Page 1 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

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My Big Fat Tuscan Dream, Two Years In…

‘Surprise!’

I jumped, my day planner and multicolored Post-its exploding all over the floor like a mini piñata.

‘Jesus, Julian, do youwantto give me a heart attack? It’s not June 1styet, you’re not due until tomorrow, did something happen?’

My fiancé grinned and bent to pick up the pieces of my life as he always did. Even the black-and-white ones.

‘Sorry, love. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, so I took an earlier flight back. Imissedyou.’

I’d missed him, too, but I’d grown used to it by now, as every week or so he was off on some book tour and hobnobbing with his agent in the States, leaving me to run this Italian madhouse of a farm and B & B rolled into one. And to think I’d practically bullied him into resuming his writing career even before we’d moved here to Tuscany.

‘Welcome home,’ I said, giving him a quick hug as I grabbed my notes back, fretting over the shopping list in my head. Yellow Post-its for the cleaning products I needed to get, brown for the bread and focaccia goods I didn’t have time to bake today. Green for the produce I’d send the kids out into the orchard for later and pink for desserts. Guests always loved desserts. It was my special touch as the owner of A Taste of Tuscany.

We were only hours from receiving the first guests of the season. In other words, The Matera Brainstormers – an international group of female writers who had met here last year and enjoyed it so much they’d decided to make it a tradition and branch out to Tuscany.

So far, they were the only ones who had booked this year. After a successful first year (beginner’s luck?), things now were not going as well and I was beginning to feel a twinge of panic. We’d left a secure, albeit suffocating life in Boston to start a new and relaxed life in a new country, but so far I hadn’t got to the relaxed part yet.

I blew my hair out of my face as my bag slid off my shoulder and when I yanked it back, I took the thin strap of my sundress with it, the rip sounding loud in the quiet kitchen.Damn. I didn’t have time to go upstairs and change, not now.

‘Slow down, honey,’ Julian said. ‘Come and sit.’

‘I can’t. I have to go back into town.’

‘Have a break. Come, I’ll pour you a glass of iced mint tea.’

Iced tea. That would be the closest I’d come to relaxing in weeks. Which reminded me.

‘I need to go down to the cellar and get some wine… And fresh flowers – I need to pick some fresh flowers…’

He put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Relax. I already did all that. And I also went down to the orchard and picked some strawberries and peaches.’

Aww, bless his soul…!

‘And the pears? Did you pick the pears?’

‘I picked the pears. Erica, honey, come and relax.’

‘I can’t,’ I insisted. ‘They’ll be here in a few hours.’

He poured some homemade tea into a tall glass. ‘Sit down. Drink this. I’ll go. You can go for a swim and chill out.’

Swim. Chill out? Those were foreign words to me. I hadn’t been anywhere near our pool yet, living my summer vicariously through the happy sounds of my kids splashing around. But this afternoon they were at a birthday party. I’d have the whole pool to myself. Even half an hour would restore me. I knew I should make time to relax if I didn’t want to end up in a loony bin by the end of the summer. But it just never happened.

Delegate. Could I do that? The idea was certainly tempting. Even twenty minutes floating on my back with an empty mind would do me good. But what if he forgot something? Well, I could always send him back. I eyed my lists, then Julian.

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. And when I get back, I’ll come and join you in the pool.’ He bent over and kissed my mouth, his lips lingering over mine. ‘And just for us, I’ll get a chocolate mousse forbedtime…’

Ooh. Saturday was definitely looking up now.

He ran a finger down my cheek and chuckled at the look on my face.

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