Page 129 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

As they stood there, in the moonlight, arms around each other, Lucy looked up to the stars. Call it fate, destiny, luck or maybe even Granny Oona, but something had sent her to Italy and changed the course of her life for the better.

EPILOGUE

Ayr, Scotland

Six months later

Lucy woke up to the sound of pelting rain. She drew back the curtains of her old bedroom window and smiled.

There’s an old saying in Scotland that if it rains on your wedding day, this represents the tears of the bride’s old suitors. She’d long since stopped trying to dissect Stew’s reasons for not boarding that plane almost two years ago now, and whether or not he’d had any regrets.

She didn’t believe in looking back and wished him all the very best.

She no longer needed a designer wedding dress, a horse and carriage, a fancy hotel reception or an exotic honeymoon. She didn’tneeda husband for that matter. Italy had taught her to be happily independent, and when she least expected it, along came a good man who loved her for everything she was.

‘I’m so sorry we couldn’t arrange better weather for you all,’ said Lucy’s mum as they made a dash for the taxis, dodging muddy puddles, umbrellas held high.

‘But this is why Scotland is so beautiful and green, Signora Anderson,’ Elena replied.

‘Och, please call me Senga.’

‘As we say in Italy, Signora Senga, “sposa bagnata, sposa fortunata”.This means “a wet bride is a lucky bride”.’

The bells were ringing out and the sun was peeking through the clouds just as they arrived at the seventeeth-century village church.

The skirl of the bagpipes swelled the air. Jamie, dashing in his military uniform, fired a cheeky wink in the direction of Stefano, his kilt swishing in the breeze, while Elena took a quick photo before they joined the rest of the congregation.

‘Ready, darlin’?’ said Lucy’s dad, proudly tucking her hand into his arm.

She drew a wobbly breath, straightened his heather buttonhole and dropped a wee kiss on his ruddy cheek. ‘Ready.’

The bells fell silent as Jamie led the bridal procession to the altar, playing ‘Highland Cathedral’.

Dario, like a character from a Brontë novel in his black-tailored frock coat and wing-collared shirt, turned around, glimpsing his beautiful bride in the flower-framed doorway, a garland of ivy and stephanotis woven into her flowing auburn hair.

Images of their slow-burn romance flashed through his mind, like the trailer to a romcom: how she’d blushed on their very first meeting when the contents of her make-up bag had landed at his feet, her sweet face peering up at him from under a hairnet when she’d tried her hand at making mozzarella, her valiant attempts at teaching him Scottish country dancing, the first time they’d made love…

Formalities over, Father Robertson held up a two-handled, pewter cup and said in his broad accent, ‘Ceud mìle fàilte.Welcome to our friends from across the water in sunny Italy. To celebrate the joining together of these two clans, I now invite the bride and groom to share the first drink of their marriage from this cup.’

Not having understood a word, Dario looked from Father Robertson to Lucy, mild panic glinting in his eyes.

Lucy took the cup and motioned for Dario to take the opposite handle.

Father Robertson spread his arms wide. ‘Let this be a symbol of Lucy and Dario’s love, trust and partnership.’

Lucy bowed her head and took a sip, her lips barely touching the amber liquid.

Dario bowed his head and knocked back the rest. Big mistake. The more he tried to quash his spluttering and coughing, the louder it grew.

A church warden ran off to fetch him a glass of water.

Father Robertson was not amused. Poor Dario. But then Father Robertson was rarely amused – if ever. Padre Paulo could certainly teach him a thing or two.

The double doors to the village hall pounded to Clanadonia’s foot-stomping jig, accompanied by loud hand-clapping and squeals of laughter.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners for “The Gay Gordons”.’

Dario gave a wee bow, slid his arm around Lucy’s waist and led her to the dance floor. He’d been secretly practising his moves via online videos while on night shift at the station when it was quiet, and couldn’t wait to surprise his bride with his Scottish dancing prowess.