by Lucy Coleman
Arran’s mother’s jaw drops and she opens her mouth, but no words escape. The look in her eyes is cold and unforgiving. Harriet, on the other hand, edges closer to Arran, suddenly changing her demeanour from aloof, to sympathetic. She even reaches out to place her arm, rather comfortingly, on the sleeve of his jacket. Woah – Arran wasn’t a fool. She’s clever, she knows how to get what she wants, and she will do anything to achieve that without reservation. He didn’t stand a chance.
‘You know this isn’t right, Arran, and you’re doing this for all the wrong reasons. I’m sorry things went so badly wrong between us and that wasn’t my intention, really it wasn’t. I had a lot of anger because I felt you weren’t putting me first and I took my frustrations out on you. I understand now that your work is important to you and I’m prepared to acknowledge that. I’m sorry and I want us to try again.’
Some of the strangers in the room gasp out loud and my eyes begin to fill with tears. Arran looks devastated and for a few moments I’m fearful of what will happen next. Suddenly, the door opens, and a young woman enters the waiting room holding a clipboard in her hands.
‘Mr Jamieson and Miss Middleton?’
All heads spin in her direction but no one says anything. Instead, my eyes are glued to Arran’s face. He looks angry and when he begins speaking his words are curt and his tone sharp.
‘You’re right, Harriet – we’re doing this for all the wrong reasons.’ To my horror he turns to address the person still waiting to escort us across the hallway. ‘I’m sorry, but we won’t be getting married today, after all.’
One solitary tear rolls down my cheek and I gulp, forcing myself not to sob. A small smile spreads over Arran’s mother’s face. Harriet looks at Arran adoringly.
‘Thank you, Harriet, for bringing me to my senses. I’m desperately trying to avoid a repeat of what you and I had, because I stupidly agreed to everything you wanted. Brie isn’t like that. She isn’t Bridezilla – she’s the woman who loves me enough not to care about the process and the trappings. In fact, if you check your bank account you will find my debt has been repaid in full, courtesy of a woman who is prepared to give up almost everything she’s worked for because she loves me.’
He turns towards me as Harriet looks on, rendered speechless, and the smile is wiped from his mother’s face in an instant. Arran drops to one knee and clasps my hand. I glance at Harriet, briefly, and her face is distorted, her mouth partially open like a tear on that perfect, porcelain skin of hers. They are both horrified.
‘Brie, it’s time we did this properly because that’s what you deserve. Can we forget what’s gone before? I hope you will forgive me for trying to make you settle because of the baggage I carry around with me. That’s all behind us from this moment forwards.
‘Brie Middleton, will you do me the great honour of being my wife? And this time around we are going to organise a proper wedding ceremony. Your family and friends have shown me more respect and love than I’ve ever had from my own parents or my sister. If it wasn’t for my grandparents and Nanny Hope, I wouldn’t even have a notion what love was. All they ever wanted for me was to be happy and you make me happy in ways I never dreamt existed.’
As he stares up at me, I find myself floundering, my legs no longer firm beneath me. Arran jumps up, throwing his arms around me and I manage to whisper ‘yes’ before the room begins to fade away, consumed by a grey fog.
33
Toasting Mr and Mrs Arran Jamieson
I knew that everyone would fall in love with Villa Monteverdi the moment they arrived here from the UK for our Italian celebration. With the plans for tonight’s big party well in hand, and Elisabetta fussing over the team from La Pergola as they lay out the tables in the marquee, I know that Arran and I can relax.
This is family time, at last. Welcoming Mum, Dad, Mel, Ross and Carrie to our home as a couple is very special indeed. Already, the memories Arran and I have created here prior to our wedding in the UK have made me feel a part of its history. After all, it has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions for us both, given the situation. But coming back here after the wedding did, indeed, feel like coming home for me. And I never dreamt I would be able to say that.
As Arran and I stand on the terrace watching the hive of activity going on around us, our joy doesn’t need to be expressed in words.
