Nice Day For A White Wedding. A. Michael L.

knew it would be.’ Chelsea stood up. ‘I gave you a chance, Miss. I gave you the chance not to laugh at me. And now I’m going to prove you wrong.’

       That week, Chelsea had signed up for all the societies she thought sounded impressive, she’d sent off for prospectuses, she’d started playing an accordion she found in a charity shop for seven quid and had signed up for every sort of university grant going at the youth advice centre in town. That was also the week that Robbie Larson was found dazed and confused around the back of Tesco, with both his legs broken. Everyone said he’d been in so much pain he’d bitten off the tip of his tongue in shock.

      ***

      Chelsea had to admit, it was beautiful. As much as she felt like pouting, still slightly green as they stepped from the boat out onto the dock at Malcesine, she couldn’t stop herself from admiring it. Her trick was to always seem slightly less awestruck than she felt. That was how they saw you as a fraud, when you were really enthused. But she couldn’t help it, the sun hit the water, the bright pink flowers and vibrant greens of the trees sang as the mountains hovered in the background and she actually gasped when she saw the castle.

      Kit just grinned, grabbing the case and taking her hand to help her down from the ramp. They walked over to the shade, Kit getting his phone out as Chelsea simply stared at the brightly coloured shops and restaurants, taking in the relaxed atmosphere of the place. Sure, the tourists were looking through iPads and desperately taking photos, but Chelsea stood in the cool breeze and just took in the moment. She paused the future, the next few days of pretending to be impressive and in control, clever and unruffled and just breathed, closing her eyes as the strain of music came from the square, feeling the strange heaviness of her left hand with that diamond promise sitting upon it.

      ‘Hey, we’re here,’ she heard Kit say, pacing back and forth. ‘Did Al bring the car down or shall we get a cab?’

      He nodded. ‘Vinnie? Okay. We’ll be there soon.’ He paused, smiling. ‘Yes, she did. Okay, ciao.’

      ‘Onto the next leg of the journey?’ Chelsea asked. ‘And what did I do?’

       ‘You said yes.’ He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her cheek. ‘My sister has been desperately bugging me about it since she found out I was going to ask. Anyway, Alistair brought the car down for us this morning. He left the keys with his friend in the bar, we’ll just get them and then we can get going.’

      ‘And Alistair is… ?’ Chelsea asked, following him along the cobbled streets, taking his hand.

      ‘Al…helps around the house. Drives places. Makes a cracking Martini,’ Kit said faintly, looking straight ahead.

      ‘Are you telling me your family has a butler?’

      ‘He’s more like family.’

      ‘A family member who gets paid to do things for you?’

      Kit stopped, turning around and taking off his sunglasses. ‘Babe, you’ve got to remember, this is their life, not mine.’

      ‘But it was yours, once.’

      Kit smiled, shaking his head. ‘And there’s a reason I didn’t choose it for myself. But, to be honest, I prefer Alistair to most members of my family. You’ll love him, he’s a cheeky bastard. When I was a kid I used to pretend he was my dad.’

      Chelsea laughed and Kit stroked her arm. ‘Just…reserve judgement, okay?’

      They picked up the keys from the bar, where Kit was embraced by an older, white-haired man. They spoke quickly, with Kit pointing over to her a few times. The older man smiled, clapped his hands together and brought over a bottle of wine to give to her, congratulating her on her engagement.

      ‘So many weddings!’ He clasped her hands, awkwardly holding the bottle.

      They found the car around the back in a small side street, and Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief as Kit turned on the air conditioning. She pulled down the mirror in the visor, and checked her burnt nose.

      ‘What did he mean about so many weddings?’ she asked, reaching for her make-up bag and trying to hide the angry, pink skin.

      ‘There’s weddings at the castle all the time. In the summer there’s a couple a week, probably more.’

      ‘Can we go see the castle at some point?’ She applied some mascara and tried to make her eyes look less red. ‘I hate –’

      ‘– to go somewhere and never actually see any of it. I know.’ He patted her knee. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’

      ‘About going to your parents’ Italian villa now that I know they have servants?’ she snorted. ‘Nah, why would I be nervous?’

      ‘I meant about telling them we’re getting married.’

      Chelsea looked at him. ‘They don’t know?’

      ‘How would they know?’

      ‘Well, I thought maybe when you said we were coming up here, you might have said why.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t tell them you were going to propose?’

      ‘Didn’t come up,’ he shrugged, ‘plus I always find it’s better to tell them things after I do them, so they can’t have an opinion.’

      ‘You’re really helping me feel confident about all this.’ She sighed, resigned to it all now.

      ‘Celia knows, though. I told her ages ago.’ He nudged her leg. ‘She’s really excited to meet you.’

      ‘What’s she like?’

      ‘She’s sweet and kind, quiet. They’re constantly telling her to be louder, paying for elocution lessons and drama classes, but that’s just how she is. I think you’ll like her.’