Page 27 of A Winter Wedding Adventure (Adventure Weddings #2)

Mattia awoke sometime in the middle of the night with a sense of something gone very wrong.

It could have been any number of things, since Alessandra’s course of true love was not running smoothly.

The sense was confirmed as soon as he came fully awake, by the fact that his feet were ice .

When he rolled over on the bed, the sheet beside him felt like a slice of provolone straight from the fridge.

He lay frozen in the bed – in both senses of the word – paralysed in fear of what awaited him when he threw off the covers.

Perhaps if he went back to sleep, he’d be warm in the morning.

They were in the Alps, for the love of God.

He shouldn’t be surprised to be a bit cold. Maybe he was even dreaming.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he only succeeded in curling his muscles in tighter knots until he was scared he’d strain something.

He heard only thick silence, as though he were insulated with cotton wool. There was no creak of wooden floorboards, no whistle of wind through the pines and most importantly, no gurgle from the radiator. The silence might have scared him if he hadn’t been so panicked about the cold.

‘Porca miseria!’ he cursed through his chattering teeth. There was no way he could get back to sleep. He hoped his was the only room that was so icy.

Folding back the blanket, he shook violently, more from the fear of the cold than the cold itself.

The polished timber floor tortured his feet with every step as he hurtled for the jute rug.

Shuddering violently, he pulled on his thickest merino pullover and rummaged for a pair of socks, and then another pair of socks when the first was clearly insufficient.

Touching the back of his hand to the radiator, he found it completely cold, even though he’d turned up the thermostat as soon as he’d been shown to his room on arrival.

Tugging the duvet from the bed and wrapping it around himself, he slipped into the felt slippers with embroidered antlers on them provided by the chalet and braced himself to open the door.

The hallway would be toasty warm. His radiator was probably broken – that was all.

With the concierge down in the valley, maybe Kira could fix it or he could just sleep in her room.

That was what he called serendipity.

Pulling open the door, he stepped tentatively into the hall. Damn, he could see his own breath in here. The window at the end was obscured with condensation, but glowed bright with the light of the moon reflected on snow.

Crossing the hall, he approached Kira’s door and knocked. He was too cold to pause and reflect on the last time he’d stood here and had his world turned upside down by a vulnerable kiss.

‘What?’ he heard, her voice groggy.

‘Kira, there’s something wrong with the heating,’ he said, standing close to the door and speaking as quietly as possible. When the door swung open abruptly, he nearly teetered inside, especially as he only managed to extract one arm from his duvet to grab the doorframe for balance.

Kira blinked up at him, her hair a tousled bluebird’s nest and her lips puffy.

She was wearing a ribbed tank top and leggings, her skin radiating heat, making him think of wrapping his body around hers.

She crossed her arms instinctively against the cold she mustn’t have registered yet, in her bleary state, and that also made him want to wrap his body around hers.

When she noticed him with the duvet all the way up to his neck, she cocked her head and frowned. ‘What the matter?’

‘T-the h-heating. It’s not working.’

Her frown was eloquent. Mattia rather liked sleepy, sluggish Kira. He wanted to scoop her up and take them both back to bed. Sharing body heat sounded like a dream right now.

She groped for the light as she turned back with a shiver, but when she flicked the switch, nothing happened. Click, click . Still nothing. His stomach clenched with the first spasms of panic.

She muttered a curse and stalked away, swiping a fleece off the floor and tugging it over her head.

This room was dim, with the window facing the steep slope behind the chalet, but the light of the moon penetrated enough for him to see more piles of clothes and even a tablet lying on the floor of the room.

‘You have something against tables?’

‘I’m messy. Get over it.’

With thick socks on her feet, she nabbed a quilted jacket from a hook and beckoned for him to follow her.

Downstairs, the light from the panoramic windows in the den shot vivid shadows across the floorboards. He caught a glimpse of an enormous, pearlescent moon in a black sky.

‘At least it’s stopped snowing,’ he commented, his voice hushed.

Kira knocked on the door marked ‘Privat ’ and they waited for the manager to appear.

Mattia hovered next to her in his duvet, feeling faintly ridiculous. ‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ he belatedly apologised. ‘I probably could have managed this myself.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said mildly. ‘I needed to know what’s going on.

’ And there was no answer from behind the door.

Kira knocked again, more firmly this time.

‘Katy?’ she called through the door. Straightening, she glanced over her shoulder at Mattia.

‘Did Norbert say something about Katy leaving to collect her children?’

‘She didn’t… She can’t have left us alone here, can she?’ A scraping sound reached his ears and he jumped. ‘There’s something outside.’ A distant crack. ‘Did you hear that? Was it thunder?’

She shook her head. ‘Unlikely in this weather. Large amounts of snow can be pretty powerful though – and noisy.’ Unease rippled across her features, alarming Mattia further. ‘But we’re safe here, okay? You only need to worry when there’s something to worry about. We’re safe.’

Her rough, matter-of-fact tone took him back to the first night in Salzburg, when she’d vanquished the fridge for him. He nodded. ‘Safe,’ he agreed. ‘Just cold.’

The moonlight illuminated the smile curving her lips. ‘The cold won’t hurt you in here.’

‘Ahem. It is hurting my toes.’

She knocked again, this time with force, and finally, he made out a rustling sound behind the door.

‘There’s someone there,’ he said with a sigh of relief.

But when the door opened a crack, it wasn’t Katy standing there, but Yolanda, the waitress. ‘It’s very cold. What time is it?’

Mattia’s relief caught in his throat.

‘The electricity’s gone off. Do you know where the fuse box is?’

