Page 12 of A Wedding in Tuscany

London

‘Iwill see you in twelve days,’ says my sexy boyfriend?no, sorry, fiancé! I’m still not used to it, but I suppose it has only been three days. Three wonderful (and terrifying) days.

‘I’ll miss you,’ I say, standing on my tippy toes to kiss him. One hand holds his overnight bag and one hand holds me by the small of my back. He pulls me closer and kisses me softly but longingly and when the kiss ends, he presses his lips to my forehead, his signature move that tells me how cherished I am.

It would be very easy to grab his hand and drag him back to bed, but then he’ll miss his flight to Switzerland. ‘I will meet you at Gare du Nord,’ he says.

‘You don’t have to.’ I’ve made the trek from the train station to his apartment on my own so many times now I’ve lost count. I hardly need an escort.

‘For the first time my fiancée arrives in Paris? I will be there.’

Swoon. Like I said, Jean-Luc could turn the simplest task or the worst location into a romantic moment. Twelve days apart suddenly feels like forever.

‘Go, or you’ll miss your flight and I’ll be late for school.’

A cheeky, lopsided grin, another kiss and he’s out the door calling, ‘Je t’aime,’ over his shoulder. Jane bustles past me in the hallway?she must have been waiting for us to finish our goodbyes. ‘See you tonight, lovely,’ she says, also not waiting for an answer before the front door closes behind her.

We told her our news last night after she returned from her festival. She was excited for us and she’s going to ask for time off to come to the wedding, but later, when Jean-Luc was making dinner, she asked what our plans are. And she meant our living arrangements. But we’ve only been engaged three days, so nothing has to be decided right away?even Jane said that.

Shelving my worries about where to live has freed up enough emotional real estate to obsess about the other elephant in the room?Jean-Luc’s family. As expected, his parents reacted to our news with lukewarm enthusiasm?at least, that’s my interpretation of his recount.

And his sister was downright rude. But what did I expect? Since Jean-Luc and I reunited a couple of years ago, Cécile has actively thwarted all my attempts to get to know her, creating this icy discordance between us. So while most people find me loveable, there’s no winning over Cécile. No doubt, it’s because I pale in comparison with Jean-Luc’s ex, Vanessa?Cécile’s perfect, beloved former sister-in-law.

Thank goodness her husband, Louis, and their daughters, Alice and Abigail, seem to like me. Actually, the girls adore me?they even call me ‘Tante Catherine’ and always greet me with tight hugs and a plethora of cheek kisses. Perhaps another reason Cécile can’t stand me. It’s possible her daughters like me more than they like her.

Jean-Luc doesn’t know that I know this, by the way?how she reacted to the engagement. He couched his retelling like the darling he is, but I was listening at the door. And my French may only be conversational, but I know what ‘femmeanglaise’ followed by ‘simplette’ means. She’d also called me ‘aiguë’ which I had to look up on my phone. After spelling it wrong three times, I figured it out?‘shrill’. I’m guessing she didn’t mean it as a compliment.

The rest of the weekend … well, Jean-Luc came good from his bout of food poisoning by Saturday afternoon?thank goodness?and, as I kept my hurt feelings to myself, we were able to celebrate our engagement. In lieu of a fancy restaurant dinner, we ordered in (a respite from the kitchen for Jean-Luc) and opened a bottle of bubbles and then he made love to me for hours. Gentler than our usual (quite rigorous) lovemaking, but still, hours.

Yesterday was more of the same until we dragged ourselves out of bed and the flat for a jaunt into Central London. It was a glorious day?twenty-three degrees and sunny?so the perfect reason to escape our love nest.

Our love nest.

As I gather my belongings for school, the marked assignments and my laptop, I look about at my bedroom. Would it be strange to live in a flat-share with my husband? It would only be part of the time, I suppose, if he kept his apartment in Paris. We could be like Helena Bonham-Carter and Tim Burton. They live in different houses, don’t they? Oh wait. I think they’re divorced now.

Hmm.

So, I’m engaged (hooray), I’m perfectly happy being in a long-distance relationship (what could go wrong there?), and my fiancé’s sister hates me (bollocks). Hence, both a wonderful and terrifying weekend.

‘Hellooo!’ At the sight of Lou’s face on the screen, I break into a broad smile.

‘Hey, so good to see you!’ she says.

‘It feels like it’s been ages.’

‘Too long, for sure. So sorry?I’ve just been unbelievably busy with work.’ Lou is a counsellor for troubled teens and she’s recently been promoted to team manager.

‘And with Anders,’ I tease. Her new boyfriend is a veterinarian from Toronto who moved to Vancouver late last year.

She giggles, then leans her face close to the screen and whispers, ‘He is so wonderful, Cat.’

‘Why are you whispering? Is he there?’ She nods. ‘Well, can I meet him?’ I can’t believe after several months, I am finally going to meet the famous Anders. Lou has been keeping their relationship close to her chest?not even posting photographs on social media?but she’s been gushing to me about him for ages. It seems very likely that Anders is her person and I want to meet him properly.

‘Hey, hon, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

Lou is looking offscreen and I can tell the exact moment he comes into view because her face lights up like it’s been illuminated by a thousand candles. Anders steps behind her and lowers his head so he’s in frame.

‘Hey.’

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