The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  The scent of his skin, the slight muskiness of man intermingled with the elusive tones of soap and cologne. Tantalising, erotic, infinitely tempting, and inviting her to savour and taste.

  Aysha felt sensation burgeon until it encompassed every nerve-cell. The depth, the magnitude overwhelmed her. Two souls melding, seamlessly forging a bond that could never be broken.

  She lifted her arms and wound them round his neck as he lowered her down onto the bed and followed her, protecting her from the full impact of his weight.

  His mouth closed over hers, devastatingly sensual, in a kiss that drugged her mind, her senses, until she hardly recognised the guttural pleas as her own.

  She was on fire, the flames of desire burning deep within until there was no reason, no sensation of anything other than the man and the havoc he was causing as he led her through pleasure to ecstasy and beyond.

  Now, she wanted him now. The feel of him inside her, surging again and again, deeper and deeper, until she absorbed all of him, and their rhythm became as one, in tune and in perfect accord as they soared together, clung momentarily to the sexual pinnacle, then reached the ultimate state of nirvana.

  Did she say the words? She had no idea whether they found voice or not. There was only the journey, the sensation of spiralling ecstasy, the scent of sexual essence, and the damp sheen on his skin.

  She was conscious of her own response, his, the shudder raking that large body as he spilled his seed, and she exulted in the moment.

  The sex between them had always been good. Better than good, she accorded dimly as she clung to him. But this, this was more. Intoxicating, exquisite, wild. And there was love. That essential quality that transcended physical expertise or skill.

  There was no contest, Aysha acknowledged with lazy warmth a long time later as she lay curled against a hard male body.

  Neither had had the will to indulge in leisurely lovemaking the first time round. It had been hard and fast, each one of them driven by a primal urge so intense it had been electrifying, wanton, and totally impassioned.

  Afterwards they had shared the Jacuzzi, then towelled dry, they’d returned to bed for a lingering aftermath of touching, tasting... a loving that had had no equal in anything they’d previously shared.

  ‘Are we going to tell our parents?’

  Carlo brushed his chin against the top of her head. ‘Let a slight change in wording to reaffirmation of vows do it for us on the day.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AYSHA woke to the sound of rain, and she took a moment to stretch her limbs, then she checked the bedside clock. A few minutes past seven.

  Any time soon Teresa would knock on her door, and the day would begin.

  If she was fortunate, she had an hour, maybe two, before Teresa began checking on everything from the expected delivery time of flowers... to the house, the church, the reception. Followed by a litany of reminders that would initiate various supervisors to recheck arrangements with their minions. The wedding co-ordinator was doubtless on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  Aysha slid out from the bed and padded barefoot across the carpet to the draped window. A touch to the remote control module activated the mechanism that swept the drapes open, and she stifled a groan at the sight of heavy rain drenching the lawn.

  Her mother, she knew, would consider it an omen, and probably not a propitious one.

  Aysha selected shorts and a top, discarded her nightshirt, then quickly dressed. With a bit of celestial help she might make it downstairs to the dining room—

  Her mobile phone rang, and she reached for it.

  ‘Carlo?’

  ‘Who else were you expecting?’

  His deep voice did strange things to her senses, and the temptation to tease him a little was difficult to resist ‘Any one of my four bridesmaids, your mother, Nonna Benini, phoning from Treviso to wish me buona fortuna, Sister Maria Teresa...’ she trailed off, and was unable to suppress a light laugh. ‘Is there any particular reason you called?’

  ‘Remind me to exact retribution, cara,’ he mocked in husky promise.

  The thought of precisely how he would achieve it curled round her central core, and set her heart beating at a quickened pace.

  ‘You weren’t there when I reached out in the night,’ Carlo said gently. ‘There was no scent of you on my sheets, no drift of perfume to lend assurance to my subconscious mind.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘I missed you.’

  She closed her eyes against the vivid picture his words evoked. She could feel her whole body begin to heat, her emotions separate and shred. ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded with a slight groan. ‘I have to get through the day.’

  ‘Didn’t sleep much, either, huh?’ he queried wryly, and she wrinkled her nose.

