Despite the tumultuous events of the previous day, Izzie slept better than she had for years. When her alarm woke her at five thirty, a trickle of dread invaded her chest. How on earth was she going to get through the day without succumbing to an avalanche of painful memories of a wedding day that had never happened? How would she be able to stop herself from comparing the bride’s dress with the simple ivory silk column that Anna had chosen, or the way she had decided to style her hair, or the music she had chosen?
A fully-formed image of her beloved sister appeared before her, her eyes smiling softly, her auburn curls held away from her face, as familiar as her own, with a pretty white Alice band. To her surprise, Izzie’s heart was not filled with sadness for Anna’s absence, but with joy that her sister was there with her, in her bedroom, in Villa Limoncello, silently urging her to discard the painful memories and to enjoy her last full day in Tuscany.
And Anna was right! There was no point dwelling on what might have been. And hadn’t she made a promise to live life for the both of them? She had no intention of reneging on the pledge she had made when she and Luca had been sitting on the bench in Boboli Gardens, so she shoved any thought of the past into the deep, dark crevices of her mind, leapt out of bed, with a smile on her face and a song in her heart, filled with determination to make sure the wedding went without a hitch.
She showered and dressed quickly before giving Meghan a knock with the promise of coffee and warm croissants if she was downstairs in the next five minutes. After setting the kettle to boil, she checked her mobile and a squirm of delight meandered through her chest when she saw she had three missed calls from Luca already! She dialled his number, her spirits climbing even higher, but surprisingly the call went to voicemail. She left a quick message to say she was sorry she’d missed his calls and to text her when he got a moment.
Feeling as though she was walking on cloud nine, she grabbed her trusty arch-lever file and opened it at the page headed The Big Day where every task was itemised right up to the minute the bride set foot on the red carpet. Of course, she realised that the situation was different to when she had drafted her list what seemed like eons ago, and that as soon as Brad turned up he would assume control of every detail, but until then, it was up to her to make tweaks and changes as necessary.
Could some of her old self-reliance be returning? Was that possible? A swoop of confidence raced through her veins as she relished revisiting the skills she had learned from running her own business and the feeling of empowerment heightened her excitement. Was it really so different, staging someone’s home to staging a wedding venue?
‘Ciao, Carlotta,’ she trilled, causing Carlotta to peer over her glasses with suspicion.
‘Boungiorno, Isabella. Where’s Meghan?’
Izzie glanced out of the window and giggled. ‘There.’
Carlotta put down her bread knife and joined Izzie at the window just in time to see the two lovebirds disappear behind the pergola. She didn’t need a degree in Quantum Mechanics to work out what was going on.
‘I think it might be just the two of us this morning!’
‘And Vincenzo,’ added Carlotta, her cheeks colouring slightly.
Feel-good endorphins zoomed through Izzie. Love was certainly in the air that day! Meghan and Gianni, now Carlotta and Vincenzo. Would she be adding Isabella and Luca to that list before the day was through? She checked her mobile, disappointed to see that there was no text from him, but she knew there was a lot to do at the restaurant to prepare for a day’s service. Maybe he would just appear at the villa, a smile lighting up those dark sexy eyes, dimples bracketing his soft lips…
God, what was the matter with her? Get a grip, Izzie!
With synchronised efficiency, Izzie worked alongside Carlotta to add the finishing touches to the reception menu until the first delivery of the day arrived at seven thirty.
‘Hey, Izzie, where do you want these?’ called Francesca from the doorstep, weighed down by a huge white cardboard box containing the bridal bouquet and the two bridesmaids’ posies, their perfume adding a different dimension to the leg of lamb roasting in the oven.
‘Could you put them, and the table decorations, in the dining room, please. It’s the coolest place until we can start dressing the tables. Need any help erecting the floral chandelier?’
‘Actually, I already have that sorted.’
‘Gianni?’
‘Yes, I bumped into him when I was unloading the van and he offered his services.’
‘Great, another item I can tick off the list.’
‘I noticed someone rigging up a generator over by the wishing well. Do you have a problem with your electricity?’
‘Not anymore,’ smiled Izzie, resolving to make a point of thanking Riccardo for his contribution by ensuring that his swimming pool was filled to the brim before she left for the airport the next day.
