Amalfi Coast (That Wedding Girl Book 2) (2 page)

He’s got a point. I haven’t even been in Italy for four hours and all I can think about is getting my laptop and finishing my third run sheet - and starting the dark peppermint crunch block.

I heave a sigh. “I guess you're right.”

“Of course I'm right. Relax, girl! Let's go down to the pool and get some cocktails. Which board shorts should I put on: the gay pair or the really gay pair?” He points to two pairs of barely-there briefs, a white one and a baby pink one. I'm guessing the pink one is the 'really gay' pair.

“Go with the white one, you want to make people guess about your sexuality…for an extra minute at least.”

Gabe lets out a quick chuckle, "Why would I want to do such a thing? Fine, only because you said so. Go get changed! I'll get you in ten minutes."
He grabs the white speedos and saunters to the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. I know he'll be more than ten minutes, so I’m not going to hold my breath and wait here.  For someone with short hair, he spends an awfully long amount of time styling it with his endless amounts of creams, mousses and gels.

I force myself off this ridiculously comfortable bed and open the door, walking with my head sticking out without looking. Without warning, the sudden impact hits me. Just like a speeding car heading out of a drive way, I've crashed into someone.
The mystery victim stumbles back. I look downwards and I see a toned chest beneath a tight grey t-shirt. The sleeves gripping tanned, lean arms.

“
Mi scusi, non ho fatto vedere a voi
…”

That voice. It’s deep, hypnotic and lush. 

“I’m so sorry—” I keep my eyes glued to the floor, trying to avoid looking at him. Given the way his voice sounded, I don’t even want to imagine how his face looks.

I sense him looking at me, and I’m all too aware that I don’t have a bra on. To think I slammed into his chest with my breasts covered in only my thin shirt. Hesitantly, I look up at this mystery man with the unbelievably suggestive voice.

He’s gorgeous; his face is even more pleasant than his voice. Olive skin, wide and hypnotic jade eyes, tousled honey coloured hair are the first things I noticed. The perfect scattering of blond stubble on his square jawline set off his full, bee-stung lips. This is the face of an angel, a Botticelli angel. If he was a half a foot taller he could easily be a model, but he only stands a few inches taller than me.  Okay, why am I checking out a complete stranger? This is wrong!

“Don’t be sorry,
bella
.” His English is as fluent as his Italian.

Words are not coming out of my mouth right now.

“
Qual è il tuo nome
? Your name?”

My mind draws a blank.
My name, my name… How can I not know the answer to this?

“Lacey.” I smile weakly at him thankful my brain hasn’t suddenly dissolved to the mental capacity of a two-year-old. 

He takes a lingering glance at me, stopping short of my décolletage once again making me conscious that I’m not wearing a bra. What a sleaze! With an impish grin on his face, he starts to move backwards and turns towards the hall.

“Ciao, signorina Lacey”, is all he says as he walks down the corridor without looking back at me. The way he says my name, the way it rolls off his tongue and pronounces it is sexy.

Get a grip Lacey, it’s just a cute guy
. I’m
That Wedding Girl
– give me a sixty guest wedding in a foreign country to plan any day. But having a thirty second conversation with a tanned lothario? That’s something I don’t have much experience in.

All of a sudden, Gabe opens the door behind me and steps out with a big towel in his hand, his aviator sunglasses on his forehead. “Hey, you’re not changed yet! I thought you were getting ready,” he feigns annoyance.

“Actually, I feel pretty ready,” I said grinning to myself.

I lean into the circular gilded mirror, taking inventory at my reflection. After the afternoon pool lounge session with Gabe, I now have a nice light tan and I like the colouring on me. Two thick coats of mascara have been applied, a bit of blush has been dabbed on, my hair is as straight as it can be but in this humidity I doubt it will last long before it frizzes.  The only solution is to tie it up in a casual half pony-tail that makes it look even more full and voluminous. My long black dress feels snug and comfortable, and I’ve just painted my toenails dark green to go with my brown sandals. Happy with my efforts, I grab my purse and head out of my hotel room, eager to catch up with my old friend.

The hotel lobby is uniquely Mediterranean. From the yellow terracotta tiles to the high ceiling fans, there is so much light and openness here that it feels more like an opulent villa rather than a hotel. I scan the room, searching for a familiar face amongst the sea of relaxed tourists. A face I haven’t seen in almost four years.

A recognizable voice calls my name out, “Lacey! Over here!”

I turn around and in the distance I notice a woman with long and wavy fire-engine hair. She’s waving at me frantically.
Is that…it can’t be.
She’s wearing a demure knee-length white lace dress and heels, but that can’t be right. Where’s the black leather skirt and denim shirt she used to rock? Is this Amelia Smith, the girl who would rather attend poetry slams than go shopping? The girl who would buy from the bottle shop rather than go to bars and order cocktails?

The tall and lanky man she is walking towards me with is equally dressed to impress, wearing a fitted navy blazer and tailored jeans. That must be Kieran, her soon-to-be husband. Her posh, proper, and rich soon-to-be husband, who must be the source of this new look she is sporting.

