42
Abigail waited for the inevitable gasps from Fabiana, Ilario and their parents, two sets of traditional Italians, both fathers complete with little moustaches. The mothers both cried into tissues. She wondered what they would be like tomorrow? Bawling their eyes out, probably.
“Abbie, Scott, it’s so beautiful.” Fabiana hid her face in her fiancé’s neck.
“I’m so relieved you like it.” She and Scott had spent the majority of the morning setting up the ceremony area in front of the pond. The arch looked amazing, decorated with white climbing flowers and a podium stage behind it, on which the bride, groom and minister would stand when saying their vows. Scott spent the time arranging the fold-up chairs in two aisles of forty. They were so straight, she couldn’t fault his set-up; not that