  ‘An hour or two, here and there,’ Aysha admitted.

  ‘Are you dressed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was almost prim, and he laughed.

  ‘Pity. If I can’t have you in the flesh, then the fantasy will have to suffice.’

  ‘And you, of course, have had a workout, showered, shaved, and are about to eat breakfast?’

  Carlo chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers slithering down her spine. ‘Actually, no. I’m lying in bed, conserving my energy.’

  Just the thought of that long muscular body resting supine on the bed was enough to play havoc with her senses. Imagining how he might or might not be attired sent her pulse beating like a drum.

  ‘I don’t think we’d better do this.’

  ‘Do what, precisely?’

  ‘Phone sex.’

  His voice held latent laughter. ‘Is that what you think we’re doing?’

  ‘It doesn’t compensate for the real thing.’

  His soft laughter was almost her undoing. ‘I doubt Teresa will be impressed if I appear at the door and sweep you into the bedroom before breakfast.’

  A firm tattoo sounded against the panelled door. ‘Aysha?’

  The day was about to start in earnest. ‘In a moment, Mamma.’

  ‘Don’t keep me waiting too long at the church, cara,’ Carlo said gently as she crossed the room.

  ‘To be five minutes late is obligatory,’ she teased, twisting the knob and drawing back the door. ‘Ciao.’

  Teresa stood framed in the doorway. ‘Buon giorno, darling.’ Her eyes glanced at the mobile phone. ‘You were talking to Carlo?’ She didn’t wait for an answer as she walked to the expanse of plate glass window with its splendid view of the harbour and northern suburbs. ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘The service isn’t scheduled until four,’ Aysha attempted to soothe.

  ‘Antonio has spent so much time and effort on the gardens these past few weeks. It will be such a shame if we can’t assemble outside for photographs.’

  ‘The wedding organiser has a contingency plan, Mamma.’ Photographs in the conservatory, the massive entry foyer, the lounge.

  ‘Yes, I know. But the garden would be perfect.’

  Aysha sighed. The problem with a perfectionist was that rarely did anything meet their impossibly high expectations.

  ‘Mamma,’ she began gently. ‘If it’s going to rain, it will, and worrying won’t make it different.’ She crossed to the en suite bathroom. ‘Give me a few minutes, then we’ll go downstairs and share breakfast.’

  It was the antithesis of a leisurely meal. The phone rang constantly, and at nine the first of the day’s wedding gifts arrived by delivery van.

  ‘Put them in here,’ Teresa instructed, leading the way into a sitting room where a long table decorated with snowy white linen and draped tulle held a large collection of various sized wrapped and beribboned packages.

  The doorchimes sounded. ‘Aysha, get that, will you, darling? It’ll probably be Natalina or Giovanna.’

  The first in line of several friends who had offered their services to help.

  ‘Aysha, you look so calm. How is that?’

  Because Carlo loves me. And we’re already married.
The words didn’t find voice, but they sang through her brain like the sweetest music she’d ever heard.

  ‘Ask me again a few hours from now,’ she said with a teasing smile.

  Organisation was the key, although as the morning progressed the order changed to relative chaos and went downhill from there.

  The florist delivered the bridal bouquets, exquisitely laid out in their boxes... except there was one missing. The men’s buttonholes arrived with the bouquets, instead of being delivered to Gianna’s home.

  Soon after that problem was satisfactorily resolved Teresa received a phone call from one of the two women who’d offered to decorate the church pews... they couldn’t get in, the church doors were locked, and no one appeared to be answering their summons.

  Lunch was hardly an issue as time suddenly appeared to be of the essence, with the arrival of Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa.

  ‘Très chic, darling,’ Lianna teased as she appraised Aysha from head to toe and back again. ‘Bare feet, cut-off jeans and a skimpy top. The ultimate in avant-garde bridal wear. Just add the veil, and you’ll cause a sensation,’ she concluded with droll humour.

  ‘Mamma would have a heart attack.’

  ‘Not something to be countenanced,’ Lianna agreed solemnly. ‘Now,’ she demanded breezily, ‘we’re all showered and ready to roll. Command, and we’ll obey.’

