Page 50 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

He knew me well by now, I had to give him that.

‘Well, we were driving along because obviously, Zia Maria, being the eldest, remembers how to get there and bam – it was the same bloody place!’

Julian’s eyes widened. ‘Tasting Tuscany is the old Bettarini Farm?’

‘Yes! I mean, what are the odds, right?’

‘And knowing you, this actually means something, right?’ he ventured.

I shrugged. ‘It has to.’

He snorted. ‘Of course.’

I ignored his sarcasm. ‘Although I haven’t got a clue what it means.’

‘Maybe it means nothing, Erica, and it’s just a coincidence.’

‘A coincidence? You know I don’t believe in those, Julian.’

He cocked his head. ‘You sound like a cop.’

‘In this day and age, I’ve had to become one,’ I defended myself, but Julian kept watching me, shaking his head, knowing there was more but afraid to find out exactly what. ‘And you know what the climax of the afternoon was?’

‘You bumped into the Cascianis and kicked them all the way down the hill?’

I wish. Although they should be just about going nuts.

‘No, of course not, silly. We found something my dad has recently carved into a tree trunk. E+E=E. Edoardo plus Emanuela equals Erica.’

Julian grinned at me. ‘Romantic and nostalgic.’

‘I know!’

His face softened at my joy. ‘You should never doubt how important you are to your father, sweetheart.’

‘I know he loves me, but I never knew just how deeply, you see? Anyway, we had a look round for old times’ sake…’ And then I’d hatched my plan.

‘You had a look around and…?’ he prompted, fearing the worst.

How well he knew me.

‘And that’s it.’

He visibly relaxed. ‘Good girl. I’m proud of you. So from now on, no more stunts, right?’

‘No more stunts from now on. I promise you, Julian.’ Meaning, what I’d done was done, and no one really needed to know except for Paulie and me.

‘I trust you, sweetheart,’ he whispered.

And that was that. I really meant it. From now on, no more stunts. It would be just like before: me and my incredible business acumen.

My super brainstorm saw results in the time it took for Julian to send his blanket text to his jet-setter friends dying to spend their money on the best that life could offer them. I had asked him to omit the names of the other recipients for privacy.

Operation Boutique Hotel had an immediate effect, as within ten minutes, booking requests started pouring in like a sudden rainstorm. Eva Santos, the famous tennis champion. Eric Bradley, the Hollywood action movie star. Amina Woodruff, the famous novelist. And at least five of Julian’s former team mates, all requesting a minimum stay of three weeks each. I dashed to my laptop, answered the requests with a warm welcome letter containing a link to the website and pulled up the calendar to do a dummy run with the dates. We were now a few confirmation texts (and deposits, thank you very much) from being fully booked all summer and well into October. Thanks to one simple but brilliant idea, and Julian’s contacts, we were already back in the black! Erica Cantelli, ass-kicker extraordinaire, welcome back!

11

Biblical Vengeance

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