Page 93 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Did you do what I asked?’ I breathed when he hung up.

He raised his eyebrow at me as if to say,get real, will you?

‘Sorry, Paulie. I’m just nervous.’

‘Of course you are. You’re risking everything you worked for all your life. God knows it’s necessary.’

‘Thanks. That sure makes me feel confident.’

Paul wrapped his arm around a sleepy Maddy in the back seat and kissed her cheek with a tenderness equaled only by Julian himself. My poor, poor kids. Crazy, crazy Mommy. Crazy to think it would work. Even Paul seemed doubtful. What the heck was I doing? Had I completely lost it?

*

We were in Boston ten hours later, where Julian was scheduled to have a book signing – precisely, thanks to Sienna, at The Farthington, my former kingdom from my hotel management days.

According to Paul, it had been my name and not Sienna’s that had thrown the doors open. I still had a solid reputation here after three years. I only hoped I wouldn’t kill it in the space of an embarrassing three minutes.

I took a deep breath and glanced around. It looked the same. The Chippendale furniture, the walls, the paintings. Even Mr. Farthington was still going strong, his shock of white hair as stark as ever. Lesley and Lindsay’s peroxide manes hadn’t changed, either, and Jackie was now sitting behind the very desk that used to be mine.

Just wandering around the offices and the hallowed halls of my former domain brought everything back – the sense of power that my job had given me – a feeling I was trying to revive ever since we’d opened A Taste of Tuscany. Memories of flooded hotel rooms, broken boilers, rats, a dying prostitute and even a cat fight flashed through my mind.

And I remembered my daily fights at home with Ira. I’d been so miserable in that marriage and it had almost ruined everything else – my children’s happiness, my finances and my health. I couldn’t go through that again. This time, I’d do everything it took. My family and my marriage were my priority.

Let A Taste of Tuscany fall apart – who cared? Let the whole damn building crumble into the valley. But not my loved ones. They needed me and not my personal business success. I was ready. Or as ready as I’d ever be. With nothing left to do but pray, I swallowed back the terror threatening to choke me and took a deep breath. And, sending up a silent prayer, I pushed through the double doors.

Julian was in the next room, buried by piles of copies of his book, handsome and completely unaware that I’d been standing on the other side of the wall, the threshold between our present and future. Only ten hours ago I was in my own home, crying my eyes out, hopeless and desperate. Now, I was standing here with my heart on my sleeve, in my mouth, in Julian’s hands. Well, at least that was the plan.

But what if it didn’t work? What if he still didn’t believe me (which was very probable at this point)? What if he really didn’t want me anymore? He was right – I had changed from the Erica he’d proposed to. All these months I’d acted crazily. First, with my obsession with the B & B, working all hours and forgoing all things family-related, as if the only thing that mattered was my personal success. And then with my lack of support for his career.

Never once had I cheered him on like I should have, always doubting Sienna’s good faith. And his. I’d doubted Julian just because I’d lacked self-confidence. And I’d believed he could only love me if I continued being the businesswoman he’d met, the one who was afraid of nothing and no one.

And, worst of all, when his interest in the farmhouse had become second to his career, I’d started to resent him. I’d made the very mistake that Ira had made and that had led, among other things, to our divorce. When would I learn? Was it too late?

My heart was about to explode. I could still see him through the open door, could hear every inflection of his voice as he spoke to Sienna, and I could almostfeelhis muscles flexing under his shirt as he forced a laugh at something she said. I’d made him miserable.

‘Thanks for fitting this in, Julian,’ Sienna said as she began to pull copies of his latest book off a nearby table and pile them onto the corners of his signing table.

He shrugged. ‘Yeah, no biggie.’

‘Terry’s off sick and has asked me to deal with your American book signing,’ she said, as per our plan.

‘What are all these flowers for?’ I heard him ask, lips tight again.

‘Right… About that… Sorry – there’s a wedding here later,’ she explained.

His face fell. ‘Oh.’

‘What is it, Julian?’ Sienna said. ‘You look like absolute shit.’

Julian shrugged, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

‘You can tell me. Am I not your super-duper agent who has your well-being at heart?’

Julian made another attempt to smile, but I could tell it wasn’t working. What had I done to the poor guy?

‘This,’ he said softly, ‘is where Erica used to work.’

‘And? Something you want to tell me?’

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