Page 10 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

He released a huff of disbelief that didn’t seem entirely voluntary. ‘What do you know about marriage?’ He couldn’t conceal his searching glance at her hands.

She tucked her left hand into the crook of her right elbow. Sometimes, the ring finger still felt unnaturally bare. ‘This isn’t about me. The top of a mountain is the last place I’d like to get married and their plans for a week of wedding festivities involving windsurfing and rock climbing is my idea of hell. But the client is always right and that is why I need a guide. It doesn’t have to be you. If you can point out a few places for me to check out, then maybe Kira can help during the actual wedding?—’

‘You’ll need more than one guide. Who’s going to keep Aunt Frieda safe?’

‘I’m pretty sure Aunt Frieda won’t be coming,’ she said with a frown. ‘It’s a small wedding – destination weddings usually are.’

‘At Lake Garda, a place I know very well. I’m surprised you didn’t suggest the Eggental in South Tyrol,’ he grumbled.

Irritation flashed up her throat. ‘Why would I, when I didn’t know you were still working here and I’ve never been to your home? Even when we were together.’ That word ‘together’ hung awkwardly in the air when she uttered it. ‘Lake Garda is a very popular wedding destination and I didn’t even know you take groups there every year. This isn’t some elaborate plot to rub your nose in weddings. I learned my lesson. I will never propose to a man ever again in my entire life. I have not been pining for you for eight years and I don’t know why the memory even registers with you when you have obviously made an exception to your “no family” rule for your best friend’s widow!’

Ohhhhh, shit.The man made her lose her marbles. If there was one thing you could say to convince someone you’d been pining for them for eight years, it was to deny that you’d been pining for them for eight years.

‘What are you talking about?’ he asked peevishly. ‘If we need to go over what happened back then?—’

‘We don’t.’Ever.

‘Thank God for that. And if you’re implying that there’s something between Toni and me aside from deep, old friendship, then have the courage to accuse me clearly.’

The steam dissipated from around Sophie’s head. How was he suddenly the reasonable one? She opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Andreas seemed to take that as an invitation to continue.

‘Miro was my best friend.’ His voice had hardened. ‘I left a piece of myself on Gasherbrum. I thought you would understand that more than most. I’m Cillian’s godfather and when I’m in Weymouth, I teach him to climb – in honour of Miro and also in case he ever gets it in his mind to go up like his Papa. So yes, Toni is family in a way I… didn’t necessarily plan. But I haven’t taken Miro’s place in her life – in herbed, which was what you were implying, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed emphatically, rummaging in a drawer for a pair of socks and tugging them on, the second over his damaged right foot.

‘When Reshma first mentioned consolidating the admin functions, I honestly didn’t know it was Toni’s job we were talking about.’

‘I believe you.’

‘And I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. I suppose I thought, since your climbing brotherhood is stronger than anything else, it might have happened. I hope Toni’s been doing okay.’

‘I don’t really want to talk about it,’ he said stiffly. Wasn’t that just typical? Andreas was invincible – or at least he thought he was. He would never admit how much the loss had hurt.

Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his neck from side to side in a movement that sent another shiver of recognition through Sophie. There had been a time when she would have offered to massage his shoulders and stroke her fingertips along his neck to soothe the ache. His muscles would be tight and thick and he’d sigh and groan when she dug her fingers in and then he’d give her a groggy smile and a sloppy kiss in thanks – and then tumble into bed to sleep for eighteen hours straight.

Although a reluctant smile tugged at her lips, she had to wonder why she’d been so caught up in him. Climbers were their own unique kind.

‘So, Lake Garda,’ he said, changing the subject. He stalked to the sink and filled a glass, glugging half of it. ‘There are a lot of summits to choose from, most of them probably reachable for a small group. How are you going to choose? What’s important to them? I can’t promise to be there for the wedding, but I can help you plan something.’

‘I have no idea, to be honest,’ she answered quietly.

‘You said they want a week of activities? Bachelor party? Hen do? That stuff I’m familiar with.’

‘Something like that, yes.’

All he had to do was glance at her for her to feel utterly incompetent. He leaned heavily on his tatty kitchen bench. Outside the single window with its faded curtain, the sky had darkened to slate. ‘This needs more than an hour, Sophie.’

Her hair stood on end to hear her name on his lips, the ‘o’ sound chewed and the ‘s’ a little sharp in his light accent.

‘Do you want me to come to Bath next week? Meet with the couple?’

No, she didn’t. Not if he was going to look all tired and real and make her feel something. She groped for her handbag, where she’d set it on the bed.

‘Maybe this is a bad idea. In fact, it definitely won’t work. You and weddings? It’s obvious you don’t want to and I don’t want to force you.’

‘Sophie,’ he said again, his tone more insistent this time and she had to look at him. Bad idea. He was searching her expression for the source of her agitation. ‘I’m sorry I was rude before.’

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