Wedding Bells at Villa Limoncello

by Daisy James

  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.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The Wedding Gazebo, Villa Limoncello

  Colour: Paprika Panic

  ‘Has anyone seen Izzie?’

  ‘I thought she was with you?’

  ‘No, I’ve not seen her for a while. I thought she was in here helping with the food?’

  Carlotta cast a worried glance across at Vincenzo who, with his arm still strapped, was attempting to assemble a sumptuous cheese board using only his good hand, then back at Meghan.

  ‘She popped in about fifteen minutes ago, gave us both a hug – which we did think was a bit strange – then disappeared upstairs. It’s all been a bit manic since your brother arrived so maybe she’s grabbing a few minutes to herself whilst the ceremony is under way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Meghan took the stairs two at a time, her anxiety mounting. She knew Izzie better than anyone and there was no way she would take a break until she had made double-sure every last detail had been checked and rechecked and the project – whether it was a Hambleton Homes house-staging or a glamorous Tuscan wedding – had been delivered in accordance with her brief. Also, she had been stalking her brother for the last twenty minutes, trying to catch him on his own so she could blast him personally for the brevity of his thank you speech for everything Izzie had done, but he’d been completely surrounded by arriving guests and she didn’t want to embarrass him.

  God, he was so irritating. It was obvious he’d grabbed the organiser’s baton from Izzie’s capable hands and Meghan wondered, knowing her obsession with minutiae, how she was coping with this sudden change in dynamic.

  ‘Izzie? Are you in there? Izzie?’

  She pushed open the door to Izzie’s room, but it was clear she wasn’t there. She decided to pop into her own room to run a comb through her hair and retouch her lipstick before the reception got under way. She knew she had to stay in the background, it was one of the orders Brad had barked at her when he’d seen her loitering, but she still wanted to look decent, especially if the opportunity presented itself to get Gianni on his own whilst the wedding party were stuffing their faces.

  She sat down on the flowery dressing table stool, and immediately another, much more likely scenario, burst into her mind and she chastised herself for not thinking about it sooner. This was the first wedding Izzie had been involved in since she’d lost Anna only weeks before her sister was due to exchange her vows with Matt. No wonder she’d disappeared before the wedding got under way; Meghan couldn’t begin to understand how Izzie must be feeling.

  She sprang from her seat and had taken only a couple of steps towards the door when her eye snagged the note lying on her bed. She snatched it up and scanned the contents, her stomach performing a summersault of dismay and confusion.

  ‘What the…?’

  She grabbed her mobile and scrawled through her contacts for Izzie’s number, but, as she had suspected, there was no answer. What did Izzie mean, ‘pass on my congratulations to Luca and Sabrina’?

  ‘Oh my God! No! No! No!’

  What was Luca playing at? Anger bubbled up inside her. Why hadn’t Gianni said anything to her? Or Brad? No, scratch that, she wasn’t surprised her stupid brother had kept her out of the loop. He never told her the details – just ordered her around like one of his crew, expecting her to second-guess what he needed. She knew he didn’t do it on purpose, that his brain twisted so many different themes, plots, storylines together it was at risk of exploding and she didn’t want to add to the strain. And she could hardly expect Gianni to confide something like that – Luca was his best friend and she had only known him for a few hours.

  How dare Luca do this!

  Her indignation on her friend’s behalf clouded her rationality. She was determined to give Luca a piece of her mind – but only if she could get him alone. She had no wish to upset Sabrina, although really, she should be warned what a snake he was.

  Meghan hurtled down the stairs, Izzie’s note crumpled in her fist. She checked the terrace, then the limonaia, but there was no sign of Luca, or Gianni for that matter. Her suspicions mounted and, as she dashed towards the gazebo, she saw that the guests had been seated and every eye of the congregation was on Brad as he performed the final tweaks – but there was no sign of Luca standing in the gazebo waiting for his bride to arrive, nor of his best man proudly bearing the ring.

  Then the realisation hit her with such force she gasped.

  Of course! If Luca was the groom, then Gianni was his best man!

  God, what kind of arrogance made them think they could get away with this?

  But before she could come up with an answer she spotted Luca, pacing backwards and forwards next to the wishing well, his head bent, his hands in his pockets as he muttered to himself – and even better, he was alone. She sprinted towards him, along the overgrown path where weeds sprouted from the cracks like a giant’s nasal hair, and scooted to a halt in front of him, her eyes narrowed with fury.

  ‘Luca!’

  ‘Meghan, hi. Sorry, do you mind? I just need to…’

  Luca continued to pace, his whole demeanour exuding nervous tension, as he rehearsed a repetitive monologue of Italian which Meghan took to be his vows.

  ‘You complete and utter bastard!’

  She was pleased to see her greeting caused Luca to stop in his tracks and stare at her, his jaw loose, his eyes filled with incredulity.

  ‘What…’

  ‘I don’t know how you thought this was going to pan out, but what you’ve done is despicable, so… so absolutely heartless, especially after Izzie confided in you about Anna and Matt. How could you? How could you inflict such hurt on someone who thought you were her friend? Don’t you think she’s suffered enough? Don’t you think…’

  ‘Hey, hey, hang on a minute.’ Luca stepped forward and grabbed Meghan’s shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes where she saw only bewilderment and concern. ‘What are you rambling on about?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. She saw you – with… with Sabrina.’

  ‘She saw me with…’

  ‘Yes, Sabrina, except she’s not your ex-fiancée, is she?’

  ‘I can assure you that Sabrina is not any kind of fiancée! What gave you that idea? Wh
at’s all this about? Ahh…’

  ‘Oh, so the penny drops at last, does it?’

  ‘Izzie saw us in the limonaia, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said… canoodling with the bride…’

  ‘Oh my God! Sabrina isn’t the bride, she’s the bridesmaid. And, as of midnight last night, I’m the best man!’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s alright then,’ said Meghan sarcastically, her head starting to spin from the surreal path the conversation with Luca was following. ‘Thanks for clarifying that. But it still doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re in a relationship when you led Izzie, and me, to believe you were single.’

  ‘I am single! Oh God! Where is she? I think it’s time to stop all this ridiculous secrecy! Your brother has a lot to answer for, Meghan!’

  ‘Hey, Brad has many faults, but you can’t blame him for your skulduggery. And Izzie isn’t here. She’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean gone?’

  ‘I mean Brad’s in charge of the wedding now. Izzie has delivered everything on the brief, magnificently I would add, and now she’s gone home to London. She didn’t want to stick around to watch you get married.’

  ‘I’m not getting married!’ shouted Luca, throwing his hands into the air in a typical Italian gesture that would have caused Meghan to giggle had the circumstances been different. He resumed his pacing, frantically checking his watch, fighting indecision before he stopped abruptly and grabbed Meghan’s arm.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, but will you call Izzie, please? Stop her. Ask her, beg her, to meet me at Antonio’s and I’ll get there as soon as the ceremony is over. Okay? And Meghan, I insist you have a conversation with Brad. You have to tell him to explain to you what’s going on here. You know, I did actually think he would have told you who the groom was – you’re his sister, right? – but I’m a man of my word and I won’t breach the confidentiality clause he asked us all to sign.’