After everything had been signed, the two open-topped cars took them to the private villa where the symbolic ceremony was being held and the rest of their family and friends were waiting to celebrate with them.
Luke and Tom went ahead to wait at the bridal arch, which was covered with gorgeous white flowers.
Then Ashleigh stood at the edge of the red carpet, her arm linked through Sean’s. He could feel her trembling slightly. Nervous, excited and a little sad all at the same time, he guessed. ‘Ashleigh, you’re such a beautiful bride,’ he said softly. ‘Our parents would be so proud of you right now.’
Ashleigh nodded, clearly too overcome to speak, and squeezed his arm as if to say, ‘You, too.’
‘Come on. Let’s get the party started,’ he said, and gave the signal to the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo.
Their version of Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’ was perfect. And Sean was smiling as he walked his little sister down the aisle to marry the man she loved.
* * *
Claire had seen the photographs and knew that the garden where Ashleigh and Luke were getting married was spectacular, but the photographs really hadn’t done the place justice. The garden was breathtaking, overlooking the sea; lemon trees grew around the edge of the garden, their boughs heavy with fruit, and the deep borders were filled with rhododendrons and bougainvillea. There seemed to be butterflies everywhere. A symbol of good luck and eternal love, she thought.
She took the bouquet from Ashleigh and held it safely during the ceremony, and she had to blink back the tears as Ashleigh and Luke exchanged their vows, this time in front of everyone. She glanced at Sean, who was standing beside her, and was pleased to see that for once he was misty-eyed, too. And so he should be, on Ashleigh’s wedding day, she thought, and she looked away before he caught her staring at him.
Everyone cheered when the celebrant said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ and Luke bent Ashleigh back over his arm to give her a show-stopping kiss.
‘Let them have it, guys,’ Sammy called as Ashleigh and Luke started to walk back down the aisle, and the confetti made from white dried flower petals flew everywhere.
Once the formal photographs had been taken, waiters came round carrying trays filled with glasses of Prosecco. Ashleigh and Luke headed the line-up to welcome their guests; and then, finally, it was time for the meal. Ashleigh had chosen a semi-traditional top table layout, so Claire as the chief bridesmaid was at one end, next to Luke’s father. As Sean was standing in for the bride’s father, he was at the other end, between Ashleigh and Luke’s mother. And there were enough people between them, Claire thought, for them to be able to smile and hide their relief at not having to make small talk.
It was an amazing table, under a pergola draped with white wisteria. Woven in between the flowers were glass baubles, which caught the light from the tea-light candles set in similar glass globes on the table, and reflected again in the mirrored finish of the table. The sun was already beginning to set, and Claire had never seen anything so romantic in her life. And the whole thing was topped off by the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo who played and sang softly during the meal.
If she ever got married, Claire thought, this was just the kind of wedding she’d want, full of love and happiness and so much warmth.
Finally, after the excellent coffee and tiny rich Italian desserts, it was time for the speeches. Luke’s was sweet and heartfelt, Tom’s made everyone laugh, but Sean’s made her blink back the tears.
He really did love Ashleigh. And, for that, Claire could forgive the rest.
The cake—a spectacular four-tier confection, which Claire knew held four different flavours of sponge—was cut, and then it was time for the dancing.
Ashleigh and Luke had chosen a song for their bridal dance that always put a lump in her throat—‘Make You Feel My Love’—and she watched them glide across the temporary dance floor. The evening band played it in waltz time, and Claire knew that Luke had been taking private lessons; he was step-perfect as he whirled Ashleigh round in the turns. The perfect couple.
Tradition said that the best man and the chief bridesmaid danced together next, and Claire liked Tom very much indeed; she was pleased to discover that he was an excellent dancer and her toes were perfectly safe with him.
‘I love the dresses,’ Tom said. ‘If I wasn’t gay, I’d so date you—a woman who can create such utter beauty. You’re amazing, Claire.’
She laughed and kissed his cheek. ‘Aww, you’re such a sweetie, Tom. Thank you. But I wouldn’t date you because I have terrible taste in men—and you’re far too nice to be one of my men.’