It took a little more explaining, but eventually, Yolanda showed them to a storage cellar off the kitchen, where the big boiler and various other devices usually would have whirred and hummed and ticked. That was the most disturbing silence of all.

Kira located the fuse cupboard and flung it open, but quickly shook her head. ‘The fuses aren’t tripped.’

As the first glow of dawn touched the sky over the valley on New Year’s Eve, Alessandra and Joe’s wedding day, Kira confirmed his worst fears.

‘The power is out.’

* * *

‘Here, have some breakfast. Nothing hot or cooked yet, sorry, but the orange juice is nice and cold this morning! The good news is, we’ll be able to make coffee as soon as Kira’s off the phone.

Yes, it is necessary for survival, which is lucky.

Sit over here by the fire and I’ll join you in a minute. ’

Kira leaned heavily on the kitchen bench and listened to Mattia calming the wedding party on the other side of the door, trying to force herself to go out there.

She heard him speaking in lilting Italian and imagined him performing the same spiel, this time for Alessandra’s parents rather than Joe’s mother.

It was official. The wedding was ruined.

She couldn’t blame herself for the ultimate nail in the coffin; she was well aware the weather was a greater force than she could hope to tame. But they were stuck here with no contingency plan. These people had not expected a cold night in a mountain cabin and Kira had no idea how to fix things.

Worse, she was dreading facing Alessandra. What a time to understand that she should have taken Ginny’s advice. She was emotionally involved and it was hell – and not only because of her coincidental connection to the groomsman.

No, she hadn’t had a chance of keeping her distance from the moment she’d heard Mattia sing.

Avoiding the issue a moment longer, she rummaged for something to light the stove and found a pack of matches.

Filling a saucepan with water, she managed to get the stove lit manually, which was a blessing.

She hadn’t been looking forward to going outside with the little gas burner she’d seen in the storage cupboard where Mattia had kissed her.

Yolanda bustled into the kitchen and out again with more bread and cheese. She’d spoken to Katy, the manager, but it was clear she was out of her depth with backup equipment and safety, so it was best if she focused on food. That left Kira to work out the next course of action.

The kitchen door swung open again and Mattia appeared, studying her. ‘Okay?’

She eyed him. It was usually her asking him that, but he seemed to be holding up well.

He’d swapped the duvet for his long coat and scarf, but he was still wearing loose sweats and looking far too approachable, his hair curling wildly and a little silver hoop in his ear this morning.

She wondered if he’d ever played a baritone pirate.

‘I’ve got water on for coffee. I’ll have to run it manually through the filter, but the stovetop works.’

He hesitated, as though he had something else to say, but changed his mind, heading for the pantry. He emerged with eggs and a bedraggled plant and rummaged for a bowl. Before she’d registered what he was doing, he’d whipped up the makings of an omelette and drizzled olive oil in a pan.

‘Light it for me? I’m not good with fire. Ever since my costume caught alight during a performance of Il Trovatore , I don’t like to get too close.’

More vulnerability. She lit an element under the frying pan and he tossed a few leaves from the plant into the oil.

‘You make your opera performances sound like life-or-death situations.’

His response was a shrug. ‘It took some therapy to convince me that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was all preparing me for this moment, I suppose. Are we snowed in? We’ll be stuck here until Easter?’

She didn’t think he was serious, but she couldn’t be certain. ‘When Ginny joked about the wedding party having to eat someone to survive, I didn’t think it would actually come to that.’

He gagged theatrically. ‘I suspect I know who would be eaten.’

She patted him on the arm as he grated cheese into the egg. ‘There’s not enough meat on your bones.’

When he caught her gaze with one of his warm, prompting looks, she belatedly recognised his ploy: he was softening her up to receive tenderness. Her stomach swooped as she saw it coming.

‘Want to talk through the options? Whatever you think, I trust you. We can tell Alessandra the damage together.’

It was too much. The strain of fitting into the wedding planner box over the past few days, feeling inadequate and out of place and now the responsibility for a wedding that wasn’t going to happen – at least not as planned – sapped her remaining strength.

Her shoulders fell and the urge to cry rose up and she hated how Mattia made her feel all this stuff too vividly.

But as soon as her misery began, it stopped again, replaced by the touch of fine wool on her cheek, a warm, vital body pressed to hers, enveloping hers. She needed to repeat this when the heating was on, without coats to interfere with the sublime closeness.

She wanted to repeat it without any clothing at all – exposed, sincere. Dangerous . She could so clearly see why Mattia didn’t understand casual intimacy. Perhaps he wasn’t capable of it.

His hold loosened, but she wasn’t prepared to let him go yet. A chuckle echoed in his chest, under her ear, and he steered them towards the pantry. Rummaging one-handed in a box, he produced a small morsel she couldn’t properly see, then tugged at her bottom lip with one finger.

‘Open.’

Her heartbeat stalled at the sensation of his fingertip on her mouth, but she did as he instructed without thought. A moment later, the flavour of dark chocolate burst on her tongue and she savoured it with a sigh.

Realising she’d closed her eyes, she wrenched them open to see Mattia watching her from close range, a small, pained smile on his expressive lips. His thumb brushed her mouth once more.

‘I love how your bottom lip is so firm and strong and practical.’ His voice wasn’t quite steady. Pressing up with his thumb, he continued, ‘But your top lip is soft and giving.’

Kira froze, recognising the panicked reflex that was demanding she push him away, mock him for his sentimental words and re-establish her comfortable equilibrium where she could plausibly deny feeling anything that would push her too far.

But she remembered too well the sensation of his mouth on hers, full of wanting, demanding she believe him.

All of a sudden, the best solution to all of her problems appeared to be more kissing.

Until he was the one to move away.