were all in, the seating arrangements were in their final planning stage. According to Teresa, any one of the two little flower girls and two page boys could fall victim to a malicious virus, or contract mumps, measles or chicken pox. Alternately, one or all could become paralysed with fright on the day and freeze half-way down the aisle.
At ages three and four, anything was possible.
‘My flower girl scattered rose petals down the aisle perfectly at rehearsal, only to take three steps forward on the day, tip the entire contents of the basket on the carpet, and run crying to her mother,’ recalled one of the guests.
Aysha remembered the incident, and another wedding where the page boy had carried the satin ring-cushion with such pride and care, then refused to give it up at the appropriate moment. A tussle had ensued, followed by tears and a tantrum.
It had been amusing at the time, and she really didn’t care if one of the children made a mistake, or missed their cue. It was a wedding, not a movie which relied on talented actors to perform a part.
Her mother, she knew, didn’t hold the same view.
Aysha glanced towards Carlo, and felt the familiar pull of her senses. Dark, well-groomed hair, a strong shaped head. Broad shoulders accentuated by perfect tailoring.
A slight inclination of his head brought his profile into focus. The wide, sculpted bone structure, the strong jaw. Well-defined cheekbones, and the glimpse of his mouth.
Fascinated, she watched each movement, her eyes clinging to the shape of him, aware just how he felt without the constriction of clothes. She was familiar with his body’s musculature, the feel and scent of his skin.
At this precise moment she would have given anything to cross to his side and have his arm curve round her waist. She could lean in against him, and savour the anticipation of what would happen when they were alone.
He was fond of her, she knew. There were occasions when he completely disconcerted her by appearing to read her mind. But that special empathy between two lovers wasn’t there. No matter how desperately she wanted it to be.
Did he know she could tell the moment he entered a room? She didn’t have to see him, or hear his voice. A developed sixth sense alerted her of his presence, and her body reacted as if he’d reached out and touched her.
All the fine hairs moved on the surface of her skin, and the back of her neck tingled in recognition.
Damnable, she cursed silently.
It was after eleven when the first of the guests took their leave, and almost midnight when Teresa and Giuseppe indicated an intention to depart.
Aysha thanked their hosts, smiled until her face hurt, and quivered slightly when Carlo caught hold of her hand as they followed her parents down the steps to their respective cars.
‘Goodnight, darling.’ Teresa leaned forward and brushed her daughter’s cheek.
Aysha stood as Carlo unlocked the car, then she slid into the passenger seat, secured her belt, and leaned back against the headrest as Carlo fired the engine.
‘Tired?’
She was conscious of his discerning glance seconds before he set the car in motion.
‘A little.’ She closed her eyes, and let the vehicle’s movement and the quietness of the night seep into her bones.
‘Do you want me to take you home?’
A silent sigh escaped her lips, and she effected a rueful smile. ‘Now there’s a question. Which home are you talking about? Yours, mine or ours?’
‘The choice is yours.’
Was it? The new house was completely furnished, and awaiting only the final finishing touches. Her own bedroom beckoned, but that was fraught with implication Teresa would query in the morning.
Besides, she coveted the touch of his hands, the feel of his body, his mouth devastating her own.
Then she could pretend that good lovemaking was a substitute for love. That no one was meant to have it all, and in Carlo, their future together, she had more than her share.
‘The penthouse.’
Carlo didn’t comment, and she wondered if it would have made any difference if she’d said home.
An ache started up in the pit of her stomach, and intensified until it became a tangible pain as he slowed the car, de-activated the security system guarding entrance to the luxury apartment building, then eased down into the underground car park and brought the vehicle to a halt in his allotted space.
They rode the lift to the top floor in silence, and inside the apartment Aysha went willingly into his arms, his bed, an eager supplicant to anything he chose to bestow.
It was just after nine when Aysha eased the Porsche into an empty space in an inner city car park building, and within minutes she stepped off the escalator and emerged onto the pavement.
It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear azure with hardly a cloud in sight, and the sun’s warmth bathed all beneath it with a balmy summer brilliance. Her needs were few, the purchases confined to four boutiques, three of which were within three blocks of each other.
Two hours, tops, she calculated, then she’d meet her bridesmaids for lunch. At two she had a hair appointment, followed by a manicure, and tonight she was attending an invitation-only preview of the first in a series of foreign films scheduled to appear over the next month.
Each evening there was something filling their social engagement diary. Although last night when Carlo had suggested dining out she’d insisted they eat in... and somehow the decision hadn’t got made one way or the other. She retained a vivid recollection of why, and a secret smile curved her lips as she slid her sunglasses into place.
Selecting clothes was something she enjoyed, and she possessed a natural flair for colour, fashion and design.
Aysha had three hours before she was due to join her bridesmaids for lunch, and she intended to utilise that time to its fullest potential.
It was nice to be able to take time, instead of having to rush in a limited lunch-hour. Selective shopping was fun, and she gradually added to a growing collection of glossy carry-bags.
Bags she should really dispense with before meeting the girls... which meant a walk back to the car park to deposit her purchases in the boot of her car.
Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa were already seated when Aysha joined them. Two brunettes, a redhead, and a blonde. They’d attended school together, suffered through piano and ballet lessons, and, although their characters were quite different from each other, they shared an empathy that had firmed over the years as an unbreakable bond.
‘You’re late, but we forgive you,’ Lianna began before Aysha was able to say a word. ‘Of course, we do understand.’ She offered one of her irrepressible smiles. ‘You have serious shopping on the agenda.’ She leaned forward. ‘And your penance is to relay every little detail.’
‘Let me order a drink first,’ Aysha protested, and gave her order to a hovering waiter. ‘Mineral water, slice of lemon, plenty of ice.’
‘What did you buy to change into after the wedding?’ Arianne quizzed, and Lianna pulled a face.
‘Sweetheart, she won’t need anything to wear after the wedding except skin.’
‘Sure. But she should have something sheer and sexy to start off with,’ Suzanne interceded.
‘Honest, girls, can you see Carlo helping Aysha out of the wedding gown and into a nightgown? Come on, let’s get real here!’
‘Are you done?’ Aysha queried, trying to repress a threatening laugh.
‘Not yet,’ Lianna declared blithely. ‘You need to suffer a little pain for all the trouble we’re going to for you.’ She began counting them off on each finger. ‘Dress