Chapter Nine
THE MORNING OF the wedding, Ann-Sophie sat in her favorite chair in her favorite alcove of the library.
A book lay open on her lap, but she was staring out the window at the town below and the narrow road that curved through the olive grove and out of sight.
Alessandro had left on that road in the blur of the early morning.
“I have something I must do,” he had said vaguely, and she had been too tired to do anything but nod. Now, she wished she had pressed him or said…something. Because today was their wedding day.
He had left like this a handful of times over the last month since she had arrived.
And while he had kept his promise to always tell her when he left, with each departure, she had felt acutely aware of how much she didn’t know about him.
How much he still kept closed off from her.
Alessandro had hinted that after the wedding, when he returned to the travel schedule he usually kept, his absences would be more frequent.
So she knew the ache of his absence would only grow stronger.
But he wouldn’t disappear, she reminded herself, and the baby would not grow up with the ache inside that she had felt, searching for a father that would never be there. A want that had sometimes felt like a need.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the creak of a door and the tap of footsteps on stone.
Ann-Sophie’s heart took off the way it always seemed to do when she thought of Alessandro.
She turned and found not Alessandro, but Massimo’s wife walking toward her.
Ann-Sophie blinked in surprise. They had not formally met, and yet Massimo and Catarina’s relationship had been documented by the paparazzi well enough that Ann-Sophie knew her on sight.
“Ann-Sophie? I’m Catarina.” Her voice was enchantingly melodic, and Ann-Sophie was reminded of Catarina’s famous mother, the so-called Nordic siren, known for her own captivating voice before her sharp decline into cancer.
The loss must weigh heavily on Catarina, Ann-Sophie thought.
And suddenly the woman in front of her felt much less like the glamorous and notoriously reclusive heiress that had made a splash in the tabloid not so long ago and more like any other person whose life was subject to the same whims of fate as everyone else.
“I’m glad to finally meet you in person. I’d get up but—” Ann-Sophie gestured to her very present belly. “I’m sorry you arrived when Alessandro isn’t here.”
“Please don’t get up,” said Catarina with a laugh and sat in the chair next to her. “I’m here to see you, but I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Ann-Sophie shook her head and set her book on the wooden table next to her. “My mind has been wandering all morning.”
Catarina beamed. “Because you’re getting married today.”
Ann-Sophie pushed aside the last of her uneasiness and let herself get carried away by the excitement in Catarina’s voice. Today was her wedding day.
“It still feels very unreal. I’m just sitting here in my sundress…” Ann-Sophie gesture to the quiet library.
Catarina gave her a warm smile. “I’ve brought a few things to make this feel more real.”
“I guess I have to get out of this chair someday,” she said with a laugh and began to pry herself out of it.
She followed Catarina through the halls and into a room that looked as if it had once functioned as a sitting room.
Now it looked more like backstage at an elegant theater.
There was a vanity table set up with a mirror, boxes of makeup and all sorts of tools for hairstyling.
Across the room hung the dress that she had chosen back in Rome.
It was made by the same designer as the dress she had worn to the museum event, made with the same soft silk, but the neckline was more appropriate for a church.
Hanging next to it was a selection of wraps in white silk, and below it more neat stacks of shoeboxes and a flat pink box from a famous lingerie designer.
Two women sat on elegantly upholstered chairs by the window, sipping coffee from a service that sat on the table between them.
They turned, and their eyes lit with pleasure when they caught sight of Ann-Sophie.
“You are breathtaking,” gushed one of the women as she stood up. She was tall with dark brown eyes and the longest hair Ann-Sophie had ever seen.
“This is Maria, who would love to do your hair for the wedding,” said Catarina, then gestured to the petite woman with a sharp black bob. “And this is Elena. She does makeup.”
As the women both crossed the room, Catarina added quickly, “No obligation. I just thought it might be fun.”
“Definitely,” she said, trying to ignore the sudden pang of longing.
She should have asked her mother to come.
Even if this marriage wasn’t for love, it was still a wedding, a celebration.
But all of these wants were not needs, she reminded herself.
She had enough. In fact, she had so much more than enough.
