Page 55 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

Before the thread between them pulled too tight, Sophie hastened her steps. They’d only slept together again – after agreeing that they weren’t rekindling their relationship in any other way. Neither of them should imply that they’d had any responsibility to each other during the past eight years.

He caught up to her quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his expression harsh, but he snatched her hand and held on, looking ahead, rather than at her. The path curved up the hill, a steep drop-off on one side, and when they turned a corner, Sophie saw it – the ghost village.

Nestled amongst the foliage – olive and oak trees, a single, spindly cypress and lush growth of ivy – was a cluster of crumbling stone and dappled clay roofs. An electricity cable strung across the shallow gully was the only sign she hadn’t gone back in time in this secret hollow over the lake.

‘This is the village of Campo – population around five,’ Andreas said as he squeezed her hand to urge her on.

The impression of entering a secret, forgotten place grew stronger as she took the uneven path after Andreas. Dilapidated walls with vacant windows loomed on both sides, shutters hanging by a single hinge. Many roofs were missing. The mismatched houses were built onto each other or separated only by narrow streets that pre-dated the invention of the automobile.

Archways, hidden steps and short tunnels led them through the tiny town, with constant glimpses of the hillside and the lake. A pot plant or two suggested the presence of the few residents, but the place was eerily quiet.

A carriage wheel was propped under an old stone balcony. An archway led from nowhere to nowhere, but framed a stunning view of olive groves and still, turquoise water. The roots of old trees tangled in the bricks of ancient walls.

Everywhere Sophie looked, she could picture unforgettable wedding photos.

‘Look,’ Andreas said, gesturing through the arch. As Sophie stepped closer, she saw that someone had mounted a red sign at the edge of a little clearing that read simply:

LOVE

Her chest hurt. The sign was trite at best and at worst tasteless, but to stumble upon love in this secluded ghost town struck the sentimental part of her she refused to give up, even after everything she’d been through. But that sentimental part had no business imagining she was here with Andreas for a reason.

It didn’t change anything that he now knew about the lowest time in her life. Today had to be a part of her own story, not their doomed romance.

Perhaps she had to admit that their relationship had meant a lot to her – everything, at one point. She hadn’t been only young and stupid; she’d been genuinely in love and she shouldn’t throw away the memories, the experience, as much as she might want to when it hurt.

‘Not “amore”?’ she asked with a chuckle that probably didn’t quite disguise her emotional state.

‘Take some pictures – for your clients,’ he suggested, possibly as a coded instruction for her to calm the heck down. She was on a business trip. ‘Then we can see if the lady is around to open the café, such as it is.’

She gave him a tight smile, pulling her phone from her rucksack. He drifted through the arch towards the sign and paused, his hands in his pockets and his foot propped up on a log, gazing out at the view over the water.

Sophie suspected she’d regret this – all of it – but she lifted her phone and opened the camera app. With a tap of her finger, she framed and saved forever the image of Andreas, straight-backed, tranquil and probably dreaming of mountains, with the word ‘LOVE’ in huge letters next to him.

* * *

‘Is this enough of a view for you?’ Sophie teased.

She stood resting her arms in the straps of her rucksack, feet wide on the loose rock debris, and gazed at the 360-degree vista. The entire lake was visible, from a hazy Sirmione in the south all the way to Riva in the northern corner. But even in its entirety, Italy’s largest lake looked small from over 2,000 metres up, high enough that the Alps ranged into the distance, a few peaks still snow-covered, even at the beginning of June.

But Andreas struggled to tear his eyes from another view – one he’d missed for eight long years. A view he would miss again for he didn’t know how long – because she was going home tomorrow and so was he. He was trying not to resent her smile, when he couldn’t muster his own.

‘What will Lily and Roman think of it?’

Sometime over the past week, he’d developed a little grace for the wedding Sophie was planning. The bride and groom had become people, as Sophie spoke of them. Lily had been gravely ill and they wanted to celebrate her return to health as well as the strength of their commitment. After the gnawing ache he’d felt when he’d heard about Sophie losing a baby… He was more prone to sympathy than usual right now. He was more prone to everything emotional.

‘To be honest, I don’t know if it’s what they were hoping for,’ she said, the wind whipping her hair in her face as she picked her way back over the rocks to him. She was beautifully sure-footed, his Sophie.

‘Why not? Like you said, the view is almost unbeatable, as this is the second-highest point around the lake. There’s a croce di vetta.’ He gestured to the rounded metal cross marking the summit the way a used-car salesman presented his wares.

‘It’s a bit of a moon landscape,’ Sophie said, gazing around her again in wonder at the sweeps of rubble from previous rockfalls, the looming stone with slanted strata where only the hardiest bushes clung to life. ‘I think a little wedding would be overwhelmed up here, where geology and geography are the main show.’

He approached her slowly, waiting until she prompted him with a look. ‘Are you suggesting that there might actually be bigger things in life than a wedding?’

‘I walked into that one, didn’t I?’

Nodding, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. ‘We’ve both come a little closer to understanding each other’s point of view.’

‘Close enough that you’re guaranteed to cry on their wedding day,’ she quipped.

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