The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

‘I have to get through the day.’

      ‘Didn’t sleep much, either, huh?’ he queried wryly, and she wrinkled her nose.

      ‘An hour or two, here and there,’ Aysha admitted.

      ‘Are you dressed?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her voice was almost prim, and he laughed.

      ‘Pity. If I can’t have you in the flesh, then the fantasy will have to suffice.’

      ‘And you, of course, have had a workout, showered, shaved, and are about to eat breakfast?’

      Carlo chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers slithering down her spine. ‘Actually, no. I’m lying in bed, conserving my energy.’

      Just the thought of that long muscular body resting supine on the bed was enough to play havoc with her senses. Imagining how he might or might not be attired sent her pulse beating like a drum.

      ‘I don’t think we’d better do this.’

      ‘Do what, precisely?’

      ‘Phone sex.’

      His voice held latent laughter. ‘Is that what you think we’re doing?’

      ‘It doesn’t compensate for the real thing.’

      His soft laughter was almost her undoing. ‘I doubt Teresa will be impressed if I appear at the door and sweep you into the bedroom before breakfast.’

      A firm tattoo sounded against the panelled door. ‘Aysha?’

      The day was about to start in earnest. ‘In a moment, Mamma.’

      ‘Don’t keep me waiting too long at the church, cara,’ Carlo said gently as she crossed the room.

      ‘To be five minutes late is obligatory,’ she teased, twisting the knob and drawing back the door. ‘Ciao.’

      Teresa stood framed in the doorway. ‘Buon giorno, darling.’ Her eyes glanced at the mobile phone. ‘You were talking to Carlo?’ She didn’t wait for an answer as she walked to the expanse of plate glass window with its splendid view of the harbour and northern suburbs. ‘It’s raining.’

      ‘The service isn’t scheduled until four,’ Aysha attempted to soothe.

      ‘Antonio has spent so much time and effort on the gardens these past few weeks. It will be such a shame if we can’t assemble outside for photographs.’

      ‘The wedding organiser has a contingency plan, Mamma.’ Photographs in the conservatory, the massive entry foyer, the lounge.

      ‘Yes, I know. But the garden would be perfect.’

      Aysha sighed. The problem with a perfectionist was that rarely did anything meet their impossibly high expectations.

      ‘Mamma,’ she began gently. ‘If it’s going to rain, it will, and worrying won’t make it different.’ She crossed to the en suite bathroom. ‘Give me a few minutes, then we’ll go downstairs and share breakfast.’

      It was the antithesis of a leisurely meal. The phone rang constantly, and at nine the first of the day’s wedding gifts arrived by delivery van.

      ‘Put them in here,’ Teresa instructed, leading the way into a sitting room where a long table decorated with snowy white linen and draped tulle held a large collection of various sized wrapped and beribboned packages.

      The doorchimes sounded. ‘Aysha, get that, will you, darling? It’ll probably be Natalina or Giovanna.’

      The first in line of several friends who had offered their services to help.

      ‘Aysha, you look so calm. How is that?’

      Because Carlo loves me. And we’re already married. The words didn’t find voice, but they sang through her brain like the sweetest music she’d ever heard.

      ‘Ask me again a few hours from now,’ she said with a teasing smile.

      Organisation was the key, although as the morning progressed the order changed to relative chaos and went downhill from there.

      The florist delivered the bridal bouquets, exquisitely laid out in their boxes... except there was one missing. The men’s buttonholes arrived with the bouquets, instead of being delivered to Gianna’s home.

      Soon after that problem was satisfactorily resolved Teresa received a phone call from one of the two women who’d offered to decorate the church pews... they couldn’t get in, the church doors were locked, and no one appeared to be answering their summons.

      Lunch was hardly an issue as time suddenly appeared to be of the essence, with the arrival of Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa.

      ‘Très chic, darling,’ Lianna teased as she appraised Aysha from head to toe and back again. ‘Bare feet, cut-off jeans and a skimpy top. The ultimate in avant-garde bridal wear. Just add the veil, and you’ll cause a sensation,’ she concluded with droll humour.

      ‘Mamma would have a heart attack.’

      ‘Not something to be countenanced,’ Lianna agreed solemnly. ‘Now,’ she demanded breezily, ‘we’re all showered and ready to roll. Command, and we’ll obey.’

      Together they went over the modus operandi, which went a little haywire, as the hairdresser arrived early and the make-up artist was late.

      There followed a lull of harmonious activity until it became volubly clear Giuseppe was insistent on wearing navy socks instead of black, and an argument ensued, the pitch of frazzled voices rising when Teresa laddered new tights.

      ‘Ah, your mamma...’ Giuseppe sighed eloquently as he entered the dining room where the hairdresser was putting the finishing touches to Aysha’s hair.

      ‘I love you, Papà,’ Aysha said softly, and saw his features dissolve into gentleness.

      ‘Grazie.’ His eyes moistened, and he blinked rapidly. ‘The photographer, he will be here soon. Better you go upstairs and get into that dress, or we’ll both have your Mamma to answer to, hmm.’

      She gave him a quick hug, touched her fingers to his cheek, and smiled as he caught hold of them and bestowed a kiss to her palm. ‘A father couldn’t wish for a more beautiful daughter. Now go.’

      When she reached her bedroom Teresa was fussing over the bridesmaids’ gowns in a bid to ensure every detail was perfect.

      Lianna rolled her eyes in silent commiseration, then exhibited the picture of genteel grace. ‘When are the little terrors due to arrive?’

      ‘My God,’ Teresa cried with pious disregard as she swept to face Aysha. ‘The rose petals. Did you see a plastic container of rose petals in the florist’s box?’

      Aysha shook her head, and Teresa turned and all but ran from the room.

      ‘For heaven’s sake, darling,’ Lianna encouraged. ‘Get into that fairy floss of a dress, we’ll zip you up, stick on the headpiece and veil—’ An anguished wail rent the air. ‘Guess the rose petals were a no-show, huh?’ she continued conversationally. ‘I’ll go offer my assistance before dear Teresa adds a nervous breakdown to the imminent heart attack.’

      Ten minutes later she was back, and Aysha merely lifted one eyebrow in silent query.

      ‘One container of rose petals found safe and sound at Gianna’s home. As we need two, Giuseppe has been despatched to denude Antonio’s precious rose bushes.’

      ‘Whose idea was that?’ Aysha shook her head in a silent gesture of mock despair. ‘Don’t tell me. Yours, right?’

      Lianna executed a sweeping bow. ‘Of course. What the hell else were we going to do?’ She inclined her head, then gave a visible shudder. ‘Here come the cavalry of infants.’

      Aysha removed her wedding dress from its hanger, then with