Page 59 of A Wedding in Tuscany

‘Of course you can have a beer, Josh. Just come and get it yourself.’

‘Ugh …’ It really must have been a big day for the guys. Josh is the least chauvinistic man I’ve ever met, let alone dated.

I open the fridge and start pulling out parcels of goodies. Two hands grab my bum. ‘Jean-Luc, I told you, not while Josh and Cat are around.’

‘Ha-ha.’

I straighten, my arms laden with food and Josh’s breath is warm on my neck. ‘You’re very sexy, you know that?’ he murmurs.

I turn and close the fridge door with my hip. ‘Thank you,’ I say, kissing him quickly on the cheek and shutting down any amorous overtures before he suggests a quickie in the kitchen.

‘So, how was your day?’ he asks. He opens the fridge and before I can answer, he shouts, ‘Jean-Luc? Wanna beer?’

‘Oui!’

‘I’ll have wine,’ says Cat. ‘White, please.’

‘On it.’

Josh quickly fills the drink order while I unwrap the parcels and decant paper bags onto the counter, and with a glass of wine and a beer in hand, he says to me, ‘Hold that thought.’ He disappears out to the balcony and is back in moments, then hands me my wine. It’s in a juice glass, as that’s all the apartment has, but I like it? makes me feel like a local.

‘Thanks.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ He clinks the neck of the bottle against my glass and we sip. ‘Mmm, delicious.’ It’s a Vermentino?not as fancy as the one we had the other night at dinner?but bright and fruity. If Greeks grow the best tomatoes in the world?and they do, trust me?then the Italians have cornered the market on delicious table wines.

To finish assembling our dinner, I commandeer the cutting board and arrange an antipasti platter. It’s not quite as extensive as the one we had at lunch today, but each morsel will be delicious, as everything is from the trattoria-slash-enoteca, my new favourite place. I add the finishing touches?some dried figs?and step back to assess my work.

‘Looks amazing, babe. Want me to carry it?’

‘Ah, yes please.’ I grab forks, plates, and napkins and follow him outside.

He lays the platter on the table, then goes back for our drinks, and I take in this scene of pseudo domesticity?us seated on the balcony of our little Italian apartment, the sky turning a deep inky blue, stars twinkling, and a platter of delicious local fare for dinner?pure bliss.

As I pull my chair up to the table, a mosquito buzzes by?perhaps it didn’t get the memo that this is now a bad-juju-free zone. I swat at it, a minor annoyance in an otherwise perfect moment, and sink back into my blissful state. This. This feeling is why Josh’s present?our trip to Italy?is the most thoughtful one I’ve ever received.

Cat wipes crumbs of crusty bread from the corner of her mouth, smiling at something Jean-Luc has said about the soccer match?sorry, football match. She looks lovely in the soft light spilling from the apartment windows?happy. I really cannot understand why the Carons don’t love her. She is generous and kind?and wickedly funny. Right on cue, she laughs loudly and Jean-Luc looks at her as though she is the most precious being on the planet. She is to me too?or at least, one of them. I swear if Cécile does one little thing to make Cat and Jean-Luc’s wedding day anything less than perfect, I will have her guts for garters.

‘Happy birthday,’ says the deep, gravelly voice in my ear. It’s going to be extremely difficult setting an alarm once we return to Sydney. I much prefer being woken gently by my sexy boyfriend.

I twist my torso, smiling as I feel the familiar ‘pop’ of the vertebrae in my mid back, and open my eyes. Josh is propped up on one elbow looking down at me. ‘You’re spoiling me, you know,’ I say.

‘I should hope so—it’s your birthday.’ Oh, right, those were the words I heard, the ones that stirred me from my sleep. It’s my birthday. My fortieth.

‘I meant the gentle wake up calls,’ I say, not wanting to sour the moment.

‘Maybe we can figure something out for back home.’

He nuzzles my neck and a ripple of pleasure makes its way through my body. As a warm feeling rises from between my legs, I push aside thoughts of sleep-ins and milestone birthdays, and lose myself in his touches. It’s only when he presses his fingers to my mouth, reminding me not to cry out when I come that I mentally return to our room in the Tuscan castle.

I collapse against him, limp and spent. ‘That was nice,’ I say. The vibrations of his laughter jiggle me.

‘I need to work on my execution if all you’ve got for me is “nice”.’

‘Execution is excellent?you’re so good, I’ve lost my extensive vocabulary,’ I say into his neck. More gentle laughter as he strokes my back. I push myself up, both arms straight, and peer down at him. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ I kiss him, then push back the covers.

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