The Secrets of Villa Rosso: Escape to Italy for a summer romance to remember. Linn Halton B.

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      The balcony looked out over the Cimetière de Montmartre. It sounds grim, but walking among the graves and tombstones later that day we didn’t sense death, but the perpetuity of life. A reminder that we each add something to future generations who share the same genes. It signalled a prelude to new beginnings and the knowledge that we would both have a hand in shaping our future.

      Life was heady and intoxicating as each new, shared discovery served to confirm that we were made for each other. Moving in together had been a big step in the eyes of our respective families, but for us it was simply the next step.

      And afternoon love in that wonderful little room in Paris, fresh and crisp from the refurbishment, gave an air of newness to everything. Like a dream, time seemed to slow down and each second became meaningful, rather than merely one brief moment ticking by.

      Always foot-weary, we were glad to go back to the hotel to avoid the midday sun, arms full of sun-ripened fruit, croissants and French pastries. Decadent food for decadent afternoons.

      Our walks took us to the artists’ quarter of Montmartre, where we watched the painters effortlessly recreating every imaginable scene. From a beautiful vista of lush meadows filled with wheat and poppies, to a drawing of a peasant enjoying a rustic meal outside a humble dwelling. The sights, sounds and smells were an experience in themselves as we walked along arm in arm.

      We mocked each other as we struggled to speak the language with an air of confidence. Our poor attempts to imitate that smooth, low and amazingly sexy French drawl were met with raised eyebrows that made us laugh even more. The people we met warmed to us, as they do to all young couples who are so obviously in love.

      Vivid in my memory, still, is the evening we walked from the hotel up to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. Churches had always fascinated me, but I wasn’t sure whether Josh would understand that. As our pace slowed and the incline started to bite on our already tired calf muscles, there was a tangible feeling of something magical around us. Whether it was the dark, velvety-blue sky with a mass of twinkling stars surrounding us like a cloak, as we climbed higher and higher, I don’t know. Or perhaps we were simply falling under the spell of Paris. The imposing building with its huge domes that rose up before us was a stark white contrast against the heavenly background. Nothing else existed that night.

      When we finally reached the church I had to place my hand on the stonework to reassure myself it was real. There were very few people around; most were at home preparing dinner, or sitting in restaurants waiting to be served. As we entered the church itself a small group of people came hurrying towards us.

      ‘Bonsoir,’ they chorused as we passed them and continued on inside. It was deserted and serenely tranquil.

      ‘When a church is empty the space feels holy, truly hallowed ground. It isn’t tainted by the negativity of people, or the games they play and the lies they tell. It feels different, as if it has a life of its own; a shrine to the devotion and love of the craftsmen who toiled to bring the vision alive. Can you feel it too?’ I’d held my breath, as if it was a test I needed Josh to pass.

      Embarrassed and wishing I hadn’t blurted out my thoughts, I’d turned to face him. He was looking up at the tall, vaulted ceiling, his head tipped back. He made no move to speak and we stood side by side, entranced as we took in the grandeur and magnificence of the building.

      ‘It has to be a church wedding. It feels right,’ he said suddenly, turning slightly to look down into my eyes.

      ‘A church wedding?’ I repeated, my heart pounding so loudly, the colour started to rise in my cheeks.

      ‘I love you and I know nothing will ever come between us. But I’d forgotten about the sense of history and tradition churches hold within their walls. That’s what I want for us on our wedding day.’

      I was stunned and could not speak. We were both overwhelmed by a mystical sense of presence, endorsement and destiny. Josh amazed me. Not only did he understand, but he was prepared to open himself up, despite the very natural feeling of vulnerability I saw reflected in his eyes. We’d hugged each other so tightly it hurt, relishing what we knew was a special moment.

      Touring the building in a comfortable silence, we stopped to read the inscriptions on the plaques and carved stone memorials. It seemed fitting to offer up our silence as a mark of respect to those who had gone before. We didn’t break it until we were, once more, outside under the inky blackness of the late-evening sky.

      ‘Food, wine and music I think!’ Josh had exclaimed, squeezing my hand lovingly. ‘The world is ours.’

      I laughed, stealing a moment to glimpse back over my shoulder and grab one final glance at the Sacré-Cœur. I knew I was imprinting the moment on my mind forever.

      ‘It looks like a wedding cake,’ I whispered.

      ‘It’s a sign,’ Josh laughed, then covered my face in soft little kisses.

      ‘It looks unreal and yet we’re here, up close.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad you made me take the climb.’ He began humming an old French song we’d heard earlier in the day. He started to sway, grabbing my hand and raising it above my head to twirl me around. And then he dropped down onto one knee and, with a tremor in his voice, he said the words. ‘Marry me, Ellie.’

      Paris had worked its magic and if you can’t be lovers in Paris, then you have no romance in your soul. But I also knew that Paris had taken us to her heart because she, too, recognised when fate had chosen two people to be together for eternity. But that was back when life was simpler, much simpler.

       Chapter 3

      Our wedding day was perfect. In between showers of warm, summer rain it was a day made for happiness. Our friends and family were overjoyed to celebrate with us and no one really wanted the party to end. As Josh and I circulated, whenever we brushed past each other we linked fingers for the briefest of moments, eyes seeking each other out with a smile that came from the heart. Discreetly mouthing ‘I love you’ to each other, before moving on to receive congratulations and hugs from those around us. How strange that on your wedding day you spend most of the time with other people, grabbing as many tantalising moments together as you can before being pulled away. But the happiness was tangible and infectious, reminding everyone that life, when it’s good, is very good.

      However, the path of life isn’t smooth and tragedy was to come our way. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage in the fifth month. The grief was overwhelming, but drew us closer together in a way that few can truly understand unless they have suffered a similar loss. It was a time of mourning and that was difficult, not least because we needed it to be private. Those close to us were not allowed inside the tight little box we created around our emotions. To the world we stayed strong, but alone we were distraught and trying desperately to mend our broken hearts.

      Marrying so young I’d barely finished my internship with a large interior design company, Westings Interiors, before Josh swept me off my feet. I had taken a little time off after the miscarriage, but quickly settled back into my work routine and put all thoughts of having a baby aside. Then the unexpected news that I was pregnant again came out of the blue. It seemed that fate was smiling upon us once more and as we didn’t want to take any risks. I gave up work when I was at the twenty-week stage. I don’t think either of us relaxed until the moment we finally held Hettie in our arms.

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