The fact that Mum and Dad are here for a whole month is really going to kick start Dad’s convalescence now he’s feeling much more like his old self. Earlier on, Arran announced, rather boldly, that he had been formulating a plan.
‘Really?’ I had enquired, as I know we have a lot of work to juggle, too. He’d looked at me and waggled his finger.
‘I know what you’re thinking but all it’s going to take is a little careful re-jigging of the deadlines.’
I was impressed and I could see Mum and Dad were, too.
‘Well, we don’t want to put you out, Arran. We can—’
He’d stopped Mum at that point. ‘The arrangements are already coming together.’
That had piqued my interest and I felt excited by his enthusiasm. ‘Oh, come on, you have to tell us now, Arran.’
He’d pretended to think about it, but I could see he was dying to share the news.
‘First off, we’re heading to Venice for an overnight stay at the amazing Aqua Palace, a designer hotel in the Castello Quarter. We return for five days before heading off to the nearby town of Malcesine. We’re going to take the cable car up to the ridge of the Monte Baldo mountain range.’
‘A cable car?’ He could instantly tell from my voice that wouldn’t be my first option.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he’d chided me. ‘It climbs very slowly because it rotates 360 degrees so you get the full panoramic view.’
Great. It climbs and turns. A double whammy of fear for me as my delicate stomach hates sudden movement.
‘I’ve also arranged for a car and driver to do several escorted, half day trips while you and I are working. Oh, and I’ve planned a special little evening trip because you said I’m not a romantic at heart, Brie.’
He’d shot me a glance and I tried to ignore the fact that Mum and Dad were trying not to laugh. I raised my eyebrows in consternation. We’d gone way beyond that stage.
‘We’re all going to take the Sunset Cruise around the lake, starting from Sirmione. It’s magical at this time of the year and it will take your breath away. As the night air wraps itself around you, the sound of the lapping water will be something you will always remember, I promise you.’
I was touched; we all were. Arran so wanted to embrace my parents and make them feel at home here, that it was moving. And kind. And thoughtful. And I wanted to shower him with kisses, but I managed to restrain myself. For a little while.
And as for Mel and Ross, well, they have that loved-up glow and I know it won’t be too long before Mel is buying up those bridal magazines in preparation for their big day.
Then there’s Carrie; well, she’s been a star. She successfully negotiated a lucrative, two book deal for Arran. It isn’t so much about the money, but his sense of achievement, and the fact that we get to collaborate on the sequel is a bonus. It’s a story that means so much to him and it deserves to be shared with the world.
But the best news of all is that a film producer has fallen in love with Arthur and Rose’s story. Together we will show the world a love so intense that it will rival all other love stories. Casting is about to begin and it’s an exciting time, as the sequel will hit the shelves at around the same time as the film airs. Together we’re creating something special and we both know that. A story that is symbolic in so many ways and reminds us all that there is nothing stronger than the bond of true love.
When I get back to the UK, I’m doing that extended book signing tour to please Carrie and my publisher, before starting on the first round of edits for my next hot and steamy romance. In between, I wrote a love story; it just happened to be about Arran and me, and i
t just happened to have sex in it. A lot of sex, as it turns out, because when I read through the first draft I realised I’d written a fictional version of our own love story. It was a bit of a fairy tale; but then I realised the true version was also a fairy tale in its own right. And I wanted to do it justice, not that it was totally biographical, but I’ve learnt something on this journey that I wanted to share.
Romance comes in all forms. What delighted me was that the story had some of the most heart warming and tenderest of moments that will melt any true romantic’s heart. And those poignant scenes weren’t mine, but Arran’s. The man I did, at one point, accuse of not having one romantic bone in his body.
Sometimes a hero doesn’t arrive on a white charger or knock on your door with his arms full of flowers. Often, he makes you laugh when you least expect to – like when you are staring at a photo of you both naked on the internet and your mother comes up behind you. And then he announces, quite boldly, that you are beautiful. Or when you are in a room full of strangers in a registry office. Going down on one knee to ask me to marry him – which he didn’t really do the first time around – in front of his ex–wife and his irate mother, came from the heart. He could so easily have sent them away and continued with our no frills, no fuss ceremony.
