Page 17 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Just try this,’ he said simply.

I eyed him, tempted to ask what it was, but I didn’t want to offend him any further, so in the end I found myself opening my mouth. I only hoped that this little gesture of goodwill wasn’t going to put me back on the path of hogging out for the rest of my life. To think I’d come so far in the past few weeks. OK, days.

If I couldn’t even be disciplined months away from my wedding, I’d never again be able to lose weight. Don’t get me wrong. It’d taken me years to appreciate my curviness. I had accepted my body, and even learned to love it, most of the time. The extra weight was now mainly a health issue. And if I let go now, eating literally my weight in my favorite foods, I’d be back to square one again. But damn, it sure smelled good. Well, maybe just one bite. After all, he’d said it was low-calorie, right?

As I chewed, a sensation of sheer stupor followed by a familiar sense of happiness linked to the memory of my grandmother filled me as my tongue rolled around in what could only be described as bliss. I moaned, and Alberto grinned.

‘Whatisthis?’ I tried to ask, but my mouth didn’t want to swallow and thus relinquish this culinary miracle nestling in my mouth.

As Paul dug into his own and groaned, his eyes reflected his own happiness, also caused, might I say, by the not unpleasant view of our chef.

Alberto smiled. ‘Tiny pasta satchels of Parma ham, eggplant and pistachio sauce with a sprig of mint. Do you like?’

I closed my eyes and waved my hand in a circle in the typical Italian gesture that meantAh-mazing.

‘Good,’ he said, his eyes crinkling in a grin, and I hoped Paul would never let this genius out of his sight.

All this flavor and not one ounce of fat? He was too precious to ever let go of!

As Paul continued to eat up Chef Veronesi with his eyes, waiters served us the three pasta, polenta and risotto dishes followed by the fish, chicken and veal entrées. Even the salads and vegetables were works of art. And the fruit salad, drizzled with balsamic vinegar from Modena? Untellable joys.

‘Assaggia, try it, taste,’ Chef Alberto coaxed me as I raised my ignorant eyebrows and let him spoon some of it into my mouth, taken by surprise.

The result? Wow. Jesus. The guy could cook. I had to find another way to bind him to us forever. Because, by the way, he didn’t look particularly interested in any of Paul’s sexual innuendos.

So about an hour later, after he’d shown us pictures of how the food would be presented, we agreed to sign a contract and, not without reluctance, got back into the car.

‘So, what do you think?’ Paul rubbed his hands once we were on our way back home.

‘He’s fabulous, of course,’ I admitted. ‘You have to get him on board with your business.’

‘I told you! I love him. And I’m going to marry him by the end of the year! Mark my words…’

I hesitated. ‘Paul, I gotta be honest. I’m not getting the gay vibe at all.’

He winked. ‘Ye woman of little faith.’

I rolled my eyes. My friend, ever the optimist.

‘Don’t laugh. You know I always get what I want. It’s only a matter of time.’

Was it really only that? Was everything that easy? You want the straight guy and he suddenly surrenders to the other team (it wouldn’t be the first time Paul’s transformed a man)? You want to get married and suddenly the man of your life has set a date he’ll actually be able to keep? You want to lose weight and… Shazam – done? It just didn’t happen like that in life.

The next day, while I was baking (the kids still had to eat, even if I was on a diet, right? Plus, licking the bowl didn’t officially count), Julian padded into the kitchen.

‘I’ve got great news, Erica. From now on, I won’t be traveling to the States so much.’

Which was a huge thing for me, as last year alone he’d made twenty-six trips to promote his new book. I put my cake mix down.

‘Hallelujah! How did you manage that?’

He grinned. ‘I found a European publicist I’d like to have over for a bit, if that’s OK?’

Nowthatwas a great idea. ‘Fantastic. Bring him. I’ll get the guest room next to your study ready.’

‘Her. Her name is Sienna. Sienna Thornton-Jones.’

‘Like the chocolates?’ I offered.

---