  Together they went over the modus operandi, which went a little haywire, as the hairdresser arrived early and the make-up artist was late.

  There followed a lull of harmonious activity until it became volubly clear Giuseppe was insistent on wearing navy socks instead of black, and an argument ensued, the pitch of frazzled voices rising when Teresa laddered new tights.

  ‘Ah, your mamma...’ Giuseppe sighed eloquently as he entered the dining room where the hairdresser was putting the finishing touches to Aysha’s hair.

  ‘I love you, Papà,’ Aysha said softly, and saw his features dissolve into gentleness.

  ‘Grazie.’ His eyes moistened, and he blinked rapidly. ‘The photographer, he will be here soon. Better you go upstairs and get into that dress, or we’ll both have your Mamma to answer to, hmm.’

  She gave him a quick hug, touched her fingers to his cheek, and smiled as he caught hold of them and bestowed a kiss to her palm. ‘A father couldn’t wish for a more beautiful daughter. Now go.’

  When she reached her bedroom Teresa was fussing over the bridesmaids’ gowns in a bid to ensure every detail was perfect.

  Lianna rolled her eyes in silent commiseration, then exhibited the picture of genteel grace. ‘When are the little terrors due to arrive?’

  ‘My God,’ Teresa cried with pious disregard as she swept to face Aysha. ‘The rose petals. Did you see a plastic container of rose petals in the florist’s box?’

  Aysha shook her head, and Teresa turned and all but ran from the room.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, darling,’ Lianna encouraged. ‘Get into that fairy floss of a dress, we’ll zip you up, stick on the headpiece and veil—’ An anguished wail rent the air. ‘Guess the rose petals were a no-show, huh?’ she continued conversationally. ‘I’ll go offer my assistance before dear Teresa adds a nervous breakdown to the imminent heart attack.’

  Ten minutes later she was back, and Aysha merely lifted one eyebrow in silent query.

  ‘One container of rose petals found safe and sound at Gianna’s home. As we need two, Giuseppe has been despatched to denude Antonio’s precious rose bushes.’

  ‘Whose idea was that?’ Aysha shook her head in a silent gesture of mock despair. ‘Don’t tell me. Yours, right?’

  Lianna executed a sweeping bow. ‘Of course. What the hell else were we going to do?’ She inclined her head, then gave a visible shudder. ‘Here come the cavalry of infants.’

  Aysha removed her wedding dress from its hanger, then with the girls’ help she carefully stepped into it and eased it gently into place. The zip slid home, and she adjusted the scalloped lace at her wrist.

  The fitted bodice with its overlay of lace was decorated with tiny seed pearls, and the scooped neckline displayed her shoulders to perfection. A full-length skirt flowed in a cluster of finely gathered pleats from her slender waist and fell in a cascade of lace. The veil was the finest tulle, edged with filigree lace and held in place by an exquisite head piece fashioned from seed pearls and tiny silk flowers.

  ‘Wow,’ Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa accorded with reverence as she turned to face them, and Lianna, inevitably the first to speak, declared, ‘You’re a princess, sweetheart. A real princess.’

  Lianna held out her hand, and, in the manner of a surgeon requesting instruments, she demanded, ‘Shoes? Garter in place? Head piece and veil.’ That took several minutes to fix. ‘Something borrowed?’ She tucked a white lace handkerchief into Aysha’s hand. ‘Something blue?’ A cute bow tucked into the garter. ‘Something old?’

  Aysha touched the diamond pendant on its thin gold chain.

  Teresa re-entered the room and came to an abrupt halt. ‘The children are waiting downstairs with the photographer.’ Her voice acquired a betraying huskiness. ‘Dio Madonna, I think I’m going to cry.’

  ‘No, you’re not. Think of the make-up,’ Lianna cajoled. ‘Then we’d have to do it over, which would make us late.’ She made a comical face. ‘The mother of the bride gets to cry after the wedding.’ She patted Teresa’s shoulder with theatrical emphasis. ‘Now’s the time you launch yourself into your daughter’s arms, assure her she’s the most beautiful girl ever born, and any other mushy stuff you want to add. Then,’ she declared with considerable feeling, ‘we smile prettily while the photographer does his thing, and get the princess here to the church on time.’