Antonio waves, attracting Arran’s attention.
‘I think I’d better offer to lend a hand setting up the drinks table. Why don’t you show Carrie the library?’
I glance across and see that she’s standing on her own, surveying the view, and is the only one without a drink in her hand.
I gaze up at Arran as his arms circle my waist and he gives me a gentle squeeze. ‘I love you, Mrs Jamieson. Thank you.’
I look at him, puzzled. ‘For what?’
‘For everything. For being you; for caring so much about the things that matter and letting go of the things that don’t.’
We both know what he’s referring to; I might not be the first Mrs Arran Jamieson, but I’m the last. And as for the other Mrs Jamieson, his mother, well, when he’s ready I know he will give her and his father another chance. Whether they will accept his peace offering, who knows, but the important thing is that his heart is full of forgiveness because love and hate don’t sit well together.
He raises my hand to kiss my fingertips before heading off in the direction of the elegant marquee. I grab two glasses of wine then saunter across to Carrie.
With my latest novel, The Story of Us: A journey into love, shooting straight up the charts, it promises to take my career in a slightly new direction. More fifty shades of happiness than fifty shades of grey. It seems that an increasing number of people are looking for feel good, reaffirming stories with a moral or two woven into the pages. Of course, the press keep saying it’s semi-autobiographical, which it is, but I’m not admitting that. The first time I saw those words staring back at me in print I was terrified. Then Arran put it into perspective for me.
‘There isn’t one thing in that entire novel I’d want you to change. There’s no shame in loving someone so completely, both mentally and physically.’
I’d rolled my eyes. ‘That’s easy for you to say as it isn’t your naked rear that keeps popping up on the internet.’
The smile he’d given me was wicked. ‘Yes, but you look good, so don’t knock it. You worked hard to beat your demons and decide to embrace a healthier lifestyle. Okay, the weight loss was a side effect, but it’s still something you achieved. It’s tasteful, Brie, and when you’re eighty years old I bet you’ll get a little thrill when you remember that moment. I know I always will.’
And that’s why I love him. But I won’t be asking Arran to read my next hot and steamy romance, which is set in an Italian villa on a hillside overlooking a lake. I think he’d be miffed that the hero is Italian and bears a remarkable resemblance to Antonio from La Pergola. Well, people love love, but sex still sells books. As I’ve discovered, I like to have my cake and eat it. In moderation, of course.
34
A New Surprise Around Every Corner
‘It’s officially wine o’clock, and this glass has your name on it. You’re deep in thought. Is everything okay?’
Carrie smiles, gratefully taking the glass from me.
‘Perfect. The view is stunning and it’s hard to take in that this is now your home. Who could stand here and not be moved by this backdrop? It’s beyond beautiful.’
Today there is a gentle breeze and the whole surface of the lake seems to shimmer, like a piece of silk rippling as the wind catches it.
‘It’s so turquoise against the cornflower blue of the sky,’ Carrie exclaims. ‘Almost too rich to look real, if you know what I mean. Like a painting where you actually want to muddy the colours a little as water can’t be that surreal, or so clear it looks like liquid crystal.’
We stare out over the lake and into the distance. I have to agree with her. Raising my hand, I gesture to our right.
‘See the variation in colour as the water sweeps around the south eastern edge of the bowl, over there? Then as it snakes away towards the north the reflection of the mountain range casts a darker shadow, making it look almost shallow along that edge. But it isn’t, it’s actually very deep at that point, according to Arran.’
Carrie redirects her gaze.
‘The depth of the lake varies dramatically and sometimes that accounts for the change in colour. Other times it’s the current, apparently. As your eye runs along the entire length of the coast line you can spot some of the coves and beaches in between the mountainous, craggy rock. Then far into the distance all you see is colour and shape, and that slight purple haze at this time of the day. I could stand and stare at this forever and always notice something new,’ I admit.
