Page 23 of A Winter Wedding Adventure
A glow of light ahead signalled the end of their journey and when the trees gave way to a clearing, a wooden chalet came into view, tucked under the mountain, a marshmallow cap of snow on its peaked roof. It was something out of a dream: carved wood, pale-green shutters and wrought-iron detailing, big enough to house their small group for the wedding week, as well as a few luxuries, he guessed. And beyond the cabin, a valley opened up, flawless under a covering of snow, with jagged, stony peaks rising in the distance beneath a smouldering moon.
The scene was dramatic, breath-taking, yet also inviting, and it suited Alessandra perfectly.
When Norbert cut the engine of the snowmobile, Mattia was swallowed up by the silence. Distant hints of sound – dripping snow, scurrying animals, wings flapping – were so muted, he couldn’t tell if they were real.
‘Uh, Mattia?’ Kira’s voice cut through the dampened quiet. ‘You can let go now.’
‘Oh!’ He pried his fingers open – with some difficulty, as the cold had penetrated to his bones. Unlike his awkward hop, Kira swung her leg over in a graceful dismount and eyed him.
‘You’d better go inside before you get frostbite. Please tell me you have gloves – and some better shoes – in your suitcase.’
‘I have gloves,’ he confirmed, ‘and… other shoes.’ He hesitated, wishing for a debrief or a shared look or some acknowledgement of the end of their strange twenty-four hours together – some gesture of friendship.
But she didn’t even look at him as she said, ‘Go! I’ll see you at dinner.’
9
The Kitzingalm Hütte was not the kind of mountain cabin Kira usually found herself in.
She glanced doubtfully around the twin room she would share with Ginny for the duration of the wedding celebrations, all her insecurities roaring back to life. Usually, when she stayed in Berghütten, as they were known in the German-speaking parts of the Alps, it was in a dorm room with ten strangers, sleeping on bunks, with the faint smell of stale socks in the air. This cosy room with wood accents, soft wall sconces and the subtle scent of fresh air and dried lavender was making her nervous about breaking things or getting the floor dirty. It even had an ensuite, rather than septic communal toilets and a chronic shortage of water.
The beds were both immaculately made, with crisp sheets, a fluffy duvet and a throw blanket, but the far bed had a small pile of jewellery on the bedside table and a fluffy toy on the pillows, so Kira guessed that was Ginny’s, although why a grown woman brought her plush dog to work, she didn’t know.
Placing her tattered, dusty rucksack down next to the nearer bed, she lamented that a lick of make-up and a soft blouse she couldn’t tie herself weren’t enough to make her belong.
A prickle rushed to her hairline at the thought of tying her blouse, and the past twenty-four hours washed over her. If this place – full of luxury and forever happiness – seemed foreign to her, then Mattia was even more so. But he’d felt real – as real as grippy limestone under her fingertips and nothing but air at her back. The buzz of adrenaline when he looked at her was certainly similar.
Gargh, she needed to get her head out of her own butt, try to forget her reservations about this stupid occasion – and the disturbing intimacy of the past day – and do her job. If there had been a climbing gym nearby, she would have done a few quick 7c problems just to clear her mind. Her main comfort was knowing she was taking the groom and his friends up the mountain in two days. Hurtling down a slope on skis was almost as good as hanging off a sheer cliff.
The door of the room burst open and Ginny appeared, looking more frazzled than Kira had ever seen her.
‘Boy, am I glad to see you!’ Giving Kira no time to brace herself, Ginny wrapped her in a tight, clinging hug.
‘What’s up?’
‘Oh, just every wedding party pitfall all at once – with added cabin fever! We have to get ready for dinner.’ She marched into the ensuite and rummaged in an enormous toiletry bag.
‘I am ready,’ Kira said, holding out her hands to show off her blouse.
Ginny’s only reaction was a wide-eyed look, full of reservations. Kira grumbled under her breath and her shoulders slumped.
‘This is still only my second wedding,’ she pointed out as Ginny patted her forehead with a sponge, leaving behind some residue that Kira couldn’t name. Foundation? Concealer? Face dust? ‘Dare I ask what the usual pitfalls are?’
‘Well,’ she began with an eager smile, ‘we have the heartbroken bridesmaid, the big group of inconsiderate lads who should have organised their own bachelor party, a bride with very specific ideas and – my least favourite – a dickhead groom.’
‘How can there be so many dickheads getting married?’
Ginny shrugged. ‘A lot of dickheads in the world, I suppose.’
Kira wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan, although with Ginny, the answer was usually laughing.
‘But I’ve been doing this job for long enough to have learned that personal taste is an amazingly diverse thing,’ she nattered, tugging down the skin under her eye until her reflection looked like something out of a horror film and applying dark-brown eyeliner that complemented her auburn hair.
Mattia must wear pure-black eyeliner. And Kira was still not supposed to be thinking about him.
‘And maybe not everyone is as picky as we are,’ Ginny added after she’d finished one eye, giving Kira a wink.
‘Or maybe we aren’t to most people’s tastes.’
