Page 32 of A Wedding in Tuscany

Ironic, really, as when I turned thirty, I practically threw a parade. I was so convinced that all the angst and worry of my twenties?not really knowing what I wanted from life or who I was or wanted to be?would dissipate into the air at the stroke of midnight. I’d turn thirty and everything would click into place and I’d know for sure what I wanted from life.

Hah! Pop culture has a lot to answer for. Wasn’t thirty supposed to be when you became a fully-fledged adult? But (probably not surprisingly) I was just as messed-up, insecure, and anxious about life in my early thirties as I’d been since birth.

Even a few years ago when I met Josh, I was all tangled in knots, insecure and unsure of what I wanted. But in retrospect?and believe me, there has been a lot of emotional dissection since then?that had more to do with the year-long relationship with my ex, Neil the cheating bastard, than my age.

Infidelity can crush your very soul and make you feel like nothing. It’s nearly impossible to bounce back from that, even when a cute American tells you how wonderful you are?and sexy and fun and clever. Those things can only sink in when you’ve healed enough to let them. Thank god I healed in time and didn’t lose him. Although he had his own stuff going on and we were two sides of a love triangle?but that’s another story.

Oh, Josh. He’s been so thoughtful. He knew exactly how to make this occasion special, bringing me here to a place where beauty is abundant, where la vita è bella, and gathering my closest people to share it with us.

What is wrong with me? Shouldn’t I be rejoicing? Isn’t forty the new thirty or some shit like that? Maybe this is when I get my proper adulting badge, when feeling wise and competent far outweighs (far too frequent) bouts of self-doubt and existential befuddlement.

Because as much as I love my life?and I do, especially the life that Josh and I have built together?I still have this niggling feeling that something is off, like I’ve left the oven on or forgotten to lock the front door?only more intense, because accompanying this feeling is an acute sense of urgency. As though there’s a timer ticking down?a non-reproductive biological clock.

It’s becoming exhausting.

‘This room is the library, so one of your options for the ceremony,’ says our host, a dour-faced woman in her thirties named Bianca. I look about at the ornate ceiling, tall bookshelves along three walls, each shelf crammed with old leatherbound books and exotic-looking artefacts, and various stuffed armchairs, which somehow, despite the vastly different fabrics, complement each other. Beside each chair is an antique side table?again, all completely different?and on those are more artefacts. One table holds a collection of small animal skulls?fascinating, but a little creepy.

I glance at Cat and by the look of it, she’s just spied the skulls. Her mouth contorts momentarily before reverting to a smile. ‘Lovely,’ she says to Bianca. It’s convincing enough, even though I’m sure she hates this room.

‘It is an interesting room,’ says Jean-Luc.

‘Interesting’ is right, but I’m with Cat?I wouldn’t want to get married in here. With all those bookshelves there’s not even any natural light and the dim lamps only enhance the spookiness.

‘You said fourteen guests?’ asks Bianca.

‘That’s right,’ says Cat. ‘And us.’ She waves her forefinger between her and Jean-Luc.

‘And the celebrant,’ I add.

‘Mmm, seventeen people should fit comfortably. We move the chairs and the tables, of course, to make room.’

‘Wonderful,’ says Cat. If she keeps being so agreeable, she could end up with an Indiana Jones themed wedding. At least if the tables are going, the skulls will too?well, hopefully.

‘And next door is the sitting room. Follow me, please.’ Bianca exits through a large wooden door and we follow her into the next room. Unlike the library, this room has natural light and is much larger but the artefacts have ratcheted up a few notches to outright horrifying.

There are stuffed and mounted animal heads on the wall, a rug made from the skin of what appears to be a leopard?with the head still intact?and sitting atop a large wooden desk inlaid with green leather is an enormous animal skull?likely a rhinoceros but if I were being more fantastical, it could easily have belonged to a dinosaur.

Another ‘interesting’ room but definitely not what I would call romantic and Cat’s face says everything I’m thinking?her beautiful English manners ebbing away before my eyes. ‘Is your sister going to survive this tour?’ whispers Josh in my ear. I look up at him, widening my eyes in mock horror and he laughs. It echoes around the room and Jean-Luc, Cat, and Bianca stop talking about moving furniture to accommodate a wedding and look at us.

‘Sorry,’ Josh and I say together.

I need to come to Cat’s rescue?I can no longer stand by, watching her growing terror. Or is it gross disappointment? Likely both. ‘Uh, Bianca, I think you had discussed with Jaelee Tan, our friend, that Cat and Jean-Luc could just do the lot in the great hall?’

We’ve already seen the great hall. We passed through it on the way to the library and the sitting room, and it is a much better choice for the wedding. Although it’s markedly different from the (heavily edited) photo collection they’ve posted online. Mum would never have suggested it if she’d seen what it actually looks like. The décor is extremely over the top, including a twenty-foot mural, enormous paintings in gilded frames, faux Roman columns at intervals along the walls, and a domed ceiling painted to look like the sky, but at least there aren’t any spoils from hunting excursions affixed to the walls.

‘The lot?’ Bianca asks.

‘Yeah, have the ceremony in there, then … you know?’ I move my hands to demonstrate lots of activity ‘?set up for the reception. The lot.’

‘Mi dispiace, no.’ No? Does ‘no’ mean that she doesn’t understand me or that I’m wrong?

‘So … we just use the same space for both parts of the wedding?the ceremony and the reception.’

‘Sì, but no.’

Yes but no? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Jean-Luc must be as confused as I am because he starts speaking to Bianca in Italian. She tuts and shakes her head and the more he talks?even though he is speaking in his usual gentle tone?the more vigorously she shakes her head. She speaks, he replies, then, she says, ‘Is not possible,’ in English.

‘What’s not possible?’ asks Cat right as I say, ‘What?’

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