A knock on the door snaps us out of the moment.
‘Ignore it,’ he groans, one of his hands tugging down my top to release a nipple for him to close his lips over, the other softly bringing me to orgasm. The knocking persists as I shudder against his hand. We lock eyes. I am properly panting. He’s checking to see if I’m satisfied. I totally am.
* * *
When he eventually opens the door, two orgasms each later, we find a stunning bouquet of flowers on the floor outside. Matteo has the foresight to check that they are our wedding flowers and not another bouquet from Hank Junior to Liberty. As he hands them to me, it’s as though we’re having a conversation without words. It’s time to get married.
‘You shower first, then I’ll go in,’ he offers, checking the time on his phone. ‘I’m guessing you’ll need more time than me to get ready.’
So accurate. So thoughtful.
Once I disappear into the shower, my breathing returns to normal. It isn’t until the warm water sprays against my shoulders and spine that I realise how overjoyed I am. I study my reflection. I’m so far from the mouse I used to be. It’s as though Matteo lights a spark in me every time we get together. I become more. More alive. More adventurous. Just more.
When I emerge from the bathroom in a hotel robe, I see Matteo is on the phone. He is pacing up and down.
‘No, Birdie. I told you I’m busy this afternoon. Look, you meet the client, and maybe we can get together tomorrow to discuss it. Uh-huh. No. Then let him wait.’
He switches off his phone with an impatient growl, but breaks into a half-smile when he sees me. He throws the phone on the bed.
‘I’m so done,’ he says.
‘You still have time for a shower,’ I say. ‘It’ll relax you. Such a shame I broke that jar of soothing pond algae.’
A chuckle escapes his lips. He throws me a grateful smile. ‘You’re good for me,’ he says, closing the bathroom door behind him.
His words dance around my brain, instantly catapulting me into action. Face. Hair. Body cream. Perfume. Outfit.
I have completed my ‘no make-up’ make-up and most of my hair when I hear Matteo turning off the shower. I take out all the garment bags from the wardrobe and lay them on the bed. The wardrobe door has a full-length mirror on the inside. I spend a few moments staring back at my reflection. My mother’s eyes peer back at me. Would she do something as wild and reckless as this? I unclip my locket necklace, open it to reveal her photo and take in her young, vibrant expression. She was brave and bold and knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She loved singing with a passion and she loved me and my father with the same fierce intensity, as though we were the only two human beings on the planet. I see her staring back at me through wide green eyes.
I remove my hair curlers and let the freshly dried brown curls tumble down my back. I look just like her. I have her thick, shiny hair and her tall, slender frame. I have her cheekbones and long lashes. She is with me always.
‘I’m happy, Mam,’ I say into the mirror. ‘I’m really, really happy.’ I wipe a single tear from my cheek. She’d be proud of me. I know she would.
A movement catches my eye. It’s Matteo. He’s standing with an expression of compassion on his face. He gets me. He gets that I’m on a journey.
I return his smile, and he takes that as permission to come and hold me. He looks insanely hot in his wedding suit. Unbelievably handsome with his hair slightly damp, his face cleanly shaved and smelling of lemon balm. Fragrant aftershave blooms from his body as he holds me tight in his strong arms. He rests his chin on the top of my head and makes eye contact with me through the mirror. I feel an energy flow between us as a feeling of calm sweeps through me. We feel right. I sag against him, and we stay like that until I’m ready to be released.
‘Is it okay for me to go?’ he asks. ‘I need to speak to the officiator in person. Something about the vows. I thought that you’d prefer the time to finish getting ready instead of coming with me?’
‘Yes, please,’ I say, quite relieved. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, whatever the circumstances. ‘Why don’t I meet you at the gondola?’
‘If you’re sure,’ he says. ‘I can stay and help?’
‘I’m fine. I’ll be down in thirty minutes.’
I watch him go, the tuxedo hugging his tall frame in all the right places. His shirt is taut across his muscular stomach, his jacket close-fitting like it was tailor-made. The trousers, slim-fit, flow loosely over his solid thighs and athletic legs. He turns at the door to give me one last smile, causing sparks to erupt like fireworks in my heart, before it closes.
I am so ready for this.
17
Twenty minutes later, I inspect myself in the mirror. That assistant knew exactly what she was doing. Everything from the insanely sexy underwear, hold-up stockings and complimentary sparkling body mist she shoved in the bag, to the exquisite sleeveless wedding gown that is flowing with my body with every slight movement I make. It wasn’t an expensive gown, but it sure feels like one.
I admire the delicate layers of off-white chiffon falling gently to the floor. I trace the soft, simple lace of the V-neck plunging just below the breastbone because of the clever built-in straps. I reach behind my neck to fasten the tiny buttons. The dress is almost backless because the lace is cut out from the shoulder blades in a soft diamond shape to just above the waist. It makes my waist tiny. It’s simple. It’s classic. It’s perfect for this wedding on an Italian gondola, floating on a canal in the middle of this crazy city.
My hair is teased into sleek waves, my lips are voluptuous and stained ruby red and my smoky eyes are huge, enhanced with black flicks of liner and fake lashes showing them off. My locket sits nicely on my chest, and sparkly earrings and a sweet diamanté headband complete the look. I slip my feet into some kitten heels that I brought with me and spritz myself with perfume. Anyone would think I was really getting married.
I feel a pang of wistfulness as my head is temporarily clouded by my heart.
