Page 9 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

He thought she muttered, ‘You can say that again,’ under her breath as she stamped up the front steps after him.

The house was a 1930s terrace that had been split into four awkwardly shaped flats with only two bathrooms between them. The carpet in the entrance hall was grey and institutional and the facing on his particle-board front door was chipped. As heat stole up his neck, he hoped at least that she could now congratulate herself on her lucky escape from a long-term relationship withhim.

He let her into the single small room and said, ‘Sit down,’ before he’d thought that through. The only place to sit was on the dark-blue duvet. By some miracle, he’d made the bed before leaving for Eyri. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

Snatching a towel from the hook behind the door, he escaped in the direction of the bathroom, hearing the amusement in her voice as she called after him, ‘Take your time!’

Only when he was standing in the shower, his hands resting on the cold tiles with the water on full, streaming over his head and slowly stripping the dirt off him, did he realise he hadn’t thought to bring any clothes with him.

4

Sophie lasted about one minute before she decided shereallyneeded tea. Persuading herself it wasn’t snooping, she opened the plywood cupboards of the kitchenette one after another, finding an opened box of instant mashed potato, a pile of energy bars and a hunk of vacuum-packed preserved meat – but no tea. Her hand shook concerningly as she closed the final cupboard.

She jumped when the door banged open, and then she froze. Andreas stalked back into the room, avoiding her gaze. His hair was dripping and the scent of herbal soap finally provided relief for her nose, but the rest of her was far from relieved.

He clutched his towel tightly around his waist, but he was otherwise completely naked, all golden skin and brawn and scars. His chest rose and fell with agitated breaths, drawing her eyes to the play of muscle and sinew, the dips and contours of a body honed for resilience and strength. When he turned away to rifle in his wardrobe, even the bunch-and-release of muscles in his back was hypnotic. Whatever his – many – flaws, Andreas Hinterdorfer still had the most incredible body she’d ever laid eyes on.

With a rush of embarrassment to her hairline, she remembered all the ways she’d shown her admiration for that body when they’d been together. That had been what he’d wanted from her after all. She’d just been too naïve to see it – and she’d somehow convinced herself she loved the rest of him too.

She forced her gaze down and that was when she caught sight of his feet: pale, lightly freckled and missing the two smallest toes on the right. She swallowed.

‘You might want to turn around,’ he called over his shoulder, his voice gravelly.

She whirled around so quickly that she had to grasp the Formica bench for balance. She wasn’t sure if he meant it for his benefit or hers. She’d certainly seen it all before and he’d never had a problem with nudity. She remembered him leaping into the turquoise water of a tiny lake somewhere in the Dolomites, his naked body little more than a blur with the jaw-dropping backdrop of granite mountain peaks.

‘I was looking for tea,’ she said curtly, tumbling back into the present.

‘I don’t have any. And if I did, I wouldn’t have any milk.’

His gruff words only reminded her that there’d been a time when he’d kept teabags in his room just for her, milk in the mini-fridge.

‘If you want this over with quickly, you could start talking. I will help you if I can.’

She turned without thinking, whipping back around when she caught sight of him tugging a shirt down over his chest, snug boxer shorts the only thing he wore below the waist. The worst part was the pang of familiarity. She shouldn’t have remembered the feel of him in such detail.

But she’d been young and impressionable and… he’d made an impression.

‘When did you become a wedding planner? I thought you loved being a travel agent.’ His tone had thankfully eased to nonchalant, rather than barbed.

‘It’s not much of a leap,’ she said. ‘We’re not a traditional wedding planning agency. We organise destination weddings – all the travel arrangements as well.’

‘And your current clients want to get married in the Himalayas?’

This time when she turned, he was thankfully decent – although still buttoning his supple jeans. But the tight T-shirt from an outdoor brand did little to hide the tough shape of him and when he slipped a patterned woollen sweater over the top, he looked cosier than her favourite sofa.

‘It’s not as bad as the Himalayas. They’re outdoor types and they want to get married at the top of a mountain – a symbolic commitment ceremony.’

‘A… “symbolic commitment ceremony”?’ He wiped a hand over his mouth, muffling his next words, although she nonetheless heard, ‘What’s the fucking point?’

‘It’s one of the options we’ve developed over the years to deal with the bureaucratic challenges of getting married in another country. Some people call it an elopement ceremony. I officiate myself – I mean, I’ve qualified as a celebrant here in the UK as well—’ She took a deep breath to stop the words awkwardly flowing out of her mouth. ‘Look, it’s the client’s wish and there’s no need to disparage them because they’re trying to make their wedding day meaningful. I would have thought you’d understand the allure of a mountain summit.’

‘Yes, but not to get married up there!’

Her nostrils flared as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. ‘Why not? Their relationship means to them what your expeditions mean to you.’

When he laughed, there was a darkness in the sound that made her uneasy. ‘Marriage is endurance? Obsession? Pushing the limits of human strength – sometimes too far?’

Her skin prickled. ‘Marriage can be about endurance, yes.’ Hers certainly had been. ‘It’s not all easy. And pushing the limits of the humanheart. When you take a look at all the horrible things people do to each other, I think marriage is a kind of miracle.’

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