Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage by Dina Matos McGreevey Page B

my hand. “I’m excited,” he said to me. “Are you ready?”
    “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
    I didn’t have a single doubt or a moment’s hesitation, but it all felt a little unreal. I had never thought that I would get married in someone’s office, much less an Episcopalian’s.
    Then Father Counselman took us through our vows.
    It was over in just a few minutes. Still standing in Father Counselman’s office, we signed all the paperwork, and then he told us we were now legally husband and wife. Jim seemed ebullient. I was happy, but it all felt faintly surreal to me. Jim and I kissed, and Celia turned to me and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. McGreevey!” If there was any moment that made it real for me, this was it.
    By now, it was 8:30 P.M. and still pouring. Jim and I had planned to go out to dinner somewhere in Woodbridge, just the two of us, following the ceremony.
    “Do you still want to go out to dinner?” said Jim.
    “Not really,” I replied. “Let’s wait till we really feel married.”
    We had finished later than expected, and the weather was still awful. That would probably be another sign in a movie, but in our lives it just meant we didn’t have to get even wetter than we already were. Jim walked me to my car, where we kissed good night. After that, he went to his home, which soon would be my home, and I went back to my parents’ in Elizabeth, knowing that this would be the last night I slept there. I realize that might seem strange to some people, but I didn’t even think of going to Jim’s house. For one thing, the evening’s formalities didn’t seem like our “real” wedding. For another, I hadn’t told my parents about this little matrimonial detour. I wanted the formality and excitement of our wedding ceremony to be shared by everyone, at the same time and in the same place. As far as I was concerned we didn’t exchange vows that night, we just signed a contract. Besides, we were leaving the next morning for Washington, and I still hadn’t packed for our wedding and honeymoon—ten days in Italy.
    Soon after I got home, my phone rang. “So, Mrs. McGreevey, how does it feel to be married?” Jim asked.
    “I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t think I feel married yet.”
    “Are you happy?” he asked. “I am.”
    “Yes,” I said. “I really am happy.”
    The next morning, as Jim and I sat together on the train to Washington, D.C., I wondered what married life would really be like. I knew that ours would not be a typical marriage, though I was certainly not prepared for just how atypical it would be. I was marrying someone who I believed would be governor, maybe even president. But what did it mean to be the wife of the governor? I wouldn’t be able to compare my marriage to any of my friends’ marriages or to the marriages of any of my relatives. The only political wife I knew well was Lori Kennedy. I did know that many political marriages ended in divorce, and that made me wary. I was going to make my marriage work.
     
    I WASN’T ONE OF those little girls who played bride, so I hadn’t really imagined a fantasy wedding for myself, but our wedding ceremony two days later was close to perfect, a lovely mix of happiness and hope. There wasn’t a Catholic priest or a church (that would have made it perfect), but I did wear my beautiful Vera Wang dress—a strapless gown in antique white—and my dad did walk me down the aisle. All the people I loved were there to share in the day.
    During the ceremony, we had not two but three wedding rings. My mother had a plain gold ring that I had asked for, since I knew that it no longer fit her. I wanted my marriage to be strong and happy like my parents’, and bringing my mother’s ring into our ceremony was a concrete way of expressing my deepest hopes of what the future would bring to Jim and me. When we said our vows, my voice was soft, while Jim’s carried throughout the room. He was accustomed to making speeches, and I was