Page 6 of A Winter Wedding Adventure (Adventure Weddings #2)

Mattia studied his reflection as he rode the lift to the ground floor where Kira would be waiting for him – probably tapping her foot, he thought with amusement.

He’d chosen his favourite cable-knit sweater in charcoal, shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

His heart rate was slightly elevated, but he was inclined to think that wasn’t anything to do with the panic attack he’d narrowly avoided.

He owed Kira a full explanation, but he needed some food in his stomach first, even though he was still a little queasy from hyperventilating.

His therapist would probably tell him to go easy on himself, watch a sweet movie with headphones on and get a good night’s sleep, but he’d been staring out of the window off and on while he dressed, catching the glow of the fortress on the hill and the whimsical movement of the snowflakes making their muted descent.

He wanted to see more of this place with its white pillows of snow crystals and the glow of a different kind of light. Some of Kira Watling’s outdoor adventure guide vigour must have rubbed off on him. The thought made him smile as the lift came to a stop with a ding.

She looked very… vigorous where she stood in the foyer with her thick coat open at the front to reveal the shirt he’d admired earlier.

It was ugly and grey, designed for function and not aesthetics, but it was so tight, it outlined every curve of her athletic body.

She belonged in a skintight superhero costume, except those were probably difficult to get off.

Not that he was thinking of peeling off her shirt. Or maybe he was. He gave himself a little shake to clear his head of that notion as he followed her out to where the cab was already waiting.

The taxi dropped them off by a little row of shops with matching green shutters, all of them decorated with bows and pine boughs, candles in the windows. The ice rink on the square was lit by a shower of fairy lights on the building behind.

Kira grimaced, but quickly tempered her expression. ‘Sorry. I’m grumpy when I’m hungry and I’ve been hungry all day.’

He gestured her ahead and they crossed the square in the direction of the market. ‘That explains a lot.’

‘Oh, does it?’ she responded flatly.

He opened his mouth to apologise, defend himself for the tactless statement, but his gaze snagged on the glow of the light on her cheek, showing up the scar. She was pretty – even when she scowled.

‘But I don’t know why you’re so cheerful.’

A smile tugged. ‘It is a bit of a surprise. I’m sure it’s partly because of you.’

‘Grumpy ol’ me?’

The smile broke out. ‘Yes, grumpy you.’

‘Well, you’re in luck, because I don’t like crowds, either.’

‘I’ll protect you.’

She eyed him – a response he deserved.

‘Crowds are one of the few things that don’t trouble me at all. That inoffensive hum of talking in the background, it’s everything and nothing.’

As soon as they approached the wooden stands under the glowing lights, Kira made a beeline for the second one along and bought an enormous glazed cookie with a smile and a polite ‘Danke,’ which belied how grumpy she’d been with him.

Dipping her hand into the paper bag as they walked on, she lifted it to her mouth.

‘You’re going to eat a cookie first? Before dinner?’ he teased.

His words triggered the uncomfortable memory of eating with Carla when they’d been together and he wished he’d never said anything. This wasn’t a date.

‘It’s none of your business,’ Kira stated with a lift of her chin.

‘I’m starving.’ She took an enormous bite for emphasis and Mattia flinched even before the noise reached his ears, but the biscuit wasn’t as crunchy as he’d assumed and the sounds of the market muffled everything except the low ‘Mmm’ of approval in the back of her throat.

He blinked. Kira was nothing like Carla. She wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met. What a relief.

‘This is so good,’ she said with her mouth full.

He registered the muted sound of her chewing, but he could still hear that groan echoing.

Sparks crackled over his skin as he watched her.

‘Gingerbread from a Christmas market is always just better . I don’t usually like it, but this stuff, with the edible paper on the back? It’s incomparable.’

The hitch in her voice sent a shiver through him.

He noticed her top lip was lush, while her lower lip was thinner.

Her eyes were bright and her voice low and husky; her audible enjoyment of food was enough to give him goosebumps and she had blue hair and no make-up and a rather attractive scowl. She’d turned the fridge off for him.

He was more than halfway to a very pleasant infatuation already.

When she eyed him again, he realised he must have been staring. ‘Do you want to try some?’ She looked reluctant to share, but Mattia already suspected how much kindness she hid under her grumpy exterior.

