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“You have a beautiful home,” Jillian said, sitting down again with Joe on her lap.
“It’s Vittorio’s home. He’s just kind enough to allow us to live in one of the wings here.”
“But I thought the castle had been in the family for nearly a hundred years?”
“It had.” Theresa paused, lips pursed a moment as she chose her words. “My husband experienced a reversal of fortune fifteen years ago. We lost everything, including this place. Vittorio dropped out of university to take a job to help us out. He worked very, very hard. There were a lot of problems and a lot of debt. But six years ago he was able to buy the castle back, along with that beautiful villa in Bellagio.”
Jillian glanced around the sunlight-dappled terrace with the pots of white roses and lavender wisteria. “I had no idea.”
Theresa shrugged. “Vittorio would never tell you something like that. He never takes credit for any of the good things he does—and he does many. But that’s how his father is, too. My husband, Salvatore, never thinks of himself. His family has always come first.”
“It sounds as if you’ve had a good marriage.”
For the first time since meeting her Theresa genuinely smiled. “I couldn’t live without him.” And on that note, she got to her feet and headed back into the house.
Jillian spent some time with Joe, and then when he went down for his morning nap, she met with the first of the three fashion designers.
One of the designers was a woman, the other two were men, and all three were so excessively polite that Jillian wondered what they’d been told by Vittorio.
Each designer took measurements. Two asked her questions about what she’d like in a bridal gown, while the third, one of the men, said he had the perfect design in mind and he’d show her later once he’d completed the sketch.
While the three designers retreated to various wings of the castle, Jillian was summoned to the castle’s large modern kitchen finished in white marble and commercial-grade stainless steel appliances, to meet with a famous pastry chef from New York flown out just to make the wedding cake. The chef had brought samples of six different cake flavors, along with various icings and fillings.
Jillian sampled bite after bite and narrowed the selection down to three—white chocolate cake with a raspberry filling, a butter cake
with lemon cream, and chocolate cake with chocolate mousse—but then didn’t want to make the final decision without input from Vittorio. But he’d gone out for the day.
The chef suggested they use all three combinations with each layer of the cake being unique. Jillian agreed and left it to the chef to come up with the overall design.
“Traditional, unusual, colorful, classic, architectural?” the chef asked, trying to swiftly understand Jillian’s personal style and vision for the wedding.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I hadn’t planned on a big wedding, but it’s turning out to be quite formal, so I suppose the cake should be classic. Elegant. Vittorio is very sophisticated. He has tremendous style. I think the cake should at least reflect that.”
The pastry chef scribbled some notes, showed Jillian a book of photographs showing elaborately decorated cakes in all kinds of colors, shapes and tiers. They were all beautiful, Jillian told him, and she’d be happy with any of them.
While Jillian was still poring over the photo album, Theresa entered the castle’s spacious kitchen to let Jillian know the florist was waiting in the dining room to discuss flowers for the wedding and dinner.
Jillian, who’d felt so unsure of herself during the cake tasting, felt far more comfortable talking with the florist. She’d worked with many florists over the years during her career in the hospitality industry and with a little guidance from the florist, quickly chose a theme of fragrant white gardenias, creamy white roses, contrasted by the silver-gray stems of lamb’s ear for softness and texture. The florist suggested weaving in some delicate silver beads for a hint of sheen in the table arrangements, and then for Jillian’s bouquet, the florist thought the long stems should be tied with a pale silver satin ribbon for a little extra sophistication.
Jillian loved the idea, and could suddenly see the wedding she wanted—charcoal, black and ivory colors—with lots of candlelight and glamour.
Jillian dragged the florist back to the kitchen where the pastry chef had just finished packing up his dishes and samples and photo albums. She introduced the florist to the chef so they could compare notes, which was perfect since Theresa appeared to announce that the designers were ready to meet with her and she needed to come immediately.
As Jillian and Theresa climbed the stairs to return to the sunny sitting room on the second floor, Theresa warned Jillian not to make any decisions on the different designs until she’d seen all the sketches. “You could easily change your mind several times, so study each design and think about what you want, because this is your day.”
They’d paused outside the sitting room with its pale blue walls and white linen-upholstered furniture. “Thank you,” Jillian said warmly. “You’ve done so much for me. I can’t even express my gratitude—”
“It’s him,” Theresa said bluntly. “This is what Vittorio wants for you, and so I support him and am trying to arrange a beautiful wedding and ceremony. But you, I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you’ve kept Vittorio from his son for the past year, but no one has asked my opinion, nor will Vittorio ever. He is a man, and he makes his own decisions, and I appreciate that. However, let me give you a little motherly advice. Do not disrespect Vittorio, and do not disrespect this family, because it will not be tolerated. Indiscretions will not be forgiven, either. As Vittorio’s wife, you are to bring honor and respect to the family. And if you can’t do that, you have no business being here. Do you understand?”
The warmth inside Jillian faded, leaving her chilled. She stiffly nodded her head. “Yes.”
“Good,” Theresa said more lightly. “Now let’s have a look at the bridal gown designs and see which one you prefer.”
Jillian spent the next hour dutifully studying the sketches and talking to the designers, but her heart was no longer in it. For a brief moment she’d gotten excited about the wedding. For a brief moment while consulting with the florist she’d felt like a real bride making real decisions about her dream wedding, but Theresa’s stern warning outside the sitting room had brought Jillian crashing back to earth.
This was not a normal wedding. Their ceremony next Saturday was not going to be a happy day.
With a heavy heart, Jillian gazed at each of the three sketches again—one dress looked like a princess ball gown with layers and layers of tulle and delicate pearl beading, another looked like a fitted ivory satin negligee with a daringly low back and snug shoulder straps, and the third was a slim empire-style dress made of white chiffon, topped with a jeweled bodice and a matching Cleopatra-style jeweled collar.
