Page 22 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

‘How beautiful it is here,’ she said with a smile.

Swerving hard, Andreas brought the car to a sudden standstill in a lay-by. Flung forward against her seatbelt, Sophie floundered for purchase against the dashboard, but when she’d steadied herself and given him a sharp look, she remained leaning forward, peering through the windscreen as he turned off the engine.

The lake was wide at the southern end, blue-green water rippling lightly, stretching out under a sky streaked with frothy clouds. Mountains rose into view on the other side, growing higher and craggier to the north, where the ground had been crinkled and concertinaed into incredible shapes over the aeons.

Glancing at Andreas, she found him following her gaze, one arm propped on the steering wheel. As usual, she couldn’t read his expression.

‘I suppose you come here all the time,’ she prompted.

His only answer was a small nod.

‘And the views are better at home anyway?’

‘The views are better from higher up,’ he said after a pause.

Their conversation from the pub back in April came alive between them again. He lived for altitude and adventure. She organised weddings. The gulf between them couldn’t be spanned by a simple suspension bridge.

‘But I forgot how beautiful it is too,’ he said, his voice rough. Turning away with a deep breath, he started the car and backed it out, his arm draped over the passenger seat as he watched for traffic over his shoulder.

Sophie didn’t move, his words echoing unexpectedly between her ribs. The proximity of his hand to her neck was palpable. She stared straight ahead as he reversed the car onto the road and drew his hand away, but not before the backs of his fingers whispered over her nape.

She must have imagined it.

9

Andreas noticed that Sophie was trying to keep her expression carefully cool as he led her up the cobbled lane from where he’d parked the car, but her eyes lit up as she took in the crumbling stone walls, the wooden shutters and the planters bursting with spring flowers on every doorstep and windowsill. With the heat from the lake at his back, he was far from the crisp air and wooden gables of home, even though the run-down cabin where he lived most of the time was only two hours away by car.

He probably hadn’t needed to warn her about the state of the apartment. No matter how she looked these days, she’d slept in her share of tents at one time. But when he led her up the tiled steps, unease shivered through him, as though he were letting her into more than just his grandparents’ holiday apartment.

Through the small front hall, they emerged directly into the kitchen diner, the heart of the place, with its open fire and exposed beams. The cabinet and dining table were of old, scratched wood, heavy and solid – farmhouse furniture from long-dead relatives. Her footsteps made muted clicks on the ceramic tiles and she gazed around her – curiously, without judgement – and that was almost worse. He wondered what she’d find of him here and wished he didn’t care.

She’d changed a lot since they’d been together. Her hair was shorter, her face sharper – her expressions much sharper. The chic outfits were new, too, although he’d rarely seen her at work back then. He preferred smudged outdoor gear. Then he didn’t have to worry about getting her dirty.

Her cream linen-blend blouse was a perfect reminder that he couldn’t touch her now anyway.

Forcing his eyes off her for the hundredth time since he’d picked her up, he strode across the kitchen to wash his hands at the farmhouse-style sink, indicating her bedroom, through the door to the right.

‘Take as long as you want to settle in and then we can get some dinner,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got the weather forecast for the week. We can discuss what you need to do.’

‘I’m not sure I have the energy for more arguments.’ She spoke quietly, her voice muffled by the distance between where Andreas stood and where she’d disappeared into her room.

‘I didn’t say anything about arguments!’ Cutting himself off with a huff when he realised he was energetically disagreeing with her again, he continued more mildly, ‘I promise not to take my cynicism out on you any more.’

She appeared in the doorway. ‘We don’t have to work over dinner – and you don’t have to take me to dinner. I’m used to being on business trips alone or in charge of everyone else. Then you don’t have to pack away your mood to spare me. I’m sure you’ll be sick of weddings by the time we’re done.’

He studied her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry for what I said in the car. I am trying.’Iwantto take you to dinner. I’m happy to see you. You look stunning in that outfit. I like your haircut. I like the way you said you’re usually in charge. ‘And there are only two restaurants in this town, so chances are we’d run into each other anyway.’

She blinked at him for long enough that he felt heat rush up his neck. ‘That reallywouldbe awkward,’ she muttered.

The warmth of the day was still hovering over the lake when he led the way down the steep, winding lane to Via Marniga, the main street, such as it was. He felt somewhat at home here, far from the bustling towns of Riva and Garda where throngs of tourists flocked to the waterfront. Brenzone was the name of a cluster of small villages clinging to the hillside on the eastern bank of the lake and this one, Marniga, was barely on the map.

The town was little more than a few cobbled streets, a cluster of multicoloured buildings scattered with cypress trees and tucked into olive groves, with the slopes of the Monte Baldo massif rising behind. Residents strung their washing from the upper windows and the lanes were too narrow for cars to pass.

‘Where do you usually stay in this area?’ he asked.

‘At the same hotel as the wedding party. We’ve held weddings in Sirmione and Limone sul Garda, as well as a couple in the Valpolicella region and one in Verona itself. I do know the area quite well, just not the…’

‘Interesting bits,’ he completed for her, with a quick lift of his eyebrows to indicate he was joking.

---