The next half hour flew by with Francesca staying on to help out in the kitchen, chattering in high speed Italian with Carlotta and Vincenzo as they prepared the antipasto on six long wooden boards that would sit in the middle of the tables. There was food from every part of the colour spectrum; orange cantaloupe melon wrapped in prosciutto, green and black olives, sliced mozzarella and plump tomatoes, salami and fresh figs cut in half, pickled artichokes and mushrooms, a selection of sliced local cheeses, and fresh bread that was baking in the oven and sending wafts of mouth-watering smells into the kitchen.
When Oriana arrived with the first of the seven-tiered wedding cakes, everyone stopped what they were doing to oooh, and ahhh in admiration. By ten forty-five, the photographer and his assistant had arrived to set up their equipment – surprisingly a lot more than Izzie had imagined – the harpist had settled into her allocated spot next to the gazebo steps, and a minivan had disgorged all thirty guests dressed in their wedding finery with professionally coiffed hair and make-up. Everything was ready for Brad’s final inspection, whenever he decided to arrive.
Wherever Izzie looked, people were chattering, laughing, or being berated by Carlotta for touching the food. She closed her eyes, enjoying the way the sun’s rays wrapped her body in a warm embrace, until her brief daydream was interrupted by the squeal of an engine struggling to master the gradient of the hill. Within seconds, a giant SUV with dark tinted windows swung through the entrance and crunched towards the front door.
From her vantage point she watched two men, dressed in identical black suits and crisp white shirts, alight from the vehicle, their matching mirrored sunglasses completing the impression that Villa Limoncello was getting a visit from the local Italian mafia. It was only when Meghan appeared from behind the pergola and flung her arms around the tallest man’s neck that Izzie realised that one of the men was Brad.
For all Meghan’s gripes about her brother’s fortuitous escape from the weight of family obligations at the stud farm, and his continual requests for last minute support at his film shoots, it was clear that she loved him with a ferocity that was heart-warming to see. Standing next to each other, even the least observant of onlookers would immediately guess that they were brother and sister, with their matching ski-slope noses, their blue-green eyes, and their habit of flicking their blonde hair behind their ears only for it to fall back into their faces immediately. However, there was one huge difference; Meghan sparkled, and Brad looked like he hadn’t slept for a week.
‘Hi Izzie,’ he smiled, leaning forward to deposit a kiss on her cheek and give her a friendly squeeze. ‘Great to see you, and thanks for everything you’ve done to pull this off. I admit there were moments when I thought it wasn’t going to happen and I would never have been able to live with myself. I can’t apologise enough for the initial mix-up, and for being incommunicado for the last few days – first filming, then editing – but from what I’ve seen it looks like you’ve got everything under control. In fact, the villa’s even more picturesque than I had hoped – and, wow, that floral chandelier over there is an absolute showstopper. Right, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a few last-minute changes to sort out before we can get this show on the road.’
And that was it. The sum total of three minutes with the man whom Izzie credited with changing the whole direction of her life – even though he didn’t know it. Nevertheless, she resolved to find the time to thank him properly when all the mayhem was over.
‘Don’t worry, Izz, he’s always like that,’ laughed Meghan, seeing her disappointment. ‘Total focus is his mantra when it’s work, total chaos when it’s not! Perhaps it’s for the best that he seems to have categorised the wedding ceremony as work, otherwise who knows what would have happened! Come on, let’s do our own final check of the gazebo and the courtyard. Got a pen?’
Izzie nodded, removed the last of the checklists from her file and ran her eyes down the items that should be in place before the wedding guests took their seats for the ceremony, after which she would just have to leave everything in the capable hands of the gods of matrimonial harmony. Gianni joined them to help tie the last of the floral wreaths to the shutters and watching him flirt with Meghan made Izzie wish Luca could have been there to witness what they had achieved in the space of a few days.
And what an amazing achievement it was.
Villa Limoncello had been transformed from a dusty old duchess into a sparkling princess. Its front door and paint-blistered shutters were still shabby but that only added to the charm of the rustic Tuscan farmhouse. The shady courtyard had been transformed into a banqueting area with three long trestle tables covered in pristine white linen, set with silver cutlery and crystal glasses all presided over by that magnificent floral chandelier. The gazebo was both dreamy and romantic, the only sound floating in the air was soft classical music, and when Izzie ticked off the last item on the last list she turned to Meghan with tears in her eyes.