“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you!” She runs up and wraps her slender arms around me, and I slowly hug back, shocked at the sight of her. She’s like a whole new person.

“I have to say the same!” I take in her scent, which is like a bouquet of white flowers. Moving abroad seems to have agreed with her, judging by the way she is glowing. “You look amazing, I almost didn’t recognise you,” I say, pointing to her hair.

“Likewise you are looking good!”

Amelia gestures to the man standing closely behind her. “This is my other half, Kieran.”

With thick dark hair gelled back and his face covered with a neat trimmed beard, it does nothing to hide his cheerful smile and youthful looks. So this is the Kieran who has made Amelia so happy.

He waves at me, “Hi, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Don’t believe a word she says,” I tease.

He laughs quietly, making his already friendly face even friendlier. “After we got engaged, one of the first things she said was that you have to be at the wedding somehow. She misses you, I can vouch for that. And Amelia never asks for anything, so this means a lot to her that you are here.”

Kieran looks at her lovingly. I wish someone could look at me the way he looks at her - so much tenderness, admiration, and devotion.

“That’s so—”

I barely get a chance to react when Amelia takes my hand and drags me forward, towards the hotel bar just around the corner of the lobby. Where the hotel foyer is perpetually bright and sunny, the bar is a dark and atmospheric; with just a few lava lamps and lit candles and brown leather couches everywhere. 

She wiggles her perfectly French manicured fingers at Kieran who pulls out his wallet immediately. Amelia with a French manicure; I never thought I would see the day!

“Darling, get me a French 75. Lacey, what will you have?”

My stomach does a backflip at the thought of alcoholic libations. Last time I drank, I stayed overnight and slept in Tristan’s apartment. Best I remain sober for a while.

“Lemon, lime, and bitters thanks.” I smile at Kieran, before turning my attention to Amelia. “Since when do
you
drink cocktails? What happened to the girl who would buy boxed wine and drink it discreetly at Centennial Park?”

She’s changed so much. Her dream was to have her own gallery, get up at midday to work on her designs and sketch more, and eat two minute noodles. Instead she gets to paint in her studio in a townhouse in Hertfordshire, London and eats Tonkotsu ramen. She’s gone from a boxed wine drinking Goth girl to a preened and polished Stepford wife clone, and something tells me she is happy with this new persona. Frankly, I’m green with envy of her fabulous new life.

She bursts out giggling, her pretty brown eyes widening at my recollection. “Oh my god, don’t remind me! As far as Kieran knows, I have never drunk in a public park. But those were the days, huh?”

“What about that tattoo on your back?” I still remember the day she showed me the musical heart tattoo on her lower back, thinking how brave she was to get it.

“He hated it at first, but he’s used to it now. His parents, however, don’t know about it and I would like to keep it that way,” she says it casually, as if it’s the norm.

She casts her eyes over to Kieran, who is standing by the bar looking stylish in his suit. I look at Amelia, who in turn is looking at him with utter love and affection. She really loves him, enough to no longer drink cheap cask wine. She might not be the girl I remember, but she looks really happy and glowing, that’s all that matters.  I can push away my own feelings of envy, bitterness, and resentment to be happy for her.

“He is a total catch, and he clearly adores you. I’m stoked for you!” I plaster a smile, shaking off my negative thoughts.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know how I landed him. I was struggling to pay the bills at my studio in Waltham Forest, and took that bartending job at The Phoenix for quick cash. But then he came into the bar one night and we started talking. He started complaining about how his job and family were pressuring him with his career and to get married, blah blah blah. As the night went on, he got more and more vocal about it. It was so odd, this complete stranger unloading all his problems on me! But I didn’t mind it so much because he was cute.”

“He just wanted your attention, that’s so sweet,” I gush.

“Yeah, by complaining the whole time! You know I can’t stand people who pity themselves, especially when he was had everything handed to him. Then out of the blue he asked for my number, but I told him to get lost as he was smashed at that point.”

“Why? He was clearly interested!”

She looks over at him quickly. “I thought he only wanted to get into my pants, and I did find him rather dorky. Not my type at all. But he kept asking so I wrote down a fake number just to shoo him away.”

“And then?” I urge her to go on, even though I know how the story ends. She’s getting married, so he obviously won her over.

She laughs softly to herself, embarrassed at the memory. “Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with the details. Long story short, he got my real number eventually and here I am, about to get married. I can hardly believe it!”

“I’m so happy for you. I mean, I wish you hadn’t moved away but you found your prince. That’s all that matters.”

I take another look at this new girl I did not expect to meet today. It might take a bit of time to set in but I am happy for her, I really am. I like her hair. It suits the new her compared to the black pixie cut she used to have. I like her new fashion sense, it shows off her petite figure.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, “I know you did not expect me with my hair and this dress, but—”

“Don’t say a thing. You look radiant, and I’m not talking about your hair and dress.”

