“I’m sorry. Who are you?” the bride asks.
“Hi!” I say with a friendly wave. “My name is Violet, and I’m just visiting for the day. This is Matt.”
I gesture for Matt to come out of his undisclosed location, and he reluctantly moves to stand beside me. “Hey,” he calls up. “Just as a side note, your mother-in-law sucks and is probably jealous of you. That and, of course, congratulations on your very special day.”
The bride and Sylvia seem beyond confused as they gaze down at us. I shoot Matt a look that says,Really?Before I focus my attention back on the women above. “Like I was saying, I’m a design student but I was also a seamstress for several years, and I’d be more than happy to take a peek at your dress if you want.”
The two women look at each other before the bride nearly leaps off the balcony.
“Yes! Come up! Please come up if you can.”
An excited smile stretches across my face, and I don’t hesitate to sprint toward the stairs. Matt rushes to keep up with me.
“Do you really think you can fix it?” he asks.
“Hopefully, I can. I’ve been carrying an emergency sewing kit in my bag for the past fifteen years just so I’d be prepared for this very moment. You wait here. I’m going to do this in record time.” I give him a quick smile and kiss before disappearing up the stairs. This wedding dress won’t stand a chance against my silk needle and enthusiasm.
An hour later Matt and I are late-arrival guests to the rooftop wedding reception at Villa San Michele. Once Lauren showed me the tear at her waistline, I whipped out my travel sewing kit and used a blind stitch to easily close the hole. If we had access to an iron, I could have done some interfacing along the lining but as it was, I did the best I could, and apparently, my best was very much appreciated. Lauren insisted that Matt and I stay for the rest of the reception, and so here we are, drinking champagne on what feels like the top of the world.
“Here’s to you,” Matt says, tapping his glass against mine. “Saving the day, one destination wedding at a time.”
“That’s going to be my platform if I ever decide to run for president.”
“As it should be.”
I shake my head and take a deep breath. I can smell the sea and sweet champagne and the combination is intoxicating. Soft music starts to play, leading Matt and me to turn toward the sound. There’s no DJ, but Lauren must have arranged her own playlist as all the guests begin to pair off on the makeshift dance floor near the most picturesque viewpoint.
“Will you dance with me?” Matt asks.
I hardly think about it before I place my hand in his offering palm. Seconds later he and I are swaying to a dreamy melody that I recognize as “A Groovy Kind of Love” by Phil Collins. An oldie but a goodie.
Matt’s a better dancer than I would have thought. He keeps us perfectly in rhythm as he glances down at me. “Now that you’ve gotten plenty of pictures to choose from for your fabric, how are you feeling about the competition?”
“I think I’m feeling good about it,” I answer. “My new fabric concept has definitely gotten me more excited and confident. Sketching and presentation wise, Marco, Holly and I seem to be close enough in pace and process. We all seem to be waiting to start constructing until we get back to New York, so Lorenzo will only be judging our illustrations. None of us really know what he’s looking for as far as style, so his vote could go to any one of us.”
“I’m sure whatever you make is going to be impressive. And then when you become a famous designer, hopefully you won’t forget that you owe me a shirt.”
“I won’t forget,” I promise him. He prompts me into a twirl, and I go with it to the best of my moderately limited dancing abilities. He pulls me back in, and I can feel my face blushing red as his eyes hold mine. “I’m glad we came here,” I say softly. “And not just because of the pictures.”
His arms tighten around me. “I’m glad, too.”
I think about saying more but stop myself. I don’t want to overthink now. In fact, I don’t want to think at all. Instead, I rest my head on Matt’s chest as we continue to dance, contentedly surrounded by his quiet comfort, the gentle music and the slowly setting sun.
It’s almost 10:00 p.m. when I step out of our hotel bathroom, freshly showered and dressed for bed. Looking around, I don’t see Matt anywhere, but judging from the breeze that catches my skin, it’s a safe bet that he’s on the balcony. Crossing the room, I pick up the fluffy bathrobe I left on the desk chair and wrap it around me, pulling my still-damp hair over the collar. I’m just about to step outside when I abruptly stop a foot or two earlier, still ensconced in the safety of the room and unable to see out.
Things are going to change if I go onto that balcony.
I can feel it and I’m sure Matt knows it. Maybe that’s why he’s out there waiting. He’s waiting for me to decide what’s next. Waiting to see if I’ll step into the darkness with him or stay comfortably inside alone.
I’d like to say I contemplate the issue for longer than I do, but my feet are already moving me forward, through the open doors and into the endlessly starry night.
As expected, Matt is there, leaning over the railing and looking out at the now-pitch-black water. I stop beside him and lean on the railing as well.
“You paint a pensive picture. Are you contemplating life?”
He doesn’t answer right away, only gives me a small smile before returning his gaze to the sea. “Just taking everything in,” he says. “And casually thinking about every mistake I ever made.”
I do my best to hide my grin. “Sounds deep. Who knew so much angst was hidden beneath that manly beard?”
