As a little girl, her dolls would regularly be lined up in a bridal procession. Once, to her mother’s fury, Gabi had poured two whole bags of sugar and one of flour over them to create a winter wedding effect.
‘Essere nerre nuvole,’ her mother, Carmel, had scolded, telling her that she lived in the clouds.
What Gabi didn’t tell her was that at each wedding she made with her dolls, she pretended it was her mother. As if somehow she could conjure her father’s presence and make it so that he had not left a pregnant Carmel to struggle alone.
And while Gabi had never been so much as kissed, as an assistant wedding planner she had played her part in many a romantic escape.
She dreamt of the same most nights.
And she dreamt of Alim.
Now Gabi sat, flicking through the to-do list on her tablet and curling her long black hair around her finger, trying to work out how on earth she could possibly organise, from scratch, an extremely rushed but very exclusive winter wedding in Rome.
Mona, the bride-to-be, stepped out of the changing area on her third attempt at trying on a gown not of Gabi’s choice.
It didn’t suit Mona in the least—the antique lace made her olive skin look sallow and the heavy fabric did nothing to accentuate her delicate frame.
‘What do you think?’ Mona asked Gabi as she turned around to look in the mirror and examined herself from behind.
Gabi knew from experience how to deal with a bride who stood in completely the wrong choice of gown. ‘What do you think, Mona?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mona sighed. ‘I quite like it.’
‘Then it isn’t the gown for you,’ Gabi said. ‘Because you have to love it.’
Mona had resisted the boutique owner’s guidance and had completely dismissed Gabi’s suggestion for a bright, white, column gown with subtle embroidery. In fact, Mona hadn’t even tried it on.
Gabi’s suggestions were dismissed rather a lot.
She was curvy and dressed in the severe, shapeless dark suit that her boss, Bernadetta, insisted she wear, so brides-to-be tended to assume that Gabi had no clue where fashion was concerned.
Oh, but she did.
Not for herself, of course, but Gabi could pick out the right wedding gown for a bride at fifty paces.
And they needed this to be sorted today!
Bernadetta was on leave and so it had fallen to Gabi to sort.
It always did.
The bigger the budget, the trickier the brief, the more likely it was to have been put into the ‘Too Hard’ basket and left for Gabi to pick up.
They were in the lull between Christmas and New Year. The wedding boutique was, in fact, closed today, but Gabi had many contacts and had called in a favour from Rosa, the owner, who had opened up just for them.
Rosa would not push them out, but they had to meet Marianna, the functions co-ordinator, at the Grande Lucia at four.
‘Why don’t you try Gabi’s suggestion?’ Fleur, the mother of the groom, said.
It was a little odd.
Usually this trip would be taken with the mother of the bride or her sister or friends, but it would seem that it was Fleur who had first and last say in things.
Fleur was also English, which meant that, in order to be polite, Gabi and Mona did not speak in Italian.
Yes, it was proving to be a long, tiring day.
And they would be back tomorrow with the bridesmaids!