But there was no time to indulge in sentiment. Brad had taken control of the event and was already directing the arriving guests towards the gazebo and orchestrating the seating arrangements with competence and aplomb. She realised with a stab of regret that her part in the organisation was over and it was time to hand over the reins to the man whose vision this was. Difficult though it was, she had to bow out gracefully and allow him to bask in the glory of a project delivered on time and on brief.
Izzie loitered on the edge of the action, chastising herself for feeling like a spare part, asking herself what she had expected to happen when Brad arrived. Then another bolt of surprise hit her. She wasn’t needed anymore; she wasn’t a guest at the wedding, merely the hired help who should now blend seamlessly into the background so that the main players could take centre stage.
She suddenly craved a few moments of solitude to reflect on everything she had learnt from her experience of staging a wedding at Villa Limoncello, as well as the strides she had taken along the path of self-discovery and acceptance of the way her life was now. She had come to terms with a great deal over the last week and it was time to take stock and decide how to thank those who had supported her on that journey.
‘I think I’ll go and see if Carlotta and Vincenzo need any help,’ said Meghan, giving Izzie’s arm a gentle squeeze, clearly sensing her change of mood.
‘Thanks, Meghan. Catch you in a few minutes.’
Izzie watched Meghan trot off towards the kitchen, then swivelled on her heels and made her way through the gardens towards Gianni’s beloved vineyard, a world away from the hectic gathering of wedding guests. She took her time, sauntering several metres down the first row of vines, smiling at the scattered seashells under foot, before pausing to relish the ambient calm and drink in the wonderful view.
She would never grow tired of Tuscany’s natural beauty, of how every time she raised her eyes there was something new to appreciate. Her gaze fell on the village of San Vivaldo, its buildings clinging to the hillside with ancient tenacity, and although she couldn’t see Antonio’s, she thought of Luca busily serving lunch to diners at the trattoria and wondered why he hadn’t taken a break to pop down to the villa, just for a few minutes, to wish everyone luck.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a long, low breath, only to catch it again when she heard a rustle in the vines over to her right, followed by the unmistakeable crunch of swiftly retreating footsteps.
‘Hello?’
Izzie stood up onto her tiptoes, but apart from the ripple of leaves, she could see nothing. Curiosity heightened to anxiety, sending goose bumps across her forearms and her senses skywards, until she gave herself a swift talking to. Whoever’s slumber she’d disturbed, it was probably more frightened of her than she should be of it. She was about to spin around and return to the villa when a splash of red on the periphery of her vision caught her attention.
What was that?
She strode towards the object, crouching down to investigate what turned out to be a plastic bottle with a red spray nozzle, filled with a clear liquid, that had been part-hidden underneath one of the grapevines. When her gaze fell on a section of crumbling brown leaves further down the row, realisation and indignation exploded simultaneously. This wasn’t some naturally occurring disease as Gianni had thought – someone was sabotaging the vineyard – and whoever it was had just narrowly escaped being unveiled by her!
Her stomach performed a somersault of trepidation. Warily, she picked up the bottle and sniffed the nozzle, reeling backwards as the odour assaulted her nostrils. She knew immediately what it was; her mother had always insisted that her father made his own organic weed-killer by using a mixture of commercial-strength vinegar and lemon juice. Sprayed on the vine leaves, they would wither and die, particularly in high temperatures.
Who would do such a thing?
A myriad of other questions began to ricochet around her brain, but she knew she had to stay calm, gather her thoughts, and make a plan about what to do next, particularly who she should confide in. There was only one place she wanted to be to do that – the limonaia.
She took a couple of photographs of her find on her phone, slid it back into her pocket, and made her way back towards the villa, heaving a sigh of relief when the glasshouse appeared in front of her, its presence as impressive as ever, radiating an aura of eternal serenity and calm. As she pushed open the door, her nostrils primed to inhale the soothing aroma of the lemon trees, she heard voices. Someone was already in there, probably with the same idea as she’d had earlier, grabbing a moment to gather their thoughts before the wedding frenzy began. Uncertain what to do, she was about to retrace her steps when she heard Luca’s voice.
Izzie smiled. Thank God! If anyone would know what to do, it was Luca!
