Page 49 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘You son of a gun,’ Paul breathed, slack-jawed as we continued to watch. ‘You did it again, Erica.’

Yep, I sure had. Now, the Cascianis would be a bit too busy recuperating their own reputation to continue messing with ours. Now, we were even. Good thing Julian was away until tomorrow. I knew he’d eventually find out and then there’d be, if you’ll pardon the pun,hellto pay.

But please don’t get the wrong idea. Julian and I always told each other everything. But this time, I thought he wouldn’t understand just how important it was for me to defend and hold my own. He’d never been in a situation where he was financially in danger. So I’d had to do my bit.

As expected, the Cascianis claimed they’d had no part in it (except for milking the ‘miracle’, I thought with a snort) and that, to demonstrate their goodfaithand that they had nothing to do with the hoax, they’d host religious gatherings at a 50 per cent discount. But my experience told me that they’d ruined their reputation and that from now on, they’d have to tread very carefully. Mission accomplished. They’d think twice before financially ruining a family who had done nothing wrong but try to earn their bread honestly by offering wholesome family vacations.

The next morning, without any fuss at all, Margo delivered a beautiful chestnut foal which Julian, upon Maddy’s suggestion, named Gracie.

She was smaller than expected, but the vet said she would be just fine. Julian and the kids spent the entire morning in Margo’s stall fussing over the pair while I returned to my laptop and continued my research. Things were finally on the up and up again!

Having been a kick-ass hotel manager half my life, I refused to be stumped by my own B & B. I had done everything according to the book (heck, I had written that book!). My communication with our guests before, during and after their stay was spot on. The interior design was superb by the highest standards, as were the mattresses and bedding. We were friendly and available round the clock without being intrusive.

We provided treats and essentials like boutique-brand toiletries. We supplied a bottle of our own (amazing) wine with every booking. We provided free picnic hampers. Huge breakfasts. Blended mixes of coffee.

As far as the heart of the trade was concerned – reviews – our website was packed with them, and they were all five-star. Just like those VIP hotels. And that’s when something inside me clicked and the cogs in my mind started spinning. That was it– a new version of A Taste of Tuscany that would distance us miles from our rivals. A deluxe version.

I sent Julian a text.

‘Honey, get your little black book out.’

To which he immediately answered. ‘I threw that away when I met you, love.’

‘Aww, that’s so sweet. But I’ve got an idea that’ll put us back on the map with a vengeance.’

Two seconds later he videocalled me. It was early morning and his hair was a mess, but he still looked divine.

‘Julian,’ I breathed like a love-sick teenager. Who, incidentally, had plans to run the most successful, former B & B. Which would become a boutique hotel. And the best in the entire region. Possibly by noon, or sooner, depending on the recipient’s internet signal.

‘Hi, love! What’s cooking in that beautiful head of yours?’

‘Hi honey! Can you do me a favor? I need you to text your jet-set buddies this message:Exclusive Tuscan farmhouse lettings only for the filthy rich who want total privacy.We’ll be totally elitist and affluent. No more families with six kids swinging from the chandeliers and crawling up the walls. Just your rich friends who can spread the word to even richer friends.’ Our rivals would be eating our dust.

‘I like it!’ Julian agreed.

‘Tell them we are open for bookings starting from today.’

‘Will do, sweetheart! What a great idea!’

‘Thank you! And oh! Tell them, BYOH.’

‘BYOH?’

‘Bring your own housekeeper. For free. The filthy rich are just looking to spend their money in ways that show just how rich they are, but they never want to spend a dime on their staff.’

Julian laughed. ‘I know, what’s with that! Erica, honey, this is going to work big time!’

‘Of course it’ll work. From now on, we’ll be all about exclusivity. As Basil Fawlty from Fawlty Towers put it, “No riff-raff.”’

‘I am so proud of you, Erica.’

‘Oh! I totally forgot to tell you,’ I blurted. ‘Tasting Tuscany? I went there!’

‘What, again? Oh, honey, you promised.’

I shook my head. ‘No, you don’t understand. My aunts and I were looking for Nonna Silvia’s farmhouse.’

‘Ri-ight…?’ he said cautiously.

---