Page 102 of A Wedding in Tuscany

‘Cécile …’ I watch her as I wait for her to meet my eye. A vein pulses at her jawline, a tell shared by her brother when he’s upset or angry, and she eventually turns to look at me, her expression hard. ‘I want to be very clear. I know that you and I will never be friends and we will never be sisters. But, like it or not, Jean-Luc and I are married now and you and I are part of the same family. I’m not going anywhere, so you have a choice?you can make every family occasion a living nightmare for us both for the rest of our lives, or we can come to some sort of accord. We don’t have to like each other, we just need to be civil?for Jean-Luc.’

Her eyes narrow as they return to the view. That’s fine. At least she looked me in the eye as I proposed the terms of familial peace. Part of me still wants to shake that smug look off her face, but take the wins when they come, right?

‘You know, I love your brother more than anyone in the world and I will do everything I can to make him happy.’

‘Except move to France,’ she spits.

‘What?’ My head snaps in her direction, her words surprising me. Is that what all this is about? ‘I …’ My voice falters.

‘You see? You love my brother so much but you won’t deign to live in his home country.’

‘It’s not that. I love France.’ Do I? I don’t often speak without thinking, but this time … have I misspoken?

Cécile looks at me, her eyebrows raised. She doesn’t believe me either. ‘I know that to you, my brother and I are not close, but that is just a comparison?your comparison. You and your sister, you are like giggly schoolgirls together.’ She catches my frown. ‘It is fine. That is how you are but, in my family, love does not look like that. But it does not mean it is not there. You have never understood that. That is clear.’

She looks away again leaving me to chew on her words. And they sting because they are steeped in a deep-rooted truth. Unwittingly or not, I have compared the Carons to our family?how they are with each other versus how we are together?and I have made the arrogant assumption that we have more love in our family than they do in theirs.

‘And you do not “love France”, as you say,’ she continues, ‘so … you will take Jean-Luc away?to England, perhaps en Australie … C’est si simple.’ She shrugs as though this is a foregone conclusion. Her conclusion, and quite obviously, their parents’ as well.

So it is just as I’ve imagined. They genuinely believe I’m going to steal their much-loved brother and son and they will never see him again.

But that’s ridiculous! In no scenario I’ve imagined about our life together have I thought Jean-Luc would cut ties from his family. Not once. Family is the most important part of life. I would never ask Jean-Luc to give his up?never.

‘Cécile …’ Her chin lifts slightly, but she won’t look at me. ‘Cécile, please …’ She meets my eye. ‘You know how important family is to me, right?’ Her gaze falls away momentarily but when she looks at me again, she nods. ‘Why would I want to take that away from the person I love most in the world?’

A crease forms between her brows. ‘I …’ Her gaze falls again, this time to her lap where she’s set her empty glass.

As all my experiences with the Carons converge into one prickly, miserable memory, I have a telling realisation. While I’ve experienced my hesitancy to move to Paris as some sort of pull from England, and London specifically, it may have more to do with feeling repelled by France. There’s the tenuous, often fraught relationship with his family, yes, but that’s only part of it. There are also Jean-Luc’s friends, who seem to tolerate me at best, the seemingly endless comparisons with Vanessa (even if many are self-imposed), and this constant feeling of being ‘other’.

And all this has obviously fed the fractured relationship I have with his family and very likely hurt Jean-Luc.

Well, fuck.

I don’t have the level of French to convey this to Cécile and even if she’s fluent enough in English to comprehend (which I suspect she is), there’s no way I trust her to empathise or even understand. Layered beneath this hesitancy is the irony that I’d intended to have it out with her, yet it’s her words that have led to this realisation. I may not like her and I can’t say I enjoy feeling this way about myself?particularly at my wedding?but at least I’ve had a break-through of sorts.

And sometime in the next few days?very possibly tomorrow?I’ll need to find a way to explain this to my husband.

‘Here,’ I say to Cécile, holding out the gift boxes. I want to wrap up this conversation so I can get back to the wedding celebrations. She frowns at the boxes, clearly confused, but takes them with her free hand. ‘They’re charm bracelets. For the girls. Sarah and I had them when we were little?Dad travelled a lot for work and he’d always bring us a charm from wherever he’d been. Anyway … I just adore your girls, Cécile, and I wanted them to have something special, something they can add to as they grow up.’

