Page 66 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

He made an impressed face. ‘Ah, you already knew that. But did you know that it’s the birthplace of Pope Pius II?’

I grinned and he grinned.

‘OK, I can tell you know that, too. But did you know, my dear Erica, that Pienza has two very romantic roads?’

Romantic? That caught my attention. I could bring Julian here and maybe, with a bit of luck…

‘Ah-ha,’ he said, his amber eyes twinkling. ‘Here, let me show you.’

And he took my hand and dragged me up another steep street as with my free hand, I tugged surreptitiously at my bra, which seemed to want to give up its fight. I could only hope that it would, if you’ll pardon the pun, hang in there and not give up its fight altogether, especially now.

Higher and higher we climbed, my feet getting heavier and heavier, my breathing reduced to a strangled wheezing. Just as I thought I’d crash onto the cobblestones like a felled bull in a ring, he stopped.

‘This, my beautiful friend, isVia del Bacio.’

‘The street of the kiss,’ I translated rather badly.

It sounded awful in English. Why did Italians make everything sound better? Look and taste better, too? Because Italians were people of love.

‘Exactly. And did you know that there’s also aVia dell’Amore?’

The Street of Love? Whoa.

I looked up at him and he nodded, not letting go of my (sweaty) hand and leading me through a maze of medieval paths (that gave no sign whatsoever of leveling out) winding through ancient stone archways. In two minutes, we were standing under a sign that read, to the point,Via dell’Amore.

He stopped and glanced at me. What? For real? Was he trying it on with me? What about Paul? Not that Alberto had mentioned him all afternoon and whenever I happened to slip in his name, Alberto chuckled and said, ‘Please – no work this afternoon,sì?’

And now he was flirting with me? Had he run out of fodder? Paul would kill Alberto (and me) if I had proof he wasn’t gay. Not that I ever suspected he was. He was just too manly and gruff, in a way. Nor was he the politest guy in the world (I’d seen the way he kicked his staff around). But there was something about him – his boyish arrogance, maybe – that made him almost… well, endearing.

Or, most probably, it was the fact that he’d whisked me away on a carefree day and begun to womanize me for a few hours while I couldn’t get my own groom-to-be to pay some intimate attention to me.

So what if he was flirting? So I kind of flirted back, albeit subtly. Plus, I could handle him easily. He was a classy playboy, nothing like the town playboy, Leonardo Cortini. All they had in common was the type of car they drove.

No, Alberto was an interesting guy, a god in the kitchen. He had an under-the-skin sexiness that got into you after you spoke to him for a while and you realized how soulful he was, with that bitter sense of humor and the gaze that held much more than meets the eye. In another time, another life (and if neither Paul nor Julian existed), I’d have easily fallen for Alberto’s enveloping, protective manner. Of course, I’d have much preferred to be with Julian, but as usual, he wasn’t around.

Alberto ran a hand through the short hair at his nape and removed his denim jacket. Underneath he wore a black T-shirt revealing tribal tats. Oh, bad boy, was he, then?

‘Scusa,’ Alberto suddenly said to a teenager rollerblading by. ‘Ci faresti una foto, per favore?’

A picture? Here, in the Street of Love? Ho, boy. The man was sure pulling out all the stops. A soft thrill traversed me and I kept telling myself it was all in harmless fun. Tomorrow, I’d be back in my own frustrating reality. But for today, I’d sit back and enjoy some innocent banter. It had been such a long time since I’d felt this important in anyone’s eyes.

The teen braked and shoved his cellphone into his back pocket as Alberto pulled out his own phone, pulling me back against the brick wall with the street signVia dell’Amoreabove us.

As the boy waited for the right moment to shoot, Alberto casually put his arm around me, leaning in close to my face. Paul would absolutely kill me if he found out about this outing (or the lack of Alberto’s outing).

‘Grazie. And now,’ Alberto said to me, his arm still slung over my shoulder, ‘for the reason of our trip.’

‘You mean you’re finally going to feed me?’

He looked down at me, his eyes focusing on my face, then grinned. ‘I’m going to feed you, yes.’

‘Cool. Because I’m not on a diet today, in case you were wondering.’ Screw Mr. Clean. Today was a day away from reality.

He opened a door to reveal what looked like a hole in the wall. I shot him a glance before I peered into a large, dark cave, welcoming the coolness inside after my rubber soles had practically melted on the smoldering cobblestones.

‘In there?’ I asked, and he nodded, his eyes twinkling.

‘After you, my lady.’

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