Coming to my senses, I remember that the entire room full of guests are gawping at us. Giggling, I pull away from Jack's prosecco flavoured lips, but my fingers won't let go of his shirt. They're warm and content gripping onto the material which clings to his sides. They're happy hiding under his jacket, they don't want to come out.

From this point on, the whole event is besieged by the clinking ,and subsequently some breaking of glasses. My mouth becomes strained from all the smiling and kissing. You know when people say, if you keep doing that, your face will stay that way? Well, today is that day.

Next I get to meet the parents up close and personal. While the dishes are being cleared away, Jack's family, led by Rosanna, trail up to form a line behind our table. I place back the stray strands of hair that have crept loose during Jack's embraces. Pulling at my waistline, I smooth down my dress. Clearing my throat, I muster up the courage to stop my top lip from curling up of it's own accord.

Jack's mother is quite a short woman, about five foot four with a wide girth and a healthy portion of bust. Her coloured chestnut brown hair is cut short and it curls sharply, she's wearing a very well-cut blue shift dress and a strong, heady perfume.

Matteo, Jack's father, is the complete opposite to his cousin, Uncle Alberto. Whereas Alberto is tall and broad shouldered, Matteo is of medium height and slightly built. I almost begin to doubt Jack's parentage, although he has Matteo's blue eyes and thick hair. Alberto has deep brown eyes and a balding head with grey hair.

They come to greet us happily and solemnly. Handing over envelopes which seem to be stuffed full of money. It's like a scene from a mafia movie.

Hoping to enhance the atmosphere, as I find out later, cousin Dave, sitting with Gran and Dora, unplugs his earpieces from his phone and swiftly plays his fingers over the screen. He's up to something, I'm sure of it.

And, there we are, accepting cash and double cheek kisses when all of a sudden the high pitched screech of a trumpet playing the Godfather music blares out from the direction of Gran's table.

I'm mortified and Jack is throwing daggers in Dave's direction. Both Zio Alberto and Ben - the recently forgiven best man, laugh until their sides must ache. Rosanna and Matteo return to their seats with their heads held high.

From the offending table I see Gran, who's sat next to Dave, give him a solid smack round the back of the head. The phone falls to the floor with a satisfactory crash and the music stops. I bite my bottom lip and Gran gives me a smile.

The afternoon proceeds into the evening and I get the chance to apologise for the behaviour of my wayward teenage cousin. Alberto generously translates my sympathies to Jack's parents as they graciously nod and dismiss away my apologies.

At seven o'clock, the band arrives to take up the readied instruments. They came as a favour to Jack, having been employed at the same hotel on Arran where he used to work.

The evening event doesn't get blessed with many more guests. Jack's acquaintances from work and a handful of my colleagues show up.

I've never been good at making or keeping friends, Suzanne is the only exception. I guess I don't come across as an easy going person, and I find it very difficult to make an effort to get to know someone, finding out more often than not that it's not worth the trouble. Jack doesn't seem to have the same problem. He can get chatting and talk about anything to anyone.

Right now, he's laughing with Ben and some co-workers, while gripping onto his mother's arm as she clings to him. She beams and nods along with her son, her pride glowing for all to see.

Alberto and Matteo are standing at the bar, chatting in their own half Italian, half English manner with my mother. She smiles and seems to be enjoying the attention.

I'm standing lost in the middle of the dance floor.

Gran sidles round the tables towards me and puts her arm around my waist. She's given up wearing her flamboyant pink hat and she looks sweet in her green blouse and skirt. As always, she has a long string of pearls around her neck and small pearl studs in her ears. She's wearing a cameo brooch which Dad bought her the Christmas before last.

She's always there when I need her.

"It's been a lovely day, dear."

"Thanks, Gran. Did you enjoy the duck?"

"Duck? Is that what it was? I thought it was old chicken."

She laughs and squeezes me tightly before toddling off to join Aunt Dora. An image of how my world would be when her time comes to shuffle of this mortal coil flashes through me, I shiver in a spasm of panic.

Bringing me back, the band starts to play. The first song is an old dance number guaranteed to get things moving. 'Celebrate' has to be the quintessential wedding party song, and as expected the guests get up to move. The few children they have gleefully jump up and down and slide on their knees around the dance floor.

Suzanne traps me before I can make my escape and has me twirling and dancing in a silly way together to the music.

I have to suffer the following dance with Harry the aviator. I attempt to keep his hands away from resting on my behind and as I'm twirling round I catch Jack's eye.

He's standing with a group of friends, whisky in hand, just watching me. His tie has been discarded and I can't wait to get him alone to peel off the rest.

The band finishes the song and the singer bangs on the microphone to get everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest for you now. Someone who used to be part of our band until he decided to join a certain young lady and you bunch of sassenachs."

I stare at Jack, my mouth gaping open, he was actually going to play an instrument? I knew he'd been in the band now and again, but I wasn't expecting this.

"So, without further ado, please put down your glasses and give a warm welcome to - "

Drum roll. "The Groom!"

Jack comes over to the stage. He takes off his dark blue suit jacket and in a display of showmanship, rips open his top two shirt buttons.

Once again the guests roar and wolf whistle. As do I.

Grabbing the microphone, my husband speaks deeply and sexily through the amplifier, making me go weak at the knees. "This song is for my wife."

The band starts playing an eighties song which is kind of familiar, but Jack doesn't pick up an instrument as I thought he would. Instead he stays in front of the microphone and begins to sing.

"Ti amo..."

I realise that my mouth is flapping wide open like a fish, I shut it quickly and grin like a Chesire cat. He's pretty good. I've never heard him sing before, even in English, let alone Italian, his voice purrs out smoothly and perfectly in tune.

Zio Alberto, Rosanna and Matteo have come to stand with me swaying and singing, quite honestly terribly, along with Jack's words. Alberto holds my hand and shouts in my ear. "He is better than Antonacci, no?"

"Well, whoever that is, yes, I think he is?"

Jack is now unhitching the head of microphone from the stand and giving me an exaggerated, intense stare as he sings. He moves towards me, then throws himself off the stage and onto his knees in front of me, rasing his hand to sing the last chorus.

"Io sono, ti amo, in fondo."

As the song ends, I get down on my knees and take his face in my hands. I kiss him with more passion than I thought I possessed. This man is sex on legs. We press our foreheads together as we smile, and listen to the wedding party cheer.