Kieran walks back with the drinks, nothing for himself. He sets down the French 75 for Amelia and passes me my drink. What a gentleman!

“Where’s your drink, Kieran?” I ask.

Kieran stands above Amelia, rubbing her shoulder gently. “Actually, I’m going to leave you two ladies to chew the fat. Amelia is taking you somewhere really nice, I hope you like it.”

“Oh, you’re not joining us for dinner? I was going to go through the wedding plans with you both tonight. I can quickly go upstairs and get my laptop, if you like.”

Amelia and Kieran look at each other and laugh, and she shakes her head at me. “Oh Lacey, we’ll go through that tomorrow. Tonight is just us catching up. Chill!”

Wow, even my client is telling me to ‘chill’.

Amelia stands up to kiss Kieran quickly on the lips and he says goodbye to us.

“Where are you taking me?”

She winks at me. “You’ll see. Come on, let’s finish our drinks first!”

♦

I press my hand over my bulging stomach, letting out a heavy breath. I’m stuffed to bursting, and by the looks of it Amelia is too.

“That was the best dinner I’ve had in a while. I think you killed me,” I wipe my mouth with the napkin.

Sitting on our table are empty plates but just two hours ago they were filled with the most delicious delights: chicken scaloppini, lobster linguine, and chateaubriand. Not to mention bread, lots of bread. And the buffalo mozzarella, god that was good.

Amelia smiles at me and takes a sip of her Chianti. “I know right? This is one of my favourite restaurants.”

I can see why. A forty-minute drive from the hotel, Amelia has whisked me away to Ristorante Scintillante Oceano, a quaint and cosy restaurant in Praiano situated on a steep mountainside that sits right on the water overlooking the views of Positano. I’m not going to lie; it was torture being taken up somewhere this elevated. As we kept going up, I had to sneak in a few chocolate squares. And to make things worse, we are sitting by the edge of the restaurant, and I only have to look to my right view the sparkling blue water. This is my friend’s big day and I’m not going to let my silly phobia get in the way.
This is not high up at all, I’ll be fine!

“It’s good to see you eating. Most of my clients only order a salad, they starve themselves silly to fit into that dress,” I say as a friend, not as her wedding planner.

She shakes her head. “Not me. I’m like a cow, I need to graze. I actually want to eat on my wedding day.”

“Good for you, hun. Life is too short to not enjoy food. And given the menu you’ve set, I don’t blame you.” Fish tacos, dukkah crusted lamb cutlets, mushrooms ala grecque and smoked salmon are just some of the things they have ordered from the local caterer. I look forward to sampling all the foods with her. Not to mention the cake, which Amelia has trusted me to oversee.

“You know, I would have gladly paid for the flight and accommodations.”

She flicks her hand at me gently, dismissing my comment. “Say no more. Kieran’s family was more than happy to oblige. They’ve got more money than they know what to do with, and it’s their last kid getting hitched. So they’re happy to send him off.”

“If you say so. How do you feel?”

Her lips widen into a toothy grin and I can already sense her enthusiasm “Nervous, terrified, and ready all at once. But mostly I’m ready. I just want to make it official!”

She’s starry eyed. She has that look of pure love and joy that all happy brides-to-be possess. There’s no better feeling than having a man who loves you and is yours alone. She’s found her knight in shining armour, or in this case a perfectly pressed suit.

“But seriously, thank you so much for asking me. I’m really flattered,” I beam.

She puts her glass down to look at me seriously. “Who else was I going to ask? You’re the best, even Diane told me you had a natural gift for it after just two months on the job.”

Diane Weston was the wedding planner at the nuptials of Amelia’s older sister, Yvonne. Amelia hooked me up with a catering job at the wedding and after chatting to Diane, I got a part-time job with her. After a year of being under her guidance and mentorship I decided to go on my own and the rest is history. To be planning Amelia’s special day is like everything coming full-circle. I really owe her everything, and this is the least I could do to repay her.

“It’s because of you that I’m even doing all of this. I’m going to make your day perfect, mark my words.”
Just don’t take me to anymore high ass places!

“I know you will.” She smiles. “I just hope you get the happily ever after you deserve.”

I try my best not to recoil. I know she meant it in a loving way, but it hurts to think about it.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” her pretty eyes look sad.

I put a hand up to get her to stop.

“It’s okay, I’d rather be alone than be with an egotistical, selfish coward. Frankly it sucks being single. It does. So I genuinely appreciate you asking me to come here. I needed the distraction,” I smile weakly at her, suppressing any angry thoughts towards Adam. And Tristan. Men are not a good idea right now
. Forget them both, I’m thousands of miles away and I have better things to do than to mope over men.

She nods, “You can do so much better. I always thought he was…”

“What, what?” Now she’s piqued my curiosity. She met him a few times before she left, and I thought they got along well.              

“Well, now that you two aren’t together, I guess I can tell you. I always thought he was quite a whinger and rather lazy. You deserve a man who can stand on his own two feet, a man successful in his own right. A man who can appreciate you for the amazing woman you are!”