She had taken only a couple of steps across the chequerboard floor when she caught a glimpse of him, partially concealed behind the tallest of the lemon trees. Why was he wearing a tuxedo? And was that one of Francesca’s buttonholes?
Before Izzie had the chance to dissect that piece of information, a high-pitched female voice replied to Luca’s question in rapid staccato Italian and she froze. Leaning slowly to her right, she could just about make out the silhouette of a woman, her hair the colour of melted chocolate and threaded with fresh lilies. However, it was what she was wearing that sent a thunderbolt of pain through her heart: a diaphanous white gown that floated like a waterfall around her slender body, as well as the fact that Luca had his hand resting on the woman’s shoulder, his lips inches from hers as he stared into her eyes. She felt as though she’d inadvertently stumbled on the climax of a Hollywood romcom!
Who was this woman? Why was she dressed like that? And why was Luca whispering with her in the limonaia?
Izzie’s stomach lurched, and, in a bubble of confusion and disbelief, she managed to swivel noiselessly on her heels and walk away from the devastating scene, back towards the villa, completely oblivious to the continuing chaos around her. Her brain felt like it was crammed with cotton wool as she tried and failed to slot the image imprinted in her mind’s eye into an explanation that did not involve the fact that Luca and this mystery woman were a couple. A couple who, for the few brief seconds she had watched them together, seemed so totally at ease in each other’s company that it was obvious they knew each other well.
Fighting a surge of rising panic, she made it as far as the pergola, willing herself to hold it together until after the wedding and she could melt away into the ether. Somewhere on the edge of her senses she heard Brad’s distinctive voice above all others and tuned in to what he was saying.
‘Where the hell’s Luca disappeared to? I assume he’s with Sabrina. Can someone find them please and tell them that we’re all waiting!’
Sabrina?
Had she heard right?
Oh my God! The dark-haired woman Luca was with in the limonaia was Sabrina, his ex!
As the rusty cogs turned in her head the truth finally dawned, and she had to grab onto the wooden post of the pergola to keep her legs from crumbling beneath her as realisation exploded like a firework in her brain, clouding her judgement and causing all common sense to fly out of the window.
This was their wedding!
Sabrina was wearing a bridal gown, Luca was wearing a wedding suit! Was Sabrina the celebrity part of the couple who was anxious to maintain her privacy? She had to get away; there was no way she could stand around and watch Luca and Sabrina exchange vows. She just couldn’t. Now she understood why he’d backed off from kissing her the previous evening in the gazebo, and why he’d not responded to her calls and texts that morning.
All thought of her discovery in the vineyard vanished from her mind and the flight instinct took over. Settling her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she made her way to the kitchen.
‘Is everything in hand with the food, Carlotta?’ she croaked, her throat constricted and dry.
‘Tutto bene,’ smiled Carlotta, her cheerful face morphing into surprise when Izzie dragged her into a hug.
‘Grazie. Carlotta. You and Vincenzo have been amazing.’
Ignoring Vincenzo’s astonishment, she rushed from the room, raced upstairs to her sunflower-bedecked bedroom, and began tossing random items of toiletries and clothes into her duffle bag. She was just about to leave when she paused, grabbed a pen and scribbled a note for Meghan.
Sorry, Meghan, I had to get away. By the time you read this, you’ll know why. If you get the chance, please pass on my congratulations to Luca and Sabrina and tell Brad that I needed to catch a flight back to London so I can return to my job at HH on Monday. I’ll call you tonight about the rest of my things and the hire car.
Thanks, Izzie. x
She dashed across the hallway and left the note for her friend to find when she inevitably came looking for her, by which time she hoped she’d be long gone. In a stealth-like manner that she would have found comical if she had been in a better frame of mind, she crept down the staircase and detoured to the front door so as not to alert Carlotta and Vincenzo to her earlier than scheduled departure.
With her heart hammering out a painful concerto against her ribcage, she made it to the outhouse unseen. She grabbed the little pink Vespa and wheeled it as silently as she could to the driveway, grateful that she had managed to co-ordinate her escape whilst everyone’s attention was focused over by the wedding gazebo where the harpist was in the throes of playing the wedding march.
At the end of the driveway, unable to look back for a final glimpse of the villa, she cocked her leg over the seat and started the engine, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment at her mistake, but it was the cracks in her heart that hurt the most.