Latin Lovers. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘It’s my last day at work.’ She rose to her feet and gulped the last mouthful of coffee. ‘But as of tomorrow...’

      ‘Promises,’ Carlo taunted, and she reached up to brush her lips to his cheek, except he moved his head and they touched his mouth instead.

      ‘Got to rush,’ she said with genuine regret. ‘See you tonight.’

      Her job was important to her, and she loved the concept of using colour and design to make a house a home. The right furnishings, furniture, fittings, so that it all added up to a beautiful whole that was both eye-catching and comfortable. She’d earned a reputation for going that extra mile for a client, exploring every avenue in the search to get it right.

      However, there were days when phone calls didn’t produce the results she wanted, and today was one of them. Added to which she had to run a final check over all the orders that were due to come in while she was away. An awesome task, just on its own.

      Then there was lunch with some of her fellow staff, and the presentation of a wedding gift... an exquisite crystal platter. The afternoon seemed to fly on wings, and it was after six when she rode the lift to Carlo’s penthouse.

      ‘Ten minutes,’ she promised him as she entered the lounge, and she stepped out of heeled pumps en route to the shower.

      Aysha was ready in nine, and he snagged her arm as she raced towards the door.

      ‘Slow down,’ he directed, and she threw him an urgent glance.

      ‘We’re late. We should have left already.’ She tugged her hand and made no impression. ‘They’ll be waiting for us.’

      He pulled her close, and lowered his head down to hers. ‘So they’ll wait a little longer.’

      His mouth touched hers with such incredible gentleness her insides began to melt, and she gave a faint despairing groan as her lips parted beneath the pressure of his.

      Minutes later he lifted his head and surveyed the languid expression softening those beautiful smoky grey eyes. Better, he noted silently. Some of the tension had ebbed away, and she looked slightly more relaxed.

      ‘OK, let’s go.’

      ‘That was deliberate,’ Aysha said a trifle ruefully as they rode the lift down to the underground car park, and caught his musing smile.

      ‘Guilty.’

      He’d slowed her galloping pace down to a relaxed trot, and she offered a smile in silent thanks as they left the lift and crossed to the Mercedes.

      ‘How was your day?’ she queried as she slid into the passenger seat and fastened her belt.

      ‘Assembling quotes, checking computer print-outs, checking a building site. Numerous phone calls.’

      ‘All hands-on stuff, huh?’

      The large car sprang into instant life the moment he turned the key, and he spared her a wry smile as they gained street level.

      ‘That about encapsulates it.’

      The church was a beautiful old stone building set back from the road among well-tended lawns and gardens. Symmetrically planted trees and their spreading branches added to the portrayed seclusion.

      There was an air of peace and grace apparent, meshing with the mystique of blessed holy ground.

      Aysha drew a deep breath as she saw the several cars lining the curved driveway. Everyone was here.

      Attending someone else’s wedding, watching the ceremony on film or television, was a bit different from participating in one’s own, albeit this was merely a rehearsal of the real thing.

      ‘I want to carry the basket,’ Emily, the youngest flower girl, insisted, and tried to wrest it from Samantha’s grasp.

      ‘I don’t want to hold a pillow. It looks sissy,’ Jonathon, the eldest page boy declared.

      Oh, my. If he thought carrying a small satin lace-edged pillow demeaned his boyhood, then just wait until he had to get dressed in a miniature suit, satin waistcoat, buttoned shirt and bow-tie.

      ‘Sissy,’ the youngest page boy endorsed.

      ‘You have to,’ Emily insisted importantly.

      ‘Don’t.’

      ‘Do so.’

      Aysha didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘What if Samantha carries the basket of rose petals, and Emily carries the pillow?’

      It was almost possible to see the ensuing mental tussle as each little girl weighed the importance of each task.

      ‘I want the pillow,’ Samantha decided. Rings held more value than rose-petals to be strewn over the carpeted aisle.

      ‘You can have the basket.’ Emily, too, had done her own calculations.

      Teresa rolled her eyes, the girls’ respective mothers attempted to pacify, and when that failed they tried bribery.

      The four bridesmaids looked tense, for they’d each been assigned a child to care for during the formal ceremony.

      - ‘OK.’ Aysha lifted both hands in a gesture of expressive defeat ‘This is how it’s going to be. Two baskets, so Emily and Samantha get to carry one each.’ She cast both boys a stern look. ‘Two pillows.’ ‘Two?’ Teresa queried incredulously, and Aysha inclined her head.

      ‘Two.’

      The little girls beamed, and both boys bent their heads in sulky disagreement.

      Maybe it would have been wiser not to give the children a rehearsal at all, and simply tell them what to do on the day and hope they’d concentrate so hard there wouldn’t be the opportunity for error.

      Celestial assistance was obviously going to be needed, Aysha mused as she listened to the priest’s instructions.

      An hour later they were all seated at a long table in a restaurant nominated as children-friendly. The food was good, the wine did much to relax fraught nerves, and Aysha enjoyed the informality of it all as she leaned back against Carlo’s supporting arm.

      ‘Tired?’

      She lifted her face to his, and her eyes sparkled with latent intimacy. ‘It’s been a long day.’

      He leaned in close and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘You can sleep in in the morning.’

      ‘Generous of you. But I need to be home early to help Teresa with preparations for the bridal shower. Remember?’

      It was almost eleven when everyone began to make a move, and a further half-hour before Aysha and Carlo were able to leave, for the bridesmaids lingered and Teresa had last-minute instructions to impart.

      The witching hour of midnight struck as she preceded Carlo into the penthouse, and she slipped off her shoes, took the clip from her СКАЧАТЬ