Page 15 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

But every time I punched the name in, it came up with links to different companies, just like one of those secret shell companies belonging to money launderers in the Cayman islands that you see on TV (if you have the patience to keep up with all the scheming, the crimes and the dodging of the law. Me, I preferred a more honest and direct approach to my business).

My first principle was that I didn’t undermine other companies. We actually helped one another out by sending our surplus guests to the others. Even if Tuscans were a competitive bunch in general, in the Tuscan B & B association, we were all linked by friendly business relationships.

So who the hell was behind Etruscan Tours trying to blow everyone else out of the water, and why, most importantly, had I never heard of them if they were so big? I could easily send the association an email requesting info on Etruscan Tours, but it would have been seen as snooping, a big No-no in this field. So I searched more travel blogs far and wide. They were all over the place, named on every single major site, even the ones that I had contributed to over the past two years with entertaining stories about my mother’s family and their personal connection to Tuscany.

It soon appeared that I’d have to write another blog about our place. And maybe make some more appetizing offers. Free dinners? Free hampers? More gifts? Any more free stuff and they wouldn’t be paying a single Euro to stay! I had to find a solution to this.

‘Come to bed, Erica,’ Julian beckoned. ‘It’s past midnight…’

‘No can do,’ I threw over my shoulder. ‘I have to find out who these guys are.’

‘Why don’t you ask them directly?’

‘I could, but I can’t find a contact for them anywhere. Which pretty much beats the purpose of advertising, doesn’t it?’

I sat back a moment to take stock of the situation with a clear head:

There can only be two explanations: either Etruscan Tours has simply been hired by a bigger company with a different name, or they are operating under the counter by word of mouth. Which means that they are not registered with the B & B association, not adhering to any of the association rules and regulations and most definitely not paying their taxes. Let me look and see if they are listed among any coach associations... nope nothing here either. Am I spelling it wrong? No, that’s what the guy’s badge said, and even the big yellow words across the side of the bus said so. Maybe they, too, are operating under someone else?

‘Erica…? What… are you still up? What time is it? Come on, Erica, come to bed, it’s bloody three in the morning…’

‘Ten more minutes, Julian, I promise…’

With a soft groan, I heard him fall back against the mattress and go quiet. Thank goodness. How was I expected to get any work done with him talking to me all night?

4

External Influences

Paul was on his own mission regarding the wedding preparations. It had taken him days, but through Renata he’d managed to book an appointment with the famous chef who was to do the catering for our wedding. In the space of twenty minutes, he’d dragged me into my Fiat 500L and we’d headed out to meet him over country roads I’d never seen before in the two years we’d been here. Thank God for satnav.

‘Alberto Veronesi is the best chef in the whole wide world,’ he gushed. ‘And I’m in love! He is drop dead gorgeous and talented as hell.’

‘You don’t even know the guy.’

‘That’s beside the point. I googled him – all night! He’s… everything I always wanted. And he’s mine, even if he doesn’t know it yet.’

If anyone deserved love, it was Paul. He was the most selfless person I knew. He’d spent half his life saving mine whenever I needed him for absolutely anything: babysitting, cooking, image makeovers, salsa lessons, cheering me on and picking me up – you name it, he’d done it for me. After years of unsuccessful dating and only one true unrequited love, I hoped he’d soon find his share of happiness.

‘He’s thirty-eight but looks twenty-eight. And… get this… he drives a Ferrari. I’ve always wanted a boyfriend who drives a Ferrari.’

‘Red?’ I asked.

‘Black!’

‘Hot.’

‘Wait until you meet him. Apparently, he’s even better in the flesh.’

‘But is he gay?’

‘Not yet,’ he said with a wink.

‘Paul, please don’t get ahead of yourself as you always do.’

‘What do you mean “as I always do”?’

I sighed. ‘Well, first you ignore them while secretly, irreparably falling in love with them and by the time you find out they’re straight, it’s too late. You’re totally besotted.’

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