Only by coming so close to naming what was growing between them like a determined weed in the Mediterranean sun…
She pulled Cillian to her, smoothing his hair, waiting for that feeling that all was right with the world, because he was in her arms. The peace stole over her with its familiar warmth, but the grip of loss didn’t lessen. They existed alongside one another.
The panicked thought assailed her: aiming to survive for Cillian’s sake had kept her going all these years, but he was growing up. In another ten years, that pressure that kept her skin on would let up and she’d have to face everything she’dburied – including these feelings about her one magical week where the Isola d’Elba and its flora and fauna had touched her spirit.
‘Thank you for wanting to defend me,’ she began, ‘but I’m always here for you.’
He drew back to look at her. ‘Is it because of me that you don’t have a boyfriend or a new husband?’
‘No,’ she replied immediately.
‘So, it’s because of Dad.’
‘No,’ she insisted again. ‘Maybe,’ she corrected with a sigh.
Glancing out at the sea, she noticed the sun drawing its final descent over Monte Capanne as Cillian’s head landed softly on her shoulder.
‘AmIsupposed to be sad about Dad?’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ That’s all the answer Toni managed, as the tears that had been threatening for days finally made their way down her cheeks. She didn’t have an answer, hadn’t even dared ask herself the questions, as the years since his death piled up like sandbags during a flood. ‘I don’t know, but I am sure I love you to bits.’
‘I love you too, Mum.’
28
The westerly wind, the vento di ponente, was stiff on the day of the wedding. It provided a welcome respite from the afternoon heat that threatened the guests as well as the flowers, but it terrorised every skirt and the mother of the bride’s statement hat was under constant threat.
The function room at the hotel was a sanctuary, but Toni couldn’t spend long in there without her gaze snagging on the figure of Gabri, tirelessly at work with his intricate arrangements. He’d acknowledged her only with a wave and a tight smile that morning, for which she didn’t blame him, but he was wearing tailored trousers and a collared shirt – the sleeves rolled up – making him entirely at fault for being devastatingly handsome.
‘He has a great eye for beauty,’ Reshma commented when she caught Toni staring. ‘Except for the moustache. I can’t forgive a moustache.’
Toni caught herself before she defended the facial hair she’d grown a little too fond of.
He was trimming the foliage on the centrepieces, which looked less like floral garlands and more like three-dimensionalsculptures. Toni had seen the vases and chicken wire and sponges that created the flowing designs stretching along the centre of the table in dusky pink with red and yellow highlights, but it didn’t detract from the magic of the final product.
Lush pink hydrangea nestled against beds of baby’s breath and frilly carnations, contrasting with burgundy ranunculus and fluffy heads of clover. There wasn’t a thistle in sight, which rather disappointed Toni.
Although they delayed setting up the chairs for the ceremony until late afternoon, Toni was still worried about the drapes flying away. Gabri had dug a complicated foundation for the floral arch which probably could have withstood a hurricane, but a few anemones had still been sucked off and taken up towards the rocky hills.
He disappeared again in the afternoon – Toni still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to run a business, given how often he was absent from his shop – with a promise to return just before the ceremony to make repairs to the arch.
Once all the guests had gathered in the function room for canapés, cocktails and the first course, Toni was strung tight enough to break, even though she thought she’d got everything out of her system with her crying jag the night before.
‘I understand why people usually have the ceremony first,’ she commented to Reshma as they stood to the side, waiting for the bride and groom to give a welcome speech, as they’d planned. ‘We’re celebrating already, but what if they never make it to “I do”?’
‘Theyalwaysmake it to “I do”,’ Reshma insisted.
‘Is that the I Do promise?’ Toni joked out of the corner of her mouth as Alison lifted her champagne glass and clinked a spoon against it. ‘“Book with us and we’ll make sure you get to the altar, come rain, snow or wind?”’
‘Shush,’ Reshma reproached her with a wry smile.
Alison wore an evening dress in gold – the wedding gown awaited her in her suite to wow the groom when the moment came for the ceremony – with a posy of spray roses and carnations in pink and burgundy tucked artfully along one strap. The photographer adjusted his tripod and flashed away as she began her speech.
‘You all know how much it means to us that you’ve travelled here, and now waited a whole day for this bloomin’ wedding to actually happen.’
A chuckle rippled amongst the guests.
‘What many of you don’t know is why: why we decided to promise our lives together on an island, at sunset. I bet you all thought it was Nathaniel’s idea, because he’s a big ol’ marshmallow inside.’
