Page 2 of A Winter Wedding Adventure
The first man shook his fist and sang, ‘D’un colpevol amor! Elisabetta!’ Even though Kira spoke no Italian – much less operatic Italian – she understood the word ‘love’. Conversations stilled as the incredulous crowd watched, some raising their phones to record. Goosebumps raced up Kira’s arm.
His coat a flurry of cloth around him, the younger man – Mattia, presumably – came closer. ‘Tua madre!’ he sang, his voice rounded and full and so powerful, Kira heard it through her skin.
She’d never attended live opera – never had the faintest desire to. But she was frozen to the spot, her jaw around her collarbone, as the raw sound shuddered through her.
The first man was singing again, apparently arguing with Mattia, gasps from the crowd providing an audible counterpoint. It could have been a bar brawl between drunk friends, except they were singing instead of speaking, punctuating the music with theatrical gestures that belonged on a stage.
They sang a few lines in piercing harmony, then Mattia continued solo, as though brainstorming the solution to his friend’s heartache. He looked older, his brow creased, his hands on his hips and the long coat framing his tall figure.
And his voice… It was deeper, rich and dramatic and as smooth as an Italian hot chocolate. Kira’s eyes were huge as the drama unfolded.
A large bell clanged once, twice, three times and Mattia and the other man jumped in surprise.
Taking his comrade by the shoulders, Mattia sang something encouraging, a soft, melodic line ending on a hopeful note that made Kira’s skin prickle. She couldn’t understand a word of the modulated vowels, but her heart was pounding, not with the familiar adrenaline rush of physical challenges that she loved. This was internal and she wasn’t sure how to process it.
After a gripping pause, they began a lively duet, starting quietly and building to a vibrant harmony full of colour, courage and rebellion. With life and passion and emphatic gestures, they held the crowd in thrall. Kira’s hair stood on end as the notes washed over her – tones of dark and light, triumph and despair.
With a declaration of ‘Libertà!’, they embraced each other and turned to rush through the arches, nearly bowling Kira over as three instrumentalists appeared – a trumpet, a trombone and a flute – to finish the piece to a burst of applause and cheering from the delighted crowd.
Sagging where she stood, Kira took a breath for what felt like the first time in several minutes – or her entire lifetime. She swiped at a cold spot on her cheek and was stunned to find moisture. It was incomprehensible, that bead of salty liquid on her waterproof glove. She couldn’t have… cried. Kira hadn’t even cried when she’d finally beaten the classic climbing route on the north face of the Eiger on her fifth attempt.
She sniffed and rubbed her nose, belatedly joining the applause. All of a sudden, Kira noticed two men with cameras filming the stunt. The instrumentalists unwound their scarves to make the words ‘Salzburger Festspiele’ with a date the following year, and then took a bow.
Fresh applause alerted Kira to the return of the two men. They raised their hands and bowed and Kira wondered if she should inch away so she wasn’t standing awkwardly in the background of their publicity photos with her dyed hair, in her bright jacket and her beat-up backpack – and possibly tear-stained cheeks.
Her chest was still tight and she was appalled by her response to the performance – embarrassed and confused. She must have been more strung out about this posh wedding than she’d thought. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, wishing she had a free evening to watch a brainless thriller and settle herself down. But she had to ferry this guy to the wedding. There would be no peace until she’d got through it.
An older man appeared and shook their hands vigorously. ‘Wonderful, wonderful! The public adored it. What a wonderful taste of the performance to come next year.’
Further claps on the back, hugs and cheek-kisses appeared to be obligatory and Kira was glad they had until six-thirty to collect the car, or she might have been biting her already stumpy and cracked nails. At long last, there were final goodbyes and her charge waved as the others moved off. When he turned, the dynamism of the performance seemed to leach out of him and he transformed back into the hunched young man who’d asked her to look after his suitcase.
Rubbing his forehead with a bare hand, he peered at her from under those astonishing lashes. ‘Sorry about that,’ he muttered.
She blinked at him. Was he apologising for turning her into an emotional wreck without asking? ‘You’re… sorry?’
‘I didn’t know I would have to do that tonight and I’m sorry it took so long. Shall we go? Get the car and go to Alessandra?’ Phew, he was apologising for the practical inconvenience, not the way he’d imposed on feelings she preferred to pretend she didn’t have.
He cleared his throat and gave a shiver, closing his hands into fists and blowing on them. Kira had the strange impression that he might disappear back into the realm where he came from – or grow wings and fly back. He didn’t seem quite corporeal as he swayed. There were hollows under his eyes, as though he’d been breathing the wrong air for too long and needed to return to his natural habitat.
‘Yeah, we should go. Let me find a cab,’ she said, shaking off her distraction. She had a job to do and wondering whether he was too beautiful to be entirely human wasn’t part of it. She started across the square, tugging off her glove with her teeth and fetching her phone. ‘How did you know who I was, by the way?’ Since she hadn’t pictured Mattia looking anything like this.
‘Blue hair,’ he answered. ‘Alessandra told me you have blue hair. I thought she was joking, but… you actually have blue hair.’
She refused to run a self-conscious hand through her bleached and dyed bob. ‘You’ve never seen anyone with blue hair before?’
‘No, actually.’
Before he could voice an opinion she had no interest in hearing, she picked up the pace, hurrying under the strings of glowing lights and ignoring the renewed grumbles from her stomach. Mattia fell behind, his polished leather shoes providing no grip in the gluggy snow, and she had to stop and wait.
‘Wow, this place is… This is…’
Kira turned to find him staring, wide-eyed, at the pine garlands, replete with cones, and the warm lighting on the facades of the historic buildings as though seeing them for the first time – as though he’d just woken up.
Stifling a forlorn sigh at the further delay to dinner, she crossed her arms and waited for him to catch up – or finish his sentence. He caught sight of her and flashed her a smile – bright and staggeringly magnetic. Kira drew back in dismay.
‘I’m coming!’ he assured her, throwing out an arm for balance as he slid closer. ‘This is the most snow I’ve ever seen!’
Kira’s steps faltered again.
