Page 8 of A Winter Wedding Adventure
Unease prickled in her stomach. As a climber, she had a healthy respect for the weather, but this wasn’t a climb. ‘I can drive in snow. We might be delayed, but we should get through,’ she assured Ginny. ‘Besides, what’s the other option? Holing up here for another day?’
‘The wedding isn’t until Wednesday,’ Ginny pointed out. ‘You have four days.’
‘I’m supposed to take a group ski touring on Tuesday and besides, if the snow is bad enough to cause disruption on the roads, then I should try to get there as soon as possible. I’d rather be stranded with the wedding party than here?—’
Another dramatic crescendo sounded from the bathroom and Kira stifled a laugh.
‘Just don’t take any risks,’ Ginny warned her. ‘You probably have wild insurance, but if we damage his vocal chords… At the very least, Alessandra will never forgive me.’
‘They’re very close, apparently.’
‘And the groom doesn’t seem to like him much, either,’ Ginny added. ‘I’m wondering if he’s an ex.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Kira reassured her. She might have slept with a friend or two in her time, but not one she’d known that long. ‘But what happened to your golden rule of weddings?’
‘Meh.’ Ginny gave an audible shrug. ‘This isn’t getting emotionally involved. It’s just being nosy. You have your rock faces; I have my juicy wedding gossip. We’re both thrill-seekers,’ she said with a giggle.
Wedding gossip certainly wasn’t Kira’s idea of a thrill, especially not when it involved the surprising man booming out opera in her shower.
‘Ginny, how old is Alessandra?’ she asked before she could stop herself.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Just curious.’ About whether she’d been checking out a guy old enough to be her… much younger brother.
‘She’s twenty-nine. The same age as me, actually.’
If Kira had been listening, she might have noticed Ginny’s rueful tone. But instead, she was comforting herself with the knowledge that Mattia was probably twenty-seven, twenty-six at a pinch. A four or five years’ age difference wasn’t morally grey. She could forgive herself the ogling.
Although she shouldn’t be appreciating a client that way. Andreas had done that: fallen for a woman on a two-week adventure trip. Eight years of heartache later, they’d only just sorted themselves out and got engaged, as much as the thought of her rugged mountaineer best friend getting married freaked Kira out.
Urgh, weddings. She couldn’t think of anything worse than standing in front of a crowd in an enormous dress and a hairstyle that was a work of art, swallowing her pride and making a declaration of the most foolish and embarrassing feature of the human condition – love. And unfortunately, she knew what she was talking about.
‘I hope you found something nice to wear, anyway,’ Ginny continued, her tone cautious. ‘They’re super well-dressed Italians and there’s a total aesthetic going on here and…’
‘I’ve got the message, Ginny,’ Kira said with a snort. ‘Loud and clear. I’ll make sure when I turn up tomorrow that I look vaguely presentable.’ Vaguely.
‘And you remember the golden rule of weddings too,’ Ginny said. ‘Don’t get emotionally involved.’
Kira snorted. ‘Do you even know me?’ But she winced, glad Ginny couldn’t see her shooting a glance at the bathroom door. She was not emotionally involved. Just a little… sympathetic.
‘Stay safe, anyway,’ Ginny interrupted her thoughts.
‘I always do. I’ll see you tomorrow, although it might be late if Snowmageddon really hits.’
‘Oh, please don’t say the word “Snowmageddon”. This chalet is cosy and gorgeous, but “Which family member would you eat first?” is not a question we ask during pre-marital counselling.’
‘Don’t you have a bride to fuss over or a family skeleton to shove back in the closet?’
‘They haven’t eaten anyone yet!’
‘Bye!’ Kira said pointedly, peering at the phone with a perplexed smile. Ginny’s crooked sense of humour seemed a strange trait for a bubbly wedding planner.
Her stomach protested keenly when she stood, now so catastrophically empty that it whimpered instead of growling. Hobbling to the entry and snatching her coat from the hook, she knocked on the bathroom door.
‘Mattia?’
The low, stony line he’d been singing petered out.
