Page 76 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

I could smell his skin, feel his muscles move under his shirt. Damn cheating Julian. Years dedicated to building a life together. Years of my kids calling him dad and he’d splurged on the best champagne and a deluxe hotel suite for his lover?

‘We’re not all like that. Here, have some Chianti – it’ll warm you.’

I took a sip and instantly felt better. Wine always did it for me.

‘What the heck! You might as well taste the other things I made you,’ he said.

I stared at him through a rainfall of tears. ‘You… made me something else?’

‘Of course.’ He sauntered over to the stove and lifted a lid. ‘Here, try this… ravioli stuffed with poached sole in asparagus and basil sauce.’

‘Mmm,’ I swooned and smiled despite myself. Was there nothing this guy couldn’t cook?

The wine was making me feel better, warm and fuzzy all over. I wasn’t feeling any pain at all. Above us, copper pots gleamed, like a galaxy of suns, reflecting the light from the log fire. It was warm and comfy and easy. I could stay here forever and not have to worry about all the pressure closing in on me from a million different directions. The failing B & B that was still empty, my dead relationship with my stepmother, Julian – who seemed more and more distant with each passing day – and even Paul turning on me.

‘What man wouldn’t already consider himself lucky with you waiting for him when he gets home?’ he murmured.

Of course that all depended on what time he got home and if he actually came home every night, as opposed to my man, who returned, if I was lucky, twice a month. And now I knew why.

‘Ah, you’d be surprised, Alberto.’

He looked at me, his eyelids heavy with alcohol. He was so kind, so sweet, so protective. Like Julian used to be.

I closed my eyes and sighed sadly, longing for Julian to love me the way he used to, remembering his warm body against mine, his breath on my face as he leaned in… cupping my chin and delicately tasting my mouth…

But when I opened my eyes, I only saw Alberto. Alberto was kissing me, like really kissing me, with his eyes closed, his hands in my hair, really going for it.

I broke off the kiss and gently but firmly pushed him away so that it was very clear –Valdinievolewhite wine clear – that it wasn’t happening. Not now, not ever.

What the hell had happened to me? Had I literally lost touch with reality for a moment while daydreaming about Julian? And that was how long it took to let Alberto, or any man,kissme? I jumped to my feet as if the floor had caught fire.

I’d kissed another man! Well, OK, technically, he’d kissed me, but I’d let him. And all this time, hadn’t I gone along with the flirting, albeit thinking it was extremely harmless? And that it had been a long time since a good-looking guy had paid me that one-of-a-kind type of attention. If Julian found out, he’d be devastated. Not to mention Paul. I’d just committed a double betrayal.

‘I have to go,’ I whispered, looking for my bag, which I finally found on top of the counter where I’d let him feed me some gorgeous non-diet food.

I’d actually cheated not twice, but several times over – Julian, Paul, the kids who depended on me, and finally, my diet. ‘Kiss the cook’ had just taken on a whole new meaning.

‘Are you OK?’ Alberto whispered back, rising to touch my arm, but I moved away, even if it was too late.

Way too late. I’d kissed another man. Someone who wasn’t my Julian. On the other hand, Julian was booking a suite with someone else. And he’d said he’d cherish me until his dying day.

‘Erica?’ said Alberto, his shirt hanging out of his jeans, his hands still outstretched in a request to have me there. ‘Are you OK?’

This was surreal. A lifetime of male drought and suddenly, it was raining men from every direction, when all I wanted was one man. My man. Who wasn’t here. I hugged myself, suddenly cold with the knowledge of what I’d done, and tried to take deep, long breaths.

‘No, um, I’m OK. I’m sorry, Alberto, but you… I have to go.’

His head dropped as if I’d sliced his neck open. ‘The wine, the fire… it was just—’

‘I know,’ I said hastily, already halfway across the kitchen.

‘I never meant to—’

‘I know. It’s OK.’

‘It’s just that… you’re so beautiful, so intelligent and passionate.’

The same things Julian used to say to me, once upon a time. But not anymore. Now, he was probably saying those words toher, Sienna crappy Thornton-Jones.

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