Twenty-two a year.
Six of the most recent.

A ceremony under the cork oaks at four, dinner on the terrace, and a bus back to Lisbon at 00:40.

Chairs in the sand at six, grilled fish at one long table, and nobody wore shoes after nine.

A farmhouse near Évora, vows under a three-hundred-year-old olive tree, and a heatwave we planned for in January.

Harvest week at a quinta above the river, a boat for the guests on Sunday, and rain that held off until the cake.

A small wedding on a stone terrace over the sea, a string trio, and a lunch that ran until sunset.

A palace in the old town, a tram for the guests, and a dance floor in the ballroom until two.