Page 19 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘I’m not interested in anything less, Nina! Now get your ass in gear and let me know!’ And with that, she hung up and smiled. ‘Sorry about that. Just give her an hour or so.’

‘Nina is Sienna’s assistant,’ Julian explained.

‘Not for long if she doesn’t pull her socks up,’ Sienna added, reaching for some more dessert. ‘That was, Erica, hands down, the best meal I’ve had in ages. Possibly ever, come to think of it. Thank you.’

Now who could resist such a gracious compliment?

My smile ran from ear to ear, while inside I was already worrying how comfortable I would honestly be with my man working elbow to elbow with this total beauty. Next to her I looked like the maid, even though I’d managed to change into a nice dress (one of my best, actually) and put on some make-up. Which the waxing session had readily erased, what with my watery eyes.

After dinner she offered to help me clean up, but when I declined, she turned to Julian.

‘Right, then! Shall we get this show on the road?’

‘You must be knackered, though?’ Julian asked dubiously.

And then I remembered I’d made up the bedroom next to Julian’s study, so he and his publicist could work way into the night.

‘Knackered? Nonsense! What do you think they call me Super Sienna for? Come on,’ she coaxed, linking her arm into Julian’s. ‘I need a nice brisk walk to burn all those calories Erica has piled into me,’ she added, flashing me a wink as I cleared the table.

How ironic that none of the food she’d just wolfed down would stick to her perfect body, whereas mine would hang onto every single calorie of my miserable string beans and sole like a drowning man to a raft. But none of that was her fault. She had a healthy relationship with food.

Me, not so much. After all these years, I still saw food as ambivalent. It was in my eyes both a weapon and an act of love. An enemy, but at the same time, my emotional crutch. Blame my stepmother if you want, for putting me on endless diets as a child. For demonizing my healthy appetite. For making me feel guilty for not being a size 4 like her. For not loving me enough because I wasn’t her child, but at the same time being too strict with me.

According to my shrink back in Boston, withdrawing food from me had been her strongest weapon. Because to me, food was a comfort. Because my Nonna Silvia and my aunts had cooked for us as a sign of love. The love that I never got from my own mother. It was no wonder I was screwed up as a kid. As a grown woman, I realized I had to come to terms with all this. I had to learn to see food as a true Italian, part of life and one of its joys. Nothing to be punished for.

I had one hell of a journey ahead of me.

5

The Erica of Yesteryear

It turned out, after all the initial niceties, that Sienna wanted to dominate, although she did it subtly. ‘We’re going to have some late nights of Atlantic phone calls in the next few days, Julian. Better go easy on the pasta from now on,’ Sienna would suggest, and he’d instantly push his plate away, still half-full, not even giving it a second thought, while I watched, gobsmacked. How the hell did she do it? When I asked him to do something, he’d smile and then take days to do it. Did I mention he’s the worst procrastinator ever?’

And then, the next morning, I realized Julian hadn’t come to bed.At all. And he criticized me for burning the midnight oil trying to save our business? How long had that set of Atlantic calls lasted, for Christ’s sake? Did they call every single reader in the North American continent? And what could be so interesting as to keep him away from our bed all night? I didn’t dare imagine them, heads together, working away (one hopes) into the depths of the night on some hush-hush agenda I’d never be privy to because they weren’t revealing anything until it was black on white. Not even to me.

And I only had to thank myself for putting Miss Sienna Thornton-Jones in the guest room next to his study. Where, by the way, there was a nice black leather couch. Which was probably the only stick of furniture we hadn’t ‘tried out’ in the two years we’d been here. I wondered why.

Julian came into the bedroom with a yawn just as I was getting up.

‘Morning, babe.’

He looked disheveled, his hair sticking out in every direction and unshaven. He also smelled like an inviting bed. I watched as he opened drawers, pulling out fresh underclothes.

‘So, what do you think of her?’ he asked over his shoulder as he headed for the shower.

Never mind what I think. You seem to have taken to her like a fish to water.And speaking of, this wasourmorning shower time. Why was he starting on his own? We always showered together unless he had somewhere to go early. Like New York. Or San Francisco. Ah. Another busy day with Miss Sienna Thornton-Jones. Apparently, if I didn’t hurry, I’d miss my slot.

Yes, with all her promises of turning him into an international bestselling author again, Sienna Thornton-Jones was the woman of the day. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be for too many days.

Yes, I know. I was being insecure and silly. But for a split second, I couldn’t help those thoughts penetrating my mind.

Julian looked at me as he lathered up and I took off my nightie, anticipating some good ol’ us time. I stepped in next to him and he grinned.

‘So?’ he said.

‘So…’ I grinned back, wrapping my arms around his neck, letting the water drench my hair as he lifted it off my shoulders.Nowhe was talking.

‘What’s your verdict?’

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