So she pushed the maudlin thoughts out of her head and immersed herself in the extravagant preparations.
The team helped her into her dress, then as she sat down in front of the well-lit vanity, Elena brought out a long black cape to cover her dress.
Maria started with her hair, showing pictures of everything from a regal, elegant updo, to a tumble of curls, both of which she promised she could get Ann-Sophie’s stick-straight hair to hold.
“My mother used to French-braid my hair in a sort of crown on top of my head,” said Ann-Sophie a little wistfully. “Can you do that?”
Maria’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely.”
The result was a stunning, professional version of her mother’s efforts. “Shall I add flowers or something decorative?”
Ann-Sophie flashed to a memory of Midsummer at her grandparents’ farm, picking wildflowers with her mother and putting them into each other’s hair. “Flowers, please. Small ones.”
“I’ll help you find some,” said Catarina to Maria.
Maria nodded and disappeared through the door with Catarina, and Elena took a seat next to her.
She studied Ann-Sophie’s face. “You have such a lovely spray of freckles across your nose, and I’d hate to cover them up, especially with this hairstyle.
I’m thinking something that works with this and the peach tones of your lips… ”
The woman seemed to have a vision for her makeup that Ann-Sophie had never herself had, so she said, “Do what you think will look best.”
By the time Maria and Catarina returned, Elena had worked her magic, somehow making Ann-Sophie look like herself, but with a glamorous glow. They drank coffee and ate from a tray of fruit and pastries that Olivia dropped off. Maria wove flowers into her hair and Catarina fussed over her shoes—
“No heels,” said Maria and Elena in unison when Ann-Sophie teetered on a particularly high pair—and then, with a flare of drama, Elena pulled off the protective cape, revealing her full look.
Ann-Sophie stood in front of the mirror, gazing at herself in wonder. Catarina came up next to her and held out a large jewelry box, tied with a dark blue ribbon.
“Alessandro wanted to give this to you himself, but I chased him away,” she said. Ann-Sophie’s heart took off in her chest—Alessandro had returned. “I want him to be surprised by all this.”
She gestured to the dress and her hair, and Ann-Sophie felt a surge of warmth toward this woman whom she had just met but had made her wedding day a little more special.
Ann-Sophie untied the ribbon and opened the old-fashioned box.
On top of it was a note, just three words written on thick creamy paper with the words For my wife.
Nothing more. How strange that her chest seem to expand with the simple words.
She had never seen his handwriting before.
How fitting, she thought, as she traced the messy scrawl with her fingers before she remembered that she wasn’t alone.
Ann-Sophie lifted the note and looked inside.
Nestled in the silk was a necklace with sapphires and diamonds hanging from it.
The pendant earrings were echoes of the same jeweled pattern.
“Oh,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m pretty sure these belong to his grandmother,” said Catarina. “Do you want to try them on?”
She nodded, and Catarina reached around and fastened the clasp. Ann-Sophie gazed in the mirror one more time. Was this really her life? It seemed so improbable.
The limo waited outside, and she and Catarina rode through the village streets into the palazzo, where the church loomed like an elegant warning.
If the Carandini villa was a monument to the eras that had passed, a mishmash of stone and bricks gathered and replaced overtime, the church was the opposite, preserved firmly in the past, as if it had not needed repairs to combat centuries of decay.
As if it was preserved by the will of God alone.
Catarina helped her out of the car and together they walked across the cobblestone path and through the heavy wooden door.
It took a moment for Ann-Sophie’s eyes to adjust. All she could see was the glow of candles everywhere.
But after a moment, Alessandro came into focus.
He stood by the altar in a tuxedo that hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized his considerable height.
And he was looking at her with an intensity that took her breath away.
She and Catarina started down the aisle, and as they walked, the priest and Massimo and the exquisite relics from the past all faded away.
There was just Alessandro and the thump of her heart, so full of want and hope.
Today, she was marrying him. She told herself that this feeling was enough.
Tomorrow, she could worry about everything else.
When she reached the altar, Alessandro’s mouth lifted in a smile so warm and intimate that her heart jumped in her chest. “You look beautiful.”