Page 37 of A Wedding in Tuscany

‘Chérie.’ I swear, with that one simple word, Jean-Luc can make the rest of the world disappear. I’ve just finished getting ready for bed and he’s beckoning me to join him at the glass doors to the balcony, his hand reaching for me.

I slip mine into his and he pulls me into an embrace, his chin resting on my head. One hand holds me firmly while the other cups my bum playfully, eliciting a smile. The naughty hand trails lightly up my back, shivers following in its wake, especially as his fingertips caress my neck. His hand comes to rest with a light touch under my chin and he pulls back slightly, tipping it up to him. His lips are soft on mine?familiar, yes, but even so, they send a ripple of electricity through me.

The kiss intensifies, our passion building, and I want him?now. He lifts me effortlessly, both hands now cupping my bum as I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and, one arm wrapped around me, holding me close, he lowers us onto it. His kisses assault my neck, my chest, and he pulls aside my camisole, his mouth finding my nipple. I sigh at the sensation, undoing his jeans and tugging at his cumbersome waistbands. Finally, he’s free and when we’re joined, we moan together at the exquisite pleasure.

‘Chérie,’ he says again, the word almost swallowed by my kiss. He straightens his arms, breaking the contact and looks at me, eyes wild with desire and his breath audible. ‘I want to take my time with you,’ he says, breathless.

‘Next time,’ I say, wrapping my legs around him tighter and moving my hips against him. He succumbs and sometime later, when our bodies are spent, sweat prickles our skin. ‘You may need another shower, Catherine,’ says my fiancé, smiling down at me cheekily.

‘Worth it,’ I say, ‘especially if you join me.’ I raise my eyebrows at him and he smacks a kiss on my lips.

‘What? No fucking way.’ Jaelee is nothing if not direct. ‘Hold on, let me check my emails.’ We’re sitting on our balcony sipping tea and coffee, a beautiful Tuscan morning unfolding around us, the sun bright in the sky and a slight breeze ruffling the potted geraniums on the balcony. Jae and Alistair, her lovely Scottish boyfriend, joined us for morning tea a little while ago, and we’re all sipping our hot drinks of choice. A plate of biscotti sits at the centre of the table?a spoil from our raid of the enoteca?but I am the only one eating them. They’re simply too good to resist!

I’ve just told Jae about the options for the wedding venue and as she searches through emails on her phone, she dons one of her dogged Jaelee scowls. I sip my tea and catch Jean-Luc’s eye. He seems amused. So does Alistair, whose mouth is twitching.

‘So, how is your accommodation?’ Jean-Luc asks him. Jaelee continues to frown at her phone, swiping and scrolling.

‘It’s nice. We found it on Airbnb, a little pensione just down the way. We were able to walk here, but we’ve rented a car for the trip.’ They continue chatting about the town while I help myself to another piece of biscotti.

Sarah and Josh have gone for ‘an exercise walk’, which is (apparently) seeking out hills?plenty of those around here?and striding about to work up a sweat. They may be the only people I know who exercise when they’re on holiday. But as someone who would rather stick a fork in my eye than work out, I declined the invitation to join them.

Jae holds her phone out to Jean-Luc, interrupting his conversation with Alistair. ‘Can you read this for me?’ she asks unnecessarily. ‘I swear this says we can use the great hall for the wedding.’ Jean-Luc reads the email, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. Italian is his fourth language after French, English, and German.

‘Ahh,’ he says sitting back against his chair. He signals for Jae to lean closer and shows her the screen. ‘You see? This here’ ?he points? ‘this word is “perhaps”.’

‘Perhaps?’

‘Oui.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck. They’re so different, those words in Spanish and Italian. Usually, they’re more similar.’

‘Jae, lovely, what are you talking about?’

‘The word for “perhaps”. I didn’t … Shit. Sorry, Cat, this is on me.’

‘So, you misread the email?’ I ask. This is unlike Jaelee?she’s usually on top of every detail.

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘But you had them translated, right? Your correspondence?’ I ask, annoyance creeping into my tone.

‘Well, you know …’ She shrugs.

‘You thought that knowing Spanish would be enough.’ I sigh, now properly frustrated.

‘Like I said, this one’s on me and I will handle it. Jean-Luc,’ she says, perhaps hoping to appeal to the groom while the bride skirts the brink of a tanty, ‘I promise you will have a beautiful wedding, okay?’

He holds his hands out and shrugs. ‘I would marry Catherine anywhere. It does not matter. Besides, she will already be wearing a bedsheet, so why not get married amongst the artefacts?’ He sniggers softly, though not unkindly, and shares a look with Alistair who smiles back at him.

‘All right you lot, enough with the joking. Jae, I have every faith in you, I do. And once we get the dress sorted and the venue … we can just enjoy the rest of the week.’ Jean-Luc reaches for my hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it.

This. This is what I need to focus on. In a few days I will marry this incredible man and it shouldn’t matter where it happens or what I am wearing.

It shouldn’t, so why does it?

---