Page 65 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

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Telling herself this would be the most awkward wedding of her career would help no one, so Sophie brushed away the thought as soon as it assailed her. She wished she’d handed Betsy over last night so there would have been no chance of Rory seeing Andreas – or Andreas seeing Rory, or whichever was worse. And she should have better prepared herself for the reality of sitting in close quarters with Andreas and pretending she’d managed that clean break.

She didn’t know what he’d said to her ex-husband, but he’d been particularly grumpy when he’d returned to the car – perhaps because he’d kept his big hands to himself, not that Rory was worth a punch when he had an expedition coming up.

She felt Kira’s curious looks as they held a stilted, casual conversation on the way to the airport and then the wedding guests descended, leaving Sophie hyper-aware of everything Andreas did, but with a strong imperative to ignore all of it.

When they all landed in Verona and Kira and Andreas headed to Marniga in the old Panda, leaving Sophie with the guests in the hired minibus, she could finally calm down and focus on her clients.

But her brain kept hanging on the image of Andreas, silver hoop winking in his ear, giving Rory a terrifying look and asking why he thought she had to explain herself to him. For once, she was glad she’d peeked at the pictures from their trip a little too often, or the sight of him might have made her do something stupid like throw her arms around him.

Now they were back at the lake for Lily and Roman’s big day, not to reminisce about her own romantic trip. Usually, she thrived on the business end of weddings – both the literal business side of budgets and bookings, and the figurative business end, when the big day loomed and there were a thousand small errands to run.

But that Monday, her head felt concerningly foggy and she itched to pull her tablet from her bag and recheck her lists, because she couldn’t seem to remember the work that awaited her once she’d got the wedding party settled into the hotel. She already felt slightly out-of-control, which wasn’t normal.

Thirteen guests had arrived on the flight today with another three expected tomorrow. The minibus made its way along the winding Adige river from Verona, cutting through sweeping, trellised vineyards with looming hills on both sides, and finally approached the lake. Olive trees flashed by on the side of the road and a town in the valley below them baked in the warm sun, the slanted lines of Monte Brione appearing hazy in the sunshine.

The parents of the bride and groom had their faces glued to the windows and the wedding party seemed to be in high spirits. It would all work out.

Then the bridesmaid, Lucia, opened her mouth and Sophie’s tension zipped right back up again. ‘Please tell me we have that guide for the hen do!’

‘Lucia!’ the maid of honour admonished her. ‘It’s not like he’s a stripper! We’re going kayaking for the hen do.’

‘If he’s shirtless in tight swimmers, it’ll be even better than if we’d booked Lily a stripper.’

Sophie counted silently to ten. If this was what the bridesmaids were like without alcohol, it was a very good thing they were kayaking for the hen do and not doing anything involving shots – or strippers.

‘I thought by bringing everyone here, we’d manage to avoid all that stuff,’ Lily said with a huff from her position at the back of the minibus.

Sophie breathed again. Gently reprimanding a group of bridesmaids for objectifying her… colleague wasn’t something she’d wanted on her to-do list for the day.

Roman turned around and asked, ‘Are you talking about Andreas Hinterdorfer?’

Oh God, if only everyone would stop talking about Andreas Hinterdorfer, she might have a chance to clear her head!

‘I can’t believe Andreas Hinterdorfer is coming to our wedding! He’s climbed Everest six times! I went to see an exhibition of photos from two of his expeditions by that famous nature photographer.’

Ah, Rhys the nature photographer who refused to take pictures of people – apparently unless those people were at foolishly high altitude.

‘I was just looking at how big his hands are!’ Lucia said emphatically as the minibus disappeared into a tunnel.

Lily sighed, putting Sophie on alert. ‘Lucia, I really want you to have a good time?—’

‘I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother,’ Lucia cut her off, her smile vanishing. She glanced out of the window at the glimpses of turquoise water through the arches. ‘I won’t ruin your wedding, don’t worry. Besides, it’s Sophie the wedding planner who’s got something going on with our mountain guide – right?’

Heat rushed to Sophie’s cheeks. She always tried to be open and friendly with wedding parties so she didn’t feel like an awkward addition on the big day, but the question pushed her to the limit. ‘I— Erm…’

The minibus shot out of the tunnel into the sunshine, the road running right along the waterfront with a sheer rock face on the other side. With gasps and sighs, the wedding guests were thankfully more interested in the view than Sophie’s questionable love life and she couldn’t blame them when the stony mountains tumbled theatrically into the rippling water and every shade of green and blue – and the orange of the clay roofs – was enhanced by the late-summer sun.

Lily and Roman shared a grin. The awkward moment had passed without Sophie having to decide what on earth to say.

After twenty minutes of breathtaking views and stern reminders to herself not to seek out glimpses of the places she’d visited with Andreas, Sophie and the guests arrived at the hotel in Limone sul Garda to a chorus of happy murmurs.

Sophie loved this place. The hotel was tucked against a rock face at the edge of the town, above old, terraced gardens of olive trees, spreading stone pines, palms and tall, thin cypresses. A curving swimming pool occupied one end of the largest terrace. The clay roofs of the town of Limone were visible to the south and directly in front, the lake glittered and the sun hit the sloping meadows and jutting rock of the Monte Baldo massif on the other side.

She’d worked with the hotel on three weddings now and she knew prosecco on the roof terrace awaited the guests. Then they’d enjoy the pool or walk down to the shore while Sophie met with the hotel manager to tackle any last-minute problems.

Once all that was achieved, she’d wave off the guests as they walked to the Romantica restaurant for their seafood linguine or grilled whole lavarello with lemon and herbs with a glass of chilled soave, while she breathed out with an aperitif on her own tiny balcony on the top floor of the hotel, before ordering some stuffed gnocchi to take away for herself. Amidst the stress of the events leading up to the wedding, that time was precious to her. She needed it more than usual that day.

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