Page 27 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘It’s all about who you know here, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘A friend of mine in Milan needed information about her pension plan and couldn’t get any for weeks. Then her cousin started working there and used her connections to get the information.’

‘You see? She shouldn’t have to be related to someone just to get the job done. This is ridiculous.’ I wanted to tear my (or rather, someone else’s) hair out.

Laura observed us for a moment. ‘Let me make a couple of calls. See what I can do. I have your numbers.’ And with that, she climbed back into her Lamborghini and disappeared in a cloud of summer dust.

‘Let it go for now,’ Julian said. ‘We’ll block the availability calendar indefinitely while she does her work and just concentrate on our wedding.’

‘And get married where, exactly? Under a bridge? Or on a park bench? Because we won’t even be able to serve lunch to our own kids if the NAS shut us down. Bam! Did you hear that sound? That was the sound of our doors closing forever…’

He laughed and caressed my hair. ‘Silly sausage.’

‘How can you not be worried?’

‘It’ll be OK. Trust me.’

It’ll be OK, he said. What would it take for me to believe it and relax? Simply wanting to? Oh, how I wanted to. I took a deep breath and against all my instincts, forced a nod as a myriad of new plans started shooting before my eyes like meteorites. Or perhaps it was just me seeing spots because I was sure my blood pressure had raised the roofbeams.

‘OK.’

But it was far from OK. Somewhere some sicko was playing a cruel joke on us and had even gone as far as giving us a fake number to reach them – straight into the lion’s den. A cruel joke with the intent of ruining us. And then I got a flash of a memory of a similar attack on The Farthington Hotel when I used to be the manager. Someone had put a mouse in one of the beds – neatly tucked it in and taken photos.

It had been our rival chain, I’d discovered. But here in Tuscany, especially in the province of Siena, there were hundreds of B & Bs. And I was going to find out who had a beef with us. Who would go so far as to collate false evidence against us? In whose interest would it be to bring us down? Did it have anything to do with that bus company, Etruscan Tours?

Besides, all our guests had always left positive feedback. And then a glimmer of a memory. All of them… except for one couple – an Italian couple – who hadn’t left any feedback at all. I remembered thinking it was odd at the time. It had to be them. Most of our families were English, so this couple had stuck out because Italians normally choose B & Bs with Italian owners. We catered mainly to foreigners.

I remembered them observing the place, taking pictures of themselves in every corner of the property. Julian and I had laughed about it for weeks, posing just about everywhere. Even in front of the kitchen sink, saying, ‘Take one here! This angle is spectacular!’

And now it all finally made sense. They’d been casing the joint before they struck.

I raced up to my study and searched frantically through our records until I found them: Marzia and Davide Casciani. I copied their names onto a Post-it note and ran back downstairs to the kitchen where I’d left my laptop.

‘What did you find?’ Julian asked, the letter back in his hand.

‘The Cascianis!’ I cried, banging their names into the Google search engine.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Cascianis? Oh, yeah, I remember them. The selfie couple. Weird, weren’t they?’ He came to crouch over me with a kiss before he reached into the cabinet for a cup. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

I shook my head, waiting for results to pop up. And when they did, I almost fainted dead away.

‘What…?’ I croaked. ‘It can’t be.’

‘What is it?’

‘They… they own a new bed and breakfast near San Gimignano. And… and…’ If I hadn’t been sitting, I’d have fallen flat on my face. ‘… it’s called… it’s c-called…Tasting Tuscany…’

Julian stared at me over the rim of his coffee cup, then slowly put it down and came to read over my shoulder as I scrolled down to the description and my heart gave a knife-like sideways beat. I recognized every single word of the spiel. Not because it was typical hotel business jargon, but because I’d worked so hard on it.

‘They’re copying us word for word,’ I whispered.

‘Bloody hell. Check their availability calendar.’

I checked and they were booked to the hilt. The opposite of us.

‘Now do you believe me?’ I cried.

Julian had that pensive expression on his face, the one he got when he was on the verge of figuring something out. Which was lucky, as I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

‘Erica, honey, I have a sinking,stinkingfeeling. Remember the bus tour in Castellino?’

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