Page 95 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘What the f…!’ he cried under his breath, and for the life of me I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Was it good? Bad? Confusing? I could still work with confusing.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

With a desperate but silent prayer, I closed the distance between us and stood directly under his shocked gaze. Well, shock was better than hatred, right? I swallowed hard and took a deep breath as raw emotion burned up my throat, seeping through to my face and into my ears.

This was it. My whole life, the kids’ well-being, our future –everything– depended on how he reacted now. Assuming I’d make it to the end of this alive, because let me tell you, the way my heart was jackhammering its way through my rib cage, I thought it would pop out of my dress and straight into Julian’s hands any second.

‘Julian!’ I babbled. ‘I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I love you and I want to make it up to you!’

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t looking too good from where I was standing (shaking), but I soldiered on. It was do or die. I licked my lips.

‘To show you how much I love you, Maddy and Warren and I are ready to move back to Boston – or London or Liverpool or Budapest or the North Pole, wherever you want – to be closer to you.’

Silence.

‘Because you, dear Julian… are all that matters to us. Forget… forget Tuscany, the B & B –everything.’ For emphasis, I sliced my hand like a karate champion in a definitive gesture, barely aware of the bouquet of calla lilies flying out of my hand.

But Julian’s eyes registered it before they swung back to my face, trying to understand what I was babbling on about and probably how on earth I’d come up with something so stupidly crazy. I dared a step closer, both my (sweaty) hands on my heart.

‘All I want is to be with you, Julian. And for you to believe me. I’m not pregnant and I didn’t cheat on you. I love you with all my heart. That’s all I can say. And having said it, will you please marry me? Here? Now?’

But he just stood there as if I’d hit him over the head.

‘I-I got a dress, see? It’s not Italian, but it’ll do. As a matter of fact, we don’t have to have anything to remind us of Italy, or the past…’ I swiped at my face, aware of the foundation coming off in chunks under my tears, but I couldn’t care less. ‘No flowers, no big dinner, nothing. I’ve wanted to be your wife ever since you killed that spider and tore my clothes off in the ladies’ room almost three years ago. I was yours already then and I still am. No one else’s, Julian. And that’s the truth.’

Julian was silent and my heart contracted into a tiny ball and fell to the pit of my stomach. And then finally, he shook his head, his eyes solemn.

‘Please – don’t say anything yet,’ I begged him before he could say no. ‘Think about it. But could you make it snappy? I’m going to have a coronary any minute.’

Still, he was silent. And just like before death, my whole life with him flashed before my eyes: the time I’d walked into his office with my horrible burlap coat and fallen off my chair, the ever-so-slow courting, the time he saved me from Ira’s violent wrath, our first kiss, the first time we made love. The time I’d waited for him at his house stark naked on a chaise longue and he’d arrived with his mother. There had been so much love between us. I hadn’t known so much love could even exist between two people.

I caressed his face with my fingertips, trying to bring back that love – and the comradeship that had once upon a time made us special.

‘Please, Julian,’ I whispered. ‘I did some crazy things. But I did them because I was afraid of not being good enough for you. All I want is you, Julian.’ I swiped at my cheeks as my voice took a fall. And I laughed. ‘I’ve even been offered my old job back.’

But Julian just stared at me standing in my wedding dress. OK. This was getting awkward. I didn’t expecttotalsilence.

‘Erica…’

He sighed unhappily, and I caressed his beloved face once more, possibly for the last time ever, sobbing like a leaking faucet. What was a little groveling compared to a life without his love?

‘If there’s any bit of love left in you for me, Julian…?’

He sighed and walked away from me to the door. Was he leaving the room or just going to close the door? I had a fifty-fifty chance, so when he reached the door, I held my breath.

If he left, I wouldn’t pursue him. If you love somebody, set them free and all that. But if he was onlyclosingthe door, that meant I had – well, still a 50 per cent chance, but I’d be damned if I didn’t make the most of it.

He – yes, thank you, God! – closed the door and turned to me, coming back to stand in the same spot, his eyes disappointed but kinder than in the last few times we’d argued.

‘Erica.’

Ho, boy.

‘I don’t want to leave our life in Italy. And for the record, despite all your shenanigans and schemes, I never stopped loving you. Never…’

‘What?’ I squeaked. ‘You mean…?’

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