‘And Arran spent his childhood holidays here?’
I nod. ‘Yes, from his early teens. It was his refuge, albeit a little slice of paradise. When he was here there were no rows going on around him and no pressure. He was allowed to be himself; no one judging him or pushing him to do better. Every child deserves that sort of nurturing and it has nothing at all to do with wealth, or privilege. His grandparents simply loved him for who he was and allowed him to develop naturally. He was an inquisitive young man, he admitted, and I can imagine that.’
It was obvious from the beginning that Carrie has always seemed to understand Arran. She’s a tough cookie herself; whether that’s just her nature, or it stems from her upbringing, I have no idea. But I wonder if she recognised in Arran that moody, slightly brusque demeanour he sometimes sports as if it’s some sort of shield to hide his feelings. She’s not one to make excuses for people, but whether she’d admit it or not, she has a soft spot for him.
‘Arran suggested I show you the library, it’s in a secret part of the garden. Step this way.’
We take our time, frequently stopping to admire the shrubs and different viewpoints out across Lake Garda. Then watching the ferries and smaller boats, mere specks on the surface leaving tell-tale white trails in their wake. That constant little glint as the sun catches on the gleaming paintwork, like some sort of message in Morse code. Dot, dot, dash, dot, dash… and then it changes direction and the eye can hardly make out the tiny shape in such a vast expanse.
As we head past the marquee we pop our heads in to see how things are coming along.
‘This is all rather grand,’ Carrie says as we stand back surveying the activity. The individual tables look wonderful with their long, crisp white cotton cloths and deep burgundy floral arrangements.
It’s a large tent and Antonio has arranged everything, not just the food. Our request was for something simple, but elegant and oh my, well, this isn’t simple but it is elegant.
The dessert table is amazing but it’s slap bang in the centre and I’m puzzled.
‘Come,’ Antonio calls out and we saunter across. ‘You like?’ He wafts his hand in front of the beautiful array of cupcakes and a mountain of cookies set in an icing pyramid.
�
�Yes,’ I declare, in awe.
‘Everyone, they dance around the table. Is cookie cake and everyone take, yes?’
‘Right, ah, I see. Does it have a name?’
‘Torta di biscotto di nozze. And these, confetti crispo – a box for each guest.’
He slips the top off one of the small gold coloured boxes. ‘Ah, sugared almonds. Lovely.’
‘Is tradition for the matrimonio cucina.’
I smile at him, placing a hand on his shoulder gratefully. ‘Thank you, Antonio. You have done an amazing job. I can’t wait for everyone to be seated to sample the delights of traditional Italian cuisine.’
‘Matrimonio cucina,’ he repeats and I chuckle.
‘We’ll leave you to your preparations. See you in a little while.’
As we head out of the marquee, we pass Arran carrying a tray. Both Carrie and I stare at it in surprise.
‘Quanti,’ Arran explains. ‘Dough in the shape of bow ties, deep fried and sprinkled with icing sugar. I know we said simple, but there is no such thing—’
‘I know… when it comes to matrimonio cucina.’
Both Arran and Carrie laugh and we head back out into the sunshine.
From every angle you see something new and when it’s viewed for the first time it’s a truly inspiring experience. A rich mixture of light and shade from rocky promontories way below us and behind, the mountains are almost breathing down our necks.
‘I’m envious but I’m so happy for you both. In fact, you’ve made me think about my own life and a few changes I’ve decided are overdue.’
We disappear out of view of our guests, between the line of trees and Carrie follows me inside the library, her face in awe.
‘This is really something. No wonder Arran fought so hard to retain it and I can see where your motivation came from, now. This is some collection. Of course, you couldn’t let him lose it. I’m sorry if, as a friend, I doubted your reasoning, but you know me, always practical. Well, except that all of a sudden, I’m feeling both brave and emotional.’