‘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