‘Please.’ He dipped his head and opened his mouth, waiting for her to hold up the gingerbread round, but she frowned at him and drew back. Breaking off a piece, she shoved it in his direction and he had to fumble to catch it as she kept walking at her striding pace.

Of course. Any infatuation was on his side only. A woman in big boots with blue hair and no nonsense would not do infatuation . But he was suddenly curious about whether she had a significant other.

Also none of his business.

Besides, considering the impending reunion with Carla at the wedding and the associated stress dreams that had been assailing him for a week, it should have been easy to remember that he was terrible on dates.

How fortunate that this wasn’t a date – and he got an extra night to mentally prepare for the wedding.

With a puzzled smile at the strange way good fortune and bad fortune seemed to intertwine like musical motifs in an opera, he hurried to catch up with Kira as she weaved stiffly through the crowd.

He tried to glance up and enjoy the glowing ambience of the strings of lights, the luminous Christmas tree and the cosy stands with knick-knacks made of glass and wood, candles, knitwear and handicrafts, but everything was a blur as he struggled to keep Kira in sight and stay upright on the slippery flagstones.

‘I don’t know what you want to eat,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘but I’m getting chips from the Kartoffelhütte. I saw it while I was waiting for you earlier.’

‘Chips,’ he repeated, already hearing the crispy potato sticks crunching in her mouth – and ringing in his ears.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Are you too fancy for chips?’

‘No!’ he insisted. ‘Oh, look, they have tramezzini,’ he pointed out, but Kira didn’t even stop.

‘You can’t have Italian sandwiches at a Christmas market in Salzburg. Get some when you go home.’

And that was how he found himself juggling a paper cone full of skin-on chips – and a hot-dog roll with two narrow sausages, onion and some mysterious spices – as he followed Kira to a barrel table under a pine garland.

He thought he’d done quite well until he lost two chips in a tricky manoeuvre around a toddler in a woollen snow-suit with tassels on the hood.

He was out of breath by the time he set his paper plate down. ‘I think,’ he began, ‘the trick to being calm in a crowd is not to be in a hurry.’

‘If I have to dawdle through a crowd, then I’m not calm,’ she replied gruffly and, before Mattia had a chance to brace himself, took a bite of her sausage bun. The sound crashed in his ears and a few more chips shook onto the ground as his hand wobbled.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ She shoved a chip into her mouth and that exploded through his auditory canal too. ‘Are you going to eat?’

The question snapped him out of his distraction. ‘Yes, of course.’ He considered the messy sausage bun and lifted it gingerly to his lips. It was salty and spiced with unfamiliar flavours, but his taste buds approved.

‘You remember you were the one who wanted to eat here,’ she pointed out doubtfully.

He chewed and swallowed before saying, ‘I was picturing the ambience, rather than the food – and imagined we might get knives and forks.’

She snorted a laugh, chewing with her mouth open.

He took another bite, only for a glob of sauce to fly up into his nose.

Spluttering and groping for the serviette, he managed to smear a drop on his collar.

‘Cazzo!’ he cursed, loudly enough to turn a few heads and remind him that, while his beloved Napoli was a long, long way from Salzburg, Italy itself was just over the southern border of this small country.

‘You’d like to eat your sausage with a knife and fork, but you swear? I assume that was a swear word.’

‘Indeed. Swearing is an art form in Italian, although I must admit that one was unimaginative.’

‘Do you want this?’ She held up a water bottle.

‘I think the shirt is ruined anyway. Waste of good tailoring. I seem to be a complete disaster today.’

She squashed her lips together in a manner that would have been amusing if he hadn’t seen exactly what she was thinking.

‘Yes, I’m a disaster every day,’ he admitted.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you were thinking it. It’s okay. You might be surprised to hear I have a reputation for clumsiness and melodrama. I didn’t realise snow was so slippery.’

‘They say there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad shoes.’

‘Excuse me? These are hand-crafted Italian leather.’ And his feet were growing colder by the minute.

Her sharp eyes narrowed as she studied him. ‘But that wasn’t melodrama before – at the hotel,’ she said lightly.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ he agreed. ‘How could you tell?’ He had enough experience of people assuming he was just being difficult.

