Page 92 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

Sophie tiptoed away, too exhausted to intervene in Lucia and Tom’s argument. She came to stand next to Andreas and Kira, taking deep breaths in and out through her mouth as the pressure sluiced off her.

‘Another one bites the dust,’ Andreas said.

Sophie laughed. ‘It’s not a victory in battle.’

‘They’re behaving like it is,’ he said drily, watching as the groomsmen threw their arms around Roman a little too wildly. ‘They look like they’ll need supervision at the reception.’

Sophie blinked, surprised when her brain interpreted that to mean he would come. She eyed him. Surely that’s not what he meant. He didn’t even have a suit and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to turn up in his rugged mountain guide gear, smelling like he’d just got back from an expedition.

He just smiled at her and she looked away, certain she was wrong.

‘Do you want a big, fancy wedding, then?’ he asked suddenly, his look wary.

His wording, again, put her off-balance. She thought they’d decided to be partners, to deal with the topic of marriage in time – or even never. Peering at him curiously, she said, ‘What about the summit of Everest?’

His laugh was full and deep and he paused to press a smacking kiss to the top of her head. ‘I’ve already been there.’

‘Well, good for you!’

‘But standing up in front of a bunch of strangers and saying something sentimental is… not one of my strengths.’

‘I know,’ she said mildly. ‘I need to getthiswedding over and done with. Elena at the hotel might be panicking. I need to call her. I feel like today has taken a week, but there’s still the whole reception to go.’

Andreas’s hand brushing her shoulder and then the back of her neck made her want to purr like a contented cat. She wondered if he knew how powerfully his casual affection acted on her.

Giving her a quick hug, he said, ‘You’ve got it all under control. But we have to get them all down first.’

Ohhh, shit. She’d forgotten that part.

36

After the violence of the midday storm, the lake was tranquil in the evening, reflecting fading sunlight with a lingering shimmer of warmth. The aquamarine water near the shore at Limone was cool and still and the rock faces ranging over the town radiated the heat of the day.

The bedraggled wedding party had arrived back at the hotel for two hours’ well-earned rest before the reception – and to wash off the mud. After checking Lucia’s wound once more and leaving her with fresh dressings, Andreas had pressed a quick kiss to Sophie’s lips and left with Kira, in something of a hurry.

He probably wanted to escape before the men got their suits on. If he’d stayed even a minute longer, Sophie might have asked him if he’d come along despite his objections, but she didn’t want to shove him straight out of his comfort zone when he’d only just got up the courage to tell her how he felt. She would miss him, though.

It was only a short walk to the reception venue, but Sophie was glad she’d arranged for the minibus to transport the heavy-footed wedding party that evening. The ancient streets of the old town meant that the minibus could only take them partway anyway and they disembarked at a cobbled intersection of narrow lanes, surrounded by buildings with wooden shutters and balconies bursting with plants.

Sophie led the group along one of the lanes, past rough stone houses with begonias on the windowsills, to a rock wall covered in vines. She was glad her favourite silver sandals with chunky heels were comfortable as she took the uneven staircase up to the entrance of the museum and function rooms. The stairs gave them a gradual view of the town that was tucked between the vast lake and sheer rockfaces. The church of San Benedetto with its domed belltower rising above the speckled terracotta rooftiles, as well as the palm trees dotted along the waterfront, made it easy to forget this wasn’t a beach resort on the Mediterranean, but a mountain lake in the alpine foothills.

The venue was a historic citrus grove where lemons, oranges, grapefruit and mandarins were cultivated at one of the northernmost latitudes in the world. Sophie greeted Marcella, the manager, and introduced Lily and Roman, then she stepped back and enjoyed the fruits of her labour. After the wedding party had spent the day in outdoor gear and boots, it made Sophie smile to see Lily in her red wraparound dress, a fresh wreath of flowers in her hair. Roman wore a pale-blue suit and a pair of white sneakers, dressy enough to be special, but comfortable enough to be himself.

Marcella showed them through the stone building and out onto the highest terrace, where bushy lemon and orange trees with shiny, dark leaves grew under a wooden frame that was open for the summer. The sweet-bitter scent of unripe fruit pervaded the fresh evening air.

The photographer snapped candid shots of the family laughing, of Roman pressing a kiss to the backs of Lily’s fingers and the bridesmaids smiling and looking chic in colourful dresses that didn’t match, but added to the celebratory mood – all with the backdrop of the lake and the cliffs extending above them.

Soft instrumental music played through hidden speakers – not a live quartet for the sake of space and budget, but soothing, nonetheless. A waiter appeared with a trolley of glasses and several bottles of prosecco as an aperitivo and Sophie stepped in to make sure Lily’s glass was discreetly filled with non-alcoholic apple spritzer instead.

As dusk fell over the lake, they moved inside for dinner. Two long tables had been set up on the top floor of the museum in the middle of the terrace, decked with white tablecloths and sprinkled with flowers. On a small table in the corner stood the tiered millefoglie wedding cake, piled with cream and late-summer berries.

The cake would be delicious, but she couldn’t help thinking it couldn’t be as delicious as the piece she’d shared with Andreas back at the apartment the day she’d photographed him with a wreath of flowers on his head and a signature Hinterdorfer frown.

In Sophie’s experience, wedding meals were often either forgotten in the whirlwind of the party or became the main focus – sometimes in a negative way – but, as with everything else that day, the tagliatelle al salmone and the sliced beef tagliata with olive-oil potatoes suited the occasion perfectly. The guests had a hearty appetite and the simple, fresh flavours in the rustic lemon grove created the intimate atmosphere Lily and Roman had wanted.

Sophie took a seat on the corner of one of the tables. She didn’t always join in with the wedding meal, but Lily had insisted it would feel stranger if she disappeared inside to eat with Marcella and it wasn’t the first time Sophie’s dual role as wedding planner and tour guide had blurred the expectations of her job.

There were no speeches, just a delicious meal with a view of the lake, the clatter and clink of cutlery and glasses and the easy conversation of close friends and family.

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