Page 39 of A Winter Wedding Adventure (Adventure Weddings #2)
She couldn’t tear her eyes off Mattia, tall and distinguished in a well-cut suit with a white bow tie.
A hint of dark eyeliner enhanced his dramatic features and a graze decorated his forehead, giving him a rakish look.
His jacket was open and as Kira’s eyes sneaked down his body, she noticed he was wearing a burgundy cummerbund, and she could barely contain her snort of laughter at the memory of that first evening in Salzburg.
He gave her a wink and a flash of his eyebrows in greeting and she was struck by how well she’d got to know him since that night. Perhaps she and Mattia were both chaos muppets who could only perform within their limited comfort zone. Her short time with him had certainly been disastrous – and fun.
Plus, he looked pretty handsome standing at the altar, his gaze locked on her as though he never wanted to look away. Christian had never made it this far – not to the altar and not so far inside her heart.
Someone cleared their throat and loud rustling outside announced the arrival of the bride – and Kira was standing at the back of the church as though she were about to take measured steps down the aisle.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, her cheeks flaming.
Ginny floated to her, snaking an arm around her waist and ushering her to one side. Kira could tell from the tight hold that Ginny’s first instinct had been to rugby tackle her out of the way. It wasn’t a moment too soon.
When the door opened once more, Carla emerged through it, beaming over her bouquet of slightly browning roses and baby’s breath. Mattia melted off to one side, ready to perform his part when the time came, and Joe straightened his buttonhole, then his shoulders, as he peered eagerly around Carla.
‘Oh my fucking God, we did it,’ Ginny whispered into Kira’s ear.
‘They haven’t said “I do” yet,’ Kira pointed out.
‘But if they don’t, it won’t be our fault.’
Wiping her damp palms on her trousers, Kira asked, ‘Do you think priests make the ceremony long to keep us all on the edge of our seats?’
‘It’s not an action film,’ Ginny joked out of the side of her mouth.
Joe’s gaze snapped up, his grin widening as he saw past Carla to where Alessandra had paused just inside the door with her father. Slipping out of her faux fur coat, she revealed the intricate wedding gown of handmade lace and pearl beads in a classic 1940s style.
Sophie appeared from nowhere to take the coat and Kira was even more convinced she had a sixth sense for weddings that defied explanation. After Alessandra’s father moved the veil over her face, she took his arm with a serene smile – another skill Kira was fairly certain she’d never master.
Judging the right moment, Ginny faded Pachelbel’s Canon and queued the track for the walk down the aisle.
‘Alessandra changed this at the last minute. It’s a surprise,’ Ginny whispered, as the piano melody and string bass from the opening bars of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ filled the chapel.
When the bride and groom’s gazes met and softened, the romantic moment had a life of its own among the guests.
Kira crossed her arms, annoyed that something as simple as a song could tempt a reaction even from her.
But she was happy for Alessandra and she would bear the sentimentality for a few minutes for her sake.
Then, instead of the familiar resonance of Elvis Presley’s baritone, Mattia’s voice filled the chapel and Kira’s knees nearly gave out. There was no other sound but the gentle vibrato and ringing warmth of his singing. His voice wasn’t rounded and smooth like Elvis’s, but aching and full of colour.
Kira had no defences against his voice. He performed with everything in his heart, even when it cost him his equilibrium.
The power wasn’t only in his vocal chords and his diaphragm; it was in his ability to mould his audience, communicate through raw emotion.
He made her feel human in all its contradictions. Mortal, vulnerable – beautiful.
He sang about fools rushing in and foolish tears pricked her eyes. She wished he meant the words for her, instead of serenading the bridal couple.
She was still that pathetic woman, reaching out for love where it wouldn’t be returned. She’d walked too close to the edge and she needed to be very careful she didn’t fall.
The rest of the ceremony was a struggle. She was unexpectedly proud of Alessandra and Joe for what they’d made of the day, for not only showing up physically, but talking through their feelings beforehand as well.
Mattia set the scene with a rousing performance of ‘Nessun dorma’, his cheeks red and his hair flopping wildly over his forehead as he reached the high notes.
