Page 44 of Mr Billionaire Boss Grump

As is traditional, I didn’t see Gianni this morning. He left early with his father to greet the guests at the church. I don’t know what to expect when I get there. I was involved in the preparations to a point, but everything was arranged by Gianni’s friends and family. And, of course, I am happy with whatever happens. I have been swept away with the momentum of busy happy people all talking and laughing loudly.

The carriage approaches the church steps. People stop and wave. The village square is festooned with colorful flowers and flags. Organ music spills out to greet us as the driver opens the door for us. Then we climb the stone steps to the church door where Sandy and Desmond are waiting. They are both going to give me away today. I couldn’t choose. Having two stand-in dads at a wedding is a first for Panzano and I think it caused some interest and a little confusion. But it is wonderful to have my friends here, one on each arm.

“You look amazing,” says Desmond before he kisses my cheek and lowers my veil.

“Stunning,” says Sandy, beaming. “Right girl. Are you ready for your Happily Ever After?”

I can’t speak, but I nod trying to control the happy tears I feel about to ruin my makeup. Luisa walks sedately ahead of us towards the altar and the portly priest. I watch the back of her head until she stops and turns around. My gaze then transfers to Gianni who is standing beside Carlo and smiling at me with his whole being. He looks so handsome and proud as he waits for me to walk the short distance down the aisle to meet him. I hand my bouquet to Luisa and solemnly face Gianni.

Sandy and Desmond leave me and take their places in the front pew with Gloria, Henry, and Marta. The church is full of well-wishers. People I am yet to meet. Villagers and friends of the Morettis are packed into the rows of pews. Incense fills the air. The music stops and the priest begins the rumbling ritual. My Italian isn’t that good. I can’t follow everything he says, but I get the gist.

Gianni places a gold band on my finger, and I place a gold band on his. Then when I get the nod, I say, ‘Lo Voglio’, ‘I do’.

There are prayers and some singing, and the ceremony is all over in minutes. Or that is what it seems. Bells ring from the tower as Gianni and I lead the, by-now, rowdy congregation out into the bright sunlight of the piazza. The band begins playing a traditional folk tune and people don’t need any encouragement to start dancing between the festoons and flags. Gianni leads me to a trestle table, under the trees, that has been decorated with flowers and ribbons. Ice buckets loaded with bottles of wine and huge platters piled high with freshly baked calzone, bruschetta, and pizza slices occupy other tables. Wooden barrels of beer are on the wall of the fountain. Some of Gianni’s friends laugh as they turn the tap on, filling tankards with glowing amber foamy liquid. Someone brings glasses of Prosecco for Gianni and me, and we are ushered to stand under an elaborate rose archway where photographers snap and instruct us to ‘Say cheese!’

Gianni takes my hand and leads me to the packed dance floor.

“Olivia Moretti,” he whispers close to my ear. “You have made me a very happy man. Ti amo, mi amor.”

I dance with Gianni on the ancient stones of the village square. I hug Gloria who looks fabulous in a Versace dress. Desmond, Sandy, and Henry are having the time of their lives mingling with their new Italian friends. They wave to me as I dance with Luisa who teaches me some new steps. I say thank you again to Marta and Carlo as they twirl past us, then I am back in the arms of Gianni. Eleanor, from Florence, interrupts to congratulate us. She hugs me and introduces her husband who hugs me too and shakes Gianni by the hand, saying something very fast in Italian. I just nod and smile as we are whisked away into a swirl of dancers.

Someone taps Gianni on his shoulder and says something that I can’t hear above the party noise.

“Come on, Libby. It’s time to cut the cake.”

Gianni leads me to the main table where a huge strawberry-topped, heart-shaped pastry takes up most of the tabletop. The crowd of guests respectfully parts to allow us through. The music stops and a hush of anticipation falls on the festivities.

Gianni and I face the well-wishers side by side.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” says Gianni a little breathless. “And thank you, Libby, for marrying me. I am the happiest man in the world.” Gianni kisses my hand, and a cheer erupts around us. I am smiling so much that my cheeks ache.

Someone gives Gianni a big knife and we both hold it over the magnificent cake as loud voices all around us count down, tre! due! uno! Then we press the blade into the soft strawberry topping as the cheers, whistles, and shouts escalate.

Carlo resumes order and the noise dies down.

“Everyone. Thank you for coming to celebrate the wedding of my son to his beautiful bride, Libby. Please, fill your glasses. Let’s drink a toast to the bride and groom. May you have everlasting love and happiness.” The guests quietly raise their glasses. “To Gianni and Libby,” Carlo bellows with a huge grin, raising his glass dramatically above the cake.

His words are echoed by the crowd, and everyone solemnly drinks a toast to us. The relative quiet is short-lived as the band strikes up again and plays another raucous tune. An endless line of smiling people come to shake our hands, kiss our cheeks, and wish us all the best.

“When can I steal you?” Gianni asks quietly after a while.

“I think I am ready to go now,” I reply with a smile. I am having such a great time, but the thought of being alone with my gorgeous husband makes me want to grab his hand and start running down the hill.

Gianni leads me to where a vintage red Alfa Romeo is parked in a side street off the piazza. The car is decorated with more flowers and ribbons and ‘Just Married’ is scrawled in shaving foam on the trunk. We shout goodbye and zoom away in a din of whistles, cheers, and wishes of good luck.

“Buona fortuna!”

In contrast to the tumultuous village piazza, when we arrive at our tiny stone house at the vineyard, it’s quiet. Gianni parks the car around the back and gets out to open my door. This is one of the many things I love about my husband. I feel like the most valued and cared-for person in the world.

“This way, mi amor,” he says holding out his hand for me. I take it and allow my husband to lead me up the stone stairs to the front door of our home. “I have a surprise for you,” Gianni says smiling his sexy sideways smile.

“Oh yeah? What?” I say laughing at his mischievousness.

“Ha! Wait and see, Mrs Moretti… Oh, I like the sound of that.” He opens the door but just as I go to step in, he says, “Wait, Libby. We must do this properly.” Gianni scoops me up into his arms as if I’m a feather pillow. I wrap my arms around his neck and cover him with kisses. He kisses me back deeply and passionately, then says laughing, “That’s all until we are inside. I don’t want to drop you.”

Gianni steps over the threshold of the door and into our lounge. I am laughing and still trying to kiss my husband, so I don’t notice that there’s something different about the room.

Gianni gently puts me down on my feet and we kiss some more before he says, “Alright. Now close your eyes and I will guide you to your present.”

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