The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

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СКАЧАТЬ reached out and patted her hand. ‘You’ll be happy with Carlo.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you look?’

      Aysha’s eyes twinkled with latent humour. ‘Mamma chose well, didn’t she?’

      His answering smile held a degree of philosophical acceptance. ‘She has planned this day since you were a little girl.’

      The procession was slow and smooth as the cavalcade of limousines descended the New South Head Road.

      Stately, Aysha accorded silently as the first of the cars slowed and turned into the church grounds.

      There were several guests waiting outside, and there was the flash of cameras as Giuseppe helped her out from the rear seat.

      Lianna and Arianne checked the hem of her gown, smoothed the veil, then together they made their way to the church entrance, where Suzanne and Tessa were schooling the children into position.

      The entire effect came together as a whole, and Aysha took a moment to admire her bridal party.

      Each of the bridesmaids wore burgundy silk off-the-shoulder fitted gowns and carried bouquets of ivory orchids. The flower girls wore ivory silk full-length dresses with puffed sleeves and a wide waistband, tied at the back in a large bow, with white shoes completing their attire, while the two page boys each wore a dark suit, white shirt with a paisley silk waistcoat and black bow-tie.

      Teresa arrived, and Aysha watched as her mother distributed both satin ring cushions and supervised the little girls with their baskets of rose petals.

      This was as much Teresa’s day as it was hers, and she smiled as she took Giuseppe’s arm. ‘Ready, Papà?’

      He was giving her into the care of another man, and it meant much to him, Aysha knew, that Carlo met with his full approval.

      The organ changed tempo and began the ‘Bridal March’ as they entered the church, and Aysha saw Carlo standing at the front edge of the aisle, flanked by his best man and groomsmen.

      Emily and Samantha strewed rose petals on the carpet in co-ordinated perfection. Neither Jonathon nor Gerard dropped the ring cushions.

      As she walked towards Carlo he flouted convention and turned to face her. She saw the glimpse of fierce pride mingling with admiration, love meshing with adoration. Then he smiled. For her, only for her.

      Everything else faded to the periphery of her vision, for she saw only him, and her smile matched his own as she moved forward and stood at his side.

      Carlo reached for her hand and covered it with his own as the priest began the ceremony.

      The substitution reaffirmation of their vows seemed to take on an electric significance as the guests assimilated the change of words.

      Renewed pledges, the exchange of rings, and the long, passionate kiss that undoubtedly would become a topic of conversation at many a dinner table for months to come.

      There was music, not the usual hymn, but a poignant song whose lyrics brought a lump to many a guest’s throat. A few feminine tears brought the use of fine cotton handkerchiefs when the groom leaned forward and gently kissed his bride for the second time.

      Then Aysha took Carlo’s arm and walked out of the church and into the sunshine to face a barrage of photographers.

      It was Lianna who organised the children and cajoled them to behave with decorum during the photographic shoot. Aysha hid a smile at the thought they were probably so intimidated they didn’t think to do anything but obey.

      ‘She’s going to drive some poor man mad,’ Carlo declared with a musing smile, and Aysha laughed, a low, sparkling sound that was reflected in the depths of her eyes.

      ‘And he’ll adore every minute of it,’ she predicted.

      The shift to the reception venue was achieved on schedule, and Aysha turned to look at Carlo as their limousine travelled the short distance from the church.

      ‘You were right,’ she said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have missed the church service for the world.’

      His smile melted her bones, and her stomach executed a series of crazy somersaults as he took her hands to his lips and kissed each one in turn.

      ‘I’ll carry the image of you walking towards me down the aisle for the rest of my life.’

      She traced a gentle finger down the vertical crease of his cheek and lingered at the edge of his mouth. ‘Now we get to cut the cake and drink champagne.’

      ‘And I get to dance with my wife.’

      ‘Yes,’ she teased mercilessly. ‘After the speeches, the food, the photographs...’

      ‘Then I get to take you home.’

      Oh, my. She breathed unsteadily. How was she going to get through the next few hours?

      With the greatest of ease, she reflected several hours later as they circled the guests and made their farewells.

      Teresa deserved tremendous credit, for without doubt she had staged the production of her dreams and turned it into the wedding of the year. Press coverage, the media, the church, ceremony, catering, cake... Everything had gone according to plan, except for a few minor hiccups.

      A very special day, and one Aysha would always treasure. But it was the evening she and Carlo had exchanged their wedding vows that would remain with her for the rest of her life.

      Saying goodbye to her parents proved an emotional experience, for among their happiness and joy she could sense a degree of sadness at her transition from daughter to wife.

      Tradition died hard, and Aysha hugged them tight and conveyed her appreciation not only for the day and the night, but for the care and devotion they’d accorded her from the day she was born.

      There was confetti, rice, and much laughter as they escaped to the limousine. A short drive to an inner city hotel, and then the ascent by lift to the suite Carlo had booked for the night.

      Aysha gave a startled gasp as he released the door then swept her into his arms and carried her inside.

      ‘Now,’ he began teasingly, as he pulled her close. ‘I get to do this.’

      This was a very long, intensely passionate kiss, and she just held on and clung as she met and matched his raw, primitive desire.

      Then he gently released her and crossed to the table, where champagne rested on ice.

      Aysha watched as Carlo loosened the cork on the bottle of champagne.

      Froth spilled from the neck in a gentle spume, and she laughed softly as he picked up a flute to catch the foaming liquid.

      ‘I’ve done that successfully at least a hundred times.’ He partly filled another, then he handed her one, and touched the rim with his own. ‘To us.’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