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.
‘You were right,’ she said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have missed the church service for the world.’
His smile melted her bones, and her stomach executed a series of crazy somersaults as he took her hands to his lips and kissed each one in turn.
‘I’ll carry the image of you walking towards me down the aisle for the rest of my life.’
She traced a gentle finger down the vertical crease of his cheek and lingered at the edge of his mouth. ‘Now we get to cut the cake and drink champagne.’
‘And I get to dance with my wife.’
‘Yes,’ she teased mercilessly. ‘After the speeches, the food, the photographs...’
‘Then I get to take you home.’
Oh, my. She breathed unsteadily. How was she going to get through the next few hours?
With the greatest of ease, she reflected several hours later as they circled the guests and made their farewells.
Teresa deserved tremendous credit, for without doubt she had staged the production of her dreams and turned it into the wedding of the year. Press coverage, the media, the church, ceremony, catering, cake... Everything had gone according to plan, except for a few minor hiccups.
A very special day, and one Aysha would always treasure. But it was the evening she and Carlo had exchanged their wedding vows that would remain with her for the rest of her life.
Saying goodbye to her parents proved an