She shrugged. ‘I’m an outdoor guide, remember? I have some experience with anxiety and panic attacks. Does it happen often?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve had a few flashpoints over the years, but that’s what therapy and medication are for.’ His smile was a little forced, but he’d learned to trust that something would always make it better.

Even thinking about telling her exactly what had been behind his episode made the noise around him sharpen and close in on him.

The brass band on the other square suddenly sounded as though they were playing a metre away.

A woman in high heels made a rhythmic ‘clack clack’ that pounded in his skull.

But the individual sounds faded back into an indistinct mass as he met her wary gaze and took a deep breath.

‘It’s a sound sensitivity disorder. I have exceptional hearing and that has consequences in my brain, especially if I’m already under pressure – like the audition and the wedding and all this. ’

Alessandra’s wedding… He wasn’t in the mood to explain why the prospect of the wedding brought mixed feelings.

‘I had temporary tinnitus once and since then, humming noises can be triggering, so… thank you for turning off the fridge.’

She gave a dismissive shrug and finished her sausage – wolfed it down would be a more accurate expression.

She was already halfway through the little package of chips.

Whether it was the sheer speed at which she ate or the cosy ambience of the surroundings, the rustle of the packet and crunch of the chips between her teeth were just sounds tonight, with no extra stress or emotional side effects.

‘It might have been helpful to know in advance,’ she said after she’d swallowed.

He liked the way her voice went gravelly when she was grumpy. ‘You should add that question to your insurance form for our outdoor adventure, coach.’

‘You could have mentioned something. I thought you were just being difficult about the double glazing.’

‘With the man thinking we were a couple, I’m not sure you would have listened to me.’

She eyed him. ‘Who says “lovers” anyway?’ She shuddered as though the word set off some allergies.

‘You’re the wedding planner.’

‘I told you, this isn’t my usual gig. I got roped into this. I don’t know anything about this stuff.’

It was the first time he’d seen her look uncertain of herself. ‘No big wedding in your future, then?’ he asked lightly, hoping she couldn’t tell how genuinely curious he was.

She blanched, her reaction strong enough to make him regret his prying. ‘No,’ she answered emphatically. ‘Is there anything else I should know? About you?’

What did she want to know? He kind of wanted to tell her all of his secrets, but she wouldn’t be interested. ‘I’m twenty-seven years old, lived my entire life in Napoli, I am an only child?—’

‘That’s not really what I was asking.’

He couldn’t keep his curious question in. ‘How old are you ?’

‘Thirty-one – in the next decade from you.’

‘Oh, but you meant was there anything you need to know for my safety on this dangerous expedition to Alessandra’s wedding?’

Another scowl. ‘Our drive tomorrow will be entirely uneventful and I’ll deliver you safely in plenty of time for your musical interludes during the ceremony. Don’t even suggest anything else.’

‘I didn’t know outdoor adventurers were just as superstitious as opera singers.’

‘I don’t have a lucky charm on a necklace like you,’ she quipped. ‘I’m assuming that’s what’s on your chain.’

She didn’t mean anything by it, but her question brought heat up his chest and he remembered her gaze on his skin earlier.

He leaned on the barrel table, propping himself up as he brought his face close to hers. It was easy to imagine tipping her chin up and kissing her – and he had a vivid imagination. But her gaze grew sharp and he sensed a thousand little triggers. He was familiar with triggers.

‘Haven’t you learned anything about me yet?’ he asked mildly.

‘I’ve learned a few things.’ He enjoyed it when she lifted her chin just like that. ‘But not what’s hanging from your necklace.’

He tugged out the gold charm on its chain, letting the soft lights reflect off the twisted horn shape. ‘A curniciello, of course. To scare off the evil eye. A gift from my mother.’

‘Why of course?’

‘We are very serious about the evil eye in Napoli.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you’re here to protect me, in case the evil eye followed you to Salzburg.’

He flashed her a smile. ‘Look, you’re enjoying spending time in this crowd. It must be my magic.’

‘Magic? That’s just what I need,’ she grumbled under her breath. Her gaze snapped up to his. ‘You heard that, didn’t you?’

He gave an apologetic nod. ‘But don’t worry,’ he said brightly. ‘You’re just what I need too.’