy of limousines that left the Hotel Westin to go
to the Cathedral of Notre Dame; it was accompanied by a police escort on
motorcycles. A blue carpet bearing our intertwined initials ran up the street
and across the church square and the nave, right up to the altar, where Rene
was waiting for me surrounded by his best men. I entered on my father's arm, my
eight sisters carrying my train. It was magnificent, gorgeous, and thrilling.
And I thought, as I moved toward the altar where I would be married, the sound of the great organ in the background, of the path I'd taken since the birth of that love. I'd always known that I'd stick with it to the very end, for better or for worse.
For the reception, parts of the hotel had been transformed to give the guests the feeling of a dream. You walked on carpets made of flower petals. You entered a gallery whose walls, floor, and ceiling were pure white. Also immaculately white were the large cages filled with fluttering, cooing doves. You passed through a salon that reminded you of Aladdin and A Thousand and One Nights and then through a Parisian bistro, a sushi bar, a Wild West saloon, and a Spanish tapas bar. There wasa flood of champagne and flowers everywhere. Magicians, musicians, a string quartet in one room, a rock band in another. And of course a casino, with blackjack and roulette tables. And everyone we loved was there.
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