She blinks away her confusion and her expression softens a little?but just a little. ‘Uh …’

‘Everything is okay?’ Jean-Luc asks, startling us both. I look up at him, catching his concern, then hurriedly stand. I have an out.

‘Yes, just giving Cécile our gifts for Alice and Abigail?the bracelets,’ I add, as I wrapped them before he saw them and I’m not sure if he remembers what they were.

‘Of course,’ he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. My poor darling?this consternation between Cécile and me … it must be so hard for him. I look to her for support. Odd, I know, but I’m hoping she will assuage his concerns, so he can properly enjoy the rest of the wedding.

And then a miracle occurs?Cécile smiles. She holds up the boxes. ‘Ah, oui, Catherine just gave me these for the children. I am sure they will love them.’

I exhale in relief. It’s not a full-on peace accord?I doubt I’m in line for the Nobel Prize or anything?but it’s something, a teeny, tiny olive branch. And I suppose we have a lifetime to build upon that kernel.

‘D’accord,’ says Jean-Luc smiling brightly. He must sense it too?this turning point. ‘Because it is time, chérie?the cake.’

‘Oh! Yes, the cake. Come on Cécile, you won’t want to miss this. It’s a millefoglie. That’s layers of?’

‘Oui, je sais,’ she says cutting me off. Right, I see. Baby steps, Cat, baby steps, I tell myself.

Jean-Luc takes my hand, kisses it and leads me into the next room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out. Our DJ-slash-bartender twigs?and the music fades, then stops. ‘May I present my beautiful and amazing and wonderful wife, Catherine.’ Aww, that is so lovely. It also indicates how much he’s had to drink. Jean-Luc rarely calls attention to himself like this. Perhaps our marital lovemaking will need to wait until tomorrow, I think, chuckling to myself. And thank god Sarah made me eat something earlier, or I’d be in the same boat.

‘Now it is time to cut the cake?well, as you can see, it is a millefoglie, not so much a cake, but a traditional Tuscan pastry and if it is half as sweet as my beautiful wife is, then it will taste delicious!’ My mind flies straight to something lascivious and Dad’s ‘ahem’ and Sarah’s wide eyes indicate that I’m not the only one. Maybe it’s just the Parsons who have dirty minds. I scan the gathered group and there are a couple of sideways glances, so it’s not just us. I focus my attention on Lou?there’s no way she immediately thought of cunnilingus. Her attentive smile reveals that I’m right.

‘So, no need for more waiting,’ says Jean-Luc. ‘Catherine …’ He signals that I should cosy up to him and we both take hold of the knife and cut through the layers of flaky pastry, custard, cream, and fruit, making a right mess of it. But no one seems to care. There are cheers and clapping and flashes of light and before I know it, one of the caterers has whisked it away to serve up.

‘Now, one more thing while we are all here like this together,’ he says. ‘A thank you. A thank you to all of you for coming to Tuscany. It means so much to us both that you are here.’ It’s the first time he’s spoken for us as my husband and I’m overcome with emotion, glad it’s him and not me who’s speaking. ‘And thank you also to Jaelee, Sarah, and my new mother-in-law, Karen, for planning this beautiful wedding. We …’ He pauses, emotion strangling his voice. ‘It has been perfect in every way.’ Well, that’s a little hyperbolic, but all right, darling. ‘Anyway, thank you. There is still a lot to eat, to drink. And dancing!’ he declares, grinning.

Jean-Luc is an incredibly sexy dancer and it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve yet to dance with my husband! Through more cheers and clapping, the music starts playing again. And at the first few notes of ‘Get Lucky’ by Daft Punk?one of my faves and a song we danced to in Switzerland a couple of years ago when we were falling back in love?I grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor. ‘Don’t you want to eat some cake?’ he shouts over the music.

I shake my head and waggle my eyebrows as I start to move my shoulders in time to the music. ‘Ah,’ he says, grinning down at me. He slips his hands around my waist, nestling them at the small of my back, as we come together and dance in perfect harmony. My lady parts jump to high alert again, only this time, I don’t tell them to heel. Instead, I drape my arms over his shoulders and, forgetting that we’re surrounded by our loved ones, dance with my beautiful, loving, and extremely sexy husband.

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