  Teresa’s smile was shaky, definitely shaky, as she crossed to Aysha and placed a careful kiss on first one cheek, then the other. ‘It’s just beautiful.’ She swallowed quickly. ‘You’re beautiful. Oh, dear—’

  ‘Whoa,’ Lianna cautioned. ‘Time to go.’

  The photographer took almost an hour, utilising indoor shots during a drizzling shower. Then miraculously the sun came out as they took their seats in no fewer than three stretch limousines parked in line on the driveway.

  ‘Well, Papà, this is it,’ Aysha said softly. ‘We’re on our way.’

  He reached out and patted her hand. ‘You’ll be happy with Carlo.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you look?’

  Aysha’s eyes twinkled with latent humour. ‘Mamma chose well, didn’t she?’

  His answering smile held a degree of philosophical acceptance. ‘She has planned this day since you were a little girl.’

  The procession was slow and smooth as the cavalcade of limousines descended the New South Head Road.

  Stately, Aysha accorded silently as the first of the cars slowed and turned into the church grounds.

  There were several guests waiting outside, and there was the flash of cameras as Giuseppe helped her out from the rear seat.

  Lianna and Arianne checked the hem of her gown, smoothed the veil, then together they made their way to the church entrance, where Suzanne and Tessa were schooling the children into position.

  The entire effect came together as a whole, and Aysha took a moment to admire her bridal party.

  Each of the bridesmaids wore burgundy silk off-the-shoulder fitted gowns and carried bouquets of ivory orchids. The flower girls wore ivory silk full-length dresses with puffed sleeves and a wide waistband, tied at the back in a large bow, with white shoes completing their attire, while the two page boys each wore a dark suit, white shirt with a paisley silk waistcoat and black bow-tie.

  Teresa arrived, and Aysha watched as her mother distributed both satin ring cushions and supervised the little girls with their baskets of rose petals.

  This was as much Teresa’s day as it was hers, and she smiled as she took Giuseppe’s arm. ‘Ready, Papà?’

  He was giving her into the care of
another man, and it meant much to him, Aysha knew, that Carlo met with his full approval.

  The organ changed tempo and began the ‘Bridal March’ as they entered the church, and Aysha saw Carlo standing at the front edge of the aisle, flanked by his best man and groomsmen.

  Emily and Samantha strewed rose petals on the carpet in co-ordinated perfection. Neither Jonathon nor Gerard dropped the ring cushions.

  As she walked towards Carlo he flouted convention and turned to face her. She saw the glimpse of fierce pride mingling with admiration, love meshing with adoration. Then he smiled. For her, only for her.

  Everything else faded to the periphery of her vision, for she saw only him, and her smile matched his own as she moved forward and stood at his side.

  Carlo reached for her hand and covered it with his own as the priest began the ceremony.

  The substitution reaffirmation of their vows seemed to take on an electric significance as the guests assimilated the change of words.

  Renewed pledges, the exchange of rings, and the long, passionate kiss that undoubtedly would become a topic of conversation at many a dinner table for months to come.

  There was music, not the usual hymn, but a poignant song whose lyrics brought a lump to many a guest’s throat. A few feminine tears brought the use of fine cotton handkerchiefs when the groom leaned forward and gently kissed his bride for the second time.

  Then Aysha took Carlo’s arm and walked out of the church and into the sunshine to face a barrage of photographers.

  It was Lianna who organised the children and cajoled them to behave with decorum during the photographic shoot. Aysha hid a smile at the thought they were probably so intimidated they didn’t think to do anything but obey.

  ‘She’s going to drive some poor man mad,’ Carlo declared with a musing smile, and Aysha laughed, a low, sparkling sound that was reflected in the depths of her eyes.

  ‘And he’ll adore every minute of it,’ she predicted.

  The shift to the reception venue was achieved on schedule, and Aysha turned to look at Carlo as their limousine travelled the short distance from the church.