He was particularly exposed with only the trumpet and the clarinet in support, but Kira wouldn’t have noticed, if she hadn’t known the string quartet was missing.
The Catholic wedding vows were surprisingly simple – and very different from the heartfelt original vows Kira had heard at the last wedding, in the summer. But the words rang with the weight of generations, a marriage built on the tradition of all the marriages that had come before it.
It was when Mattia sang ‘One Hand, One Heart’ from West Side Story as the witnesses signed the register that Kira seriously worried about bursting into tears. She wouldn’t have been the only one. Tissue packets were making the rounds of the pews and even Sophie was dabbing at her eyes.
But with great effort, Kira swiped at her nose and straightened. Mattia might touch her heart with everything he did, but she wouldn’t be foolish enough to give it to him.
* * *
After readings and homilies, prayers and communion – as well as the actually rather short marriage vows – the priest finally invited Alessandra and Joe to rise from their kneeling position and raised his hand.
‘Go in peace to glorify the Lord with your life.’
Rather than the sedate response Mattia was fairly sure was supposed to follow, the guests cheered, snapping photos of the radiant bride and the rather dazed groom. Mattia hoped the moment had lived up to every one of Alessandra’s dreams – and been worth Joe converting to Catholicism.
His chest was light, partly with happiness and relief and partly the physical aftermath of singing the liturgy and two arias.
As soon as the bridal party retreated back up the aisle, he headed straight for Kira, where she was standing awkwardly in the corner, clutching her hands together. He’d seen her dabbing at her eyes – once while he’d been singing – and he needed to know…
He wasn’t quite sure what was driving him, especially since nothing had changed.
A few tears at a wedding didn’t mean she’d apply for the job as his soulmate.
Even if she’d started to realise she’d been shutting out romance after being hurt, he was in all likelihood not the person she’d risk making an exception to her ‘just casual’ rule for.
As much as he fancied the idea of that.
‘How do you think it went?’ he asked her.
She looked at him warily, but that was nothing new. ‘Surprisingly smoothly. She was lucky to have you to sing.’
He gave a shrug, even as his smile stretched to silly proportions. ‘I had to sing “Nessun dorma” in a tenor key. These instrumentalists couldn’t transpose it in time and unfortunately, I’m not Pavarotti. But I think it was okay.’
‘It was more than okay,’ she said, her tone oddly fragile. ‘You don’t need to be Pavarotti.’
‘I suppose I am slimmer, although his charisma was?—’
She whacked him with the backs of her fingers. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’
‘You don’t think I’m slimmer?’
She rolled her eyes, but a smile turned up the corners of her mouth and that had been his goal.
‘That top is nice, but what happened to the one we bought yesterday?’ He’d enjoyed going shopping with her, even though she’d complained at every boutique he’d dragged her into and shown an almost complete lack of taste.
Tugging at the blouse that was definitely too big in the chest, she grimaced. ‘It caught on fire. I knew I was bad luck at weddings.’
Mattia felt a jab in those words, as though she’d meant them as a reminder that this thing between them was casual – as though she didn’t know the word ‘casual’ had been stamped all over him as he tried to remind himself while also sliding helplessly into something very much like admiration for prickly, practical Kira Watling.
‘If you caught on fire, but the wedding was still as beautiful as that, I think there’s more good luck involved than you think. You didn’t burn yourself?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m glad of that, but it’s a shame. I liked that shirt.’
‘So did I,’ she admitted, ‘but I don’t have much call for blouses. I probably wouldn’t have worn it again.’
She stared at the altar as she spoke, as though fascinated by the crochet cloths and the gold chalice, but discomfort skittered over Mattia’s skin. She wasn’t interested in the altar. She was forcing out flat words to cool any feelings that might flare – specifically between them, he guessed.
He had the answer to the question he’d been too skittish to ask. She would let him down gently and tomorrow, they’d say goodbye. He’d said he’d take responsibility for his own feelings. Now he had to do it.
He just didn’t want to.