Page 76 of A Wedding in Tuscany

Tuscany

My eyes spring open, then flick towards my phone on the bedside table. It’s just after six and today is going to be full-on. If I can fall back asleep, I should snatch another hour or two. I close my eyes but tasks from my wedding preparation to-do list start flying around my head competing for attention. No good. I open my eyes again and look over at Josh. His back is to me and he’s snuggled under the doona fast asleep.

My phone buzzes, alerting me to an incoming message. I check it?Jaelee.

You up?

I tap out a quick reply.

Yep.

Me too. Wide awake. Wanna do some yoga? Or go for a run?

Yoga or a run? Actually, a run would be great. Josh and I did a walk a couple of days ago, but with all the rich food and copious wine we’ve been consuming, I’m feeling a little blah.

Run. Meet you at the castle driveway in ten.

Cool.

I slip out of bed and gather my workout clothes and runners, then go into the en suite and quietly close the door. As I get changed and slather on some sunscreen, I start thinking through everything we need to do today before the guests start arriving for the wedding around five?this time in an orderly fashion, rather than random details dive-bombing my brain and stressing me out.

Despite the whole ‘Italian–Spanish’ thing, I really am glad to have Jaelee as my planning partner. She’s no-nonsense and the way she handled Cécile yesterday?wow. I can be formidable when I need to be?and no one should dare mess with my sister?but that was just masterful, a lesson in passive-aggressive aggression. I definitely wouldn’t want to fall on the wrong side of Jaelee.

I scoop my long curls into a ponytail, then regard myself in the mirror. ‘I am forty,’ I say softly. I press my fingertips to my cheekbones and lift the skin to where it would have sat ten years ago. Not that much of a difference. I frown, exaggerating the vertical lines between my brows. These are quite pronounced?a tool in the schoolteacher’s arsenal. Then I smile?big?and examine the lines that are beginning to frame my eyes. ‘Crow’s feet’ the beauty companies call them. ‘Laughter lines’ says my dad. ‘I love your mum’s laughter lines. They remind me of all the times we’ve laughed together.’

Mum has played golf twice-a-week for at least twenty-five years. She’s a sun lover from Sydney with laughter lines and all the other signs of being in your sixties when you spend a good portion of your life outside?and she’s beautiful. Dad says so, of course, but objectively, my mum is a beautiful woman.

God, is vanity the reason I’m feeling out of sorts? Josh is eight years younger than me. Am I messed up about turning forty because I don’t want to be that ‘middle-aged woman with the hot, young boyfriend’? I frown again, but this time it’s not deliberate and I drop my gaze and stare at the porcelain sink.

No, I think, this isn’t vanity. Besides ‘beauty’ has nothing to do with lines on your face?the presence or the absence of them. I know that. I believe that. And I take care of myself?I don’t feel old. And Cat’s right?you can be older and still be gorgeous and sexy. No, my internal disquiet is not about my face or my body. It’s far deeper and I just need to figure it out?and soon.

It was all well and good to immerse myself in birthday celebrations, and the wedding preparations have been a good distraction too, but after today … Well, after today, I am going to have to figure out what’s causing this.

I’m running late now and slip out of the bathroom, scribble a quick note for Josh, and go meet Jaelee at the end of the castle’s driveway for our run.

‘Huh,’ says Jaelee, her eyes roving over the flower delivery. She starts poking around in the large flat boxes. ‘No bouquet.’

‘Really?’ Now I start poking around, careful to avoid the business end of the roses. ‘You’re right.’ She gives me a look that says, ‘Duh.’ ‘I suppose we’ll need to make one.’

‘Do you know how to do that?’

‘How to do what?’ Mum has snuck up on us and we both start.

‘Morning, Mum,’ I say, and we swap cheek kisses.

‘Good morning, girls.’ I could be sixty and Mum will still refer to me as a ‘girl’. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘There’s no bouquet,’ says Jaelee. Mum frowns, then narrows her eyes at her. ‘Not my fault, this time, I promise. I confirmed with the florist yesterday?in English.’

‘Right, well, we’ll just have to make one.’

‘That’s what we were saying,’ says Jaelee, earning herself a pointed Karen Parsons look. ‘So … yeah, um. Not my area …’ She says, petering off under Mum’s withering stare.

‘Good thing I know what to do,’ says Mum. ‘Sarah, do you know where your father put that string he was using to hang the fairy lights?’

‘Um, yes! Be right back.’ It is a little more complicated than that, as I need to find Bianca to get the key for the storeroom. By the time I return to Mum and Jaelee, they have all the flowers laid out along the bar and are starting to fill the large pickling bottles Bianca has loaned us. They are laughing about something and I’m relieved that Jaelee is back in Mum’s good books. It will make the day go much smoother if the two divas aren’t at odds. Don’t tell them I said that.

‘Sarah, you and Jaelee keep working on the table arrangements and I’ll start on the bouquet.’ ‘Table arrangements’ is a little high-brow for posies in pickling bottles that will sit atop wine barrels, but okay.

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