Page 66 of The Husband Diet
‘I told you - my real mother was Italian and I feel I’ve missed out on so much while growing up. You’re a real Italian. Would you do that? It would mean so much.’
It also meant a form of commitment. Would I spend hour after hour while Italian food slowly cooked in my oven, this delicious man standing by my side? Is the pope an old geezer? He was asking me if I minded having it all. Being happy. All I wanted was to be around him, bask in the heat of his sensuality, laugh at his jokes. Be his woman.
Was that what he’d asked me? Was I his woman? I had his house key, didn’t I? And now he wanted me to teach him to cook Italian food. He wanted to learn my culture, to appreciate it. Ira could never have cared less, but Julian was finding ways for us to spend more and more time together. Was he really ready to take me on… in a real relationship? Was he ready for commitment? Was I?
And what about Tuscany? I couldn’t forgo that, never in a million years. Maybe I was building all this up in my mind. Something that was turning out to be too deep for me. A fling was what I needed, not to be salivating after a guy like Julian. Why didn’t I just take what life gave me instead of trying to have it all at the same time?
Because for twelve bloody years I’d missed out on so much happiness, that’s why. And, dammit, didn’t I deserve some happiness? But standing before this beautiful man, I didn’t want to ruin whatever this was we had.
I swallowed. ‘Learning to cook takes a lot of time. Are you sure you can spare it? I mean, you’d be spending hours on end with me.’
‘I already spend every night with you.’
I looked up, confused, and he grinned.
‘I lie awake at night thinking about you.’
‘Sold,’ I grinned back, and he leaned over and kissed me.
Smack dab in the middle of The Farthington kitchen crawling with my staff. How was that for commitment?
23
Birthday Suit (Stilettos and Panties)
The day before my birthday I decided to give myself a little carefree present, precisely a pair of red stiletto heels and a pair of lace panties, just like Ira’s lover. Only my target wasn’t Ira. It was to be able to have sex playfully, not just as a chore as it had been with Ira. No, from now on there would be fun in my (or Julian’s) bed. To hell with my good resolutions about finding another guy. I didn’t want anyone else.
I pulled out my old trench coat to make sure it didn’t smell like mothballs, my heart beating like a schoolgirl’s. I knew it was cheesy, maybe even ridiculous, but played right it could be fun. I’d always wanted to do something like this, but Ira never let me get away with it.
But, if I could start off my relationship with Julian on a sexy, playful note, I’d already have a better relationship than I’d ever had with my husband. If Julian was game, I was home free. And if not, simple – the kids could still be happy at a new school!
*
Of course I had some back-up clothes in the car, but for now, I wrapped the trench coat tightly around me and rang Julian’s doorbell. His jeep wasn’t there, but I rang all the same out of courtesy. After all, it was his house. Nothing. I bent to fit the key around my neck into the lock, punched in the code and stepped over the threshold.
My feet, still blistered from the other night, were killing me already with the new shoes. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wear them until he got back… I shrugged out of my coat and looked in the hall mirror, my naked breasts glowing white in the dying light.
‘You have completely lost it, lady,’ I said to the woman in the mirror, and burst into a hysterical laughter.
I wasn’t a raving beauty, but Julian was right – I did have beautiful breasts and my curves were generous. I liked generous. He liked generous. So why was I so friggin’ panicky? Wasn’t this what I’d always wanted?
I found a beautiful chaise by one of the living room windows – a room we’d bypassed on my first visit – and adjusted myself on it like a Hollywood star. Waxed within an inch of my life and as fresh as a rose, I leaned back, my too-tight stilettos dangling from my toes, my long hair all on one shoulder, looking sultry and relaxed on the outside while on the inside I was having multiple mini-strokes by the minute.
There was still time for me to get up, go home and save my dignity. I didn’t have to go through with it. But I really wanted to. At thirty-five (minus one day), this might well be my last chance to have sex like a young woman without looking pathetic (if I didn’t already). As a sudden wave of panic washed over me, I bolted back to the mirror, checking my B-side and all the other sides to make sure I didn’t have anything gross on me like a major pimple or wart. Was I really doing this? Damn right I was.
I heard a car door close and then recognized Julian’s car alarm bleep. Dashing back into the living room, I slipped my feet (ouch) into my red stilettos and spread myself out on the chaise, saying a silent prayer. It was do or die. I held my breath for my surprise exhibition.
‘Erica?’ he called as he came down the hall.
Shit. My Kia was in the damn driveway, wasn’t it? Some surprise.
‘Sweetie, where are you?’
He appeared on the threshold, still as a rock, his jaw dropping open, speechless. Which was the effect I’d been going for. But in the slanting rays of the sunset, I made out another figure. A woman. When realization hit, I screamed and dashed behind the chaise longue, lacy butt momentarily exposed, clutching at the upholstered back like a drowning woman to a raft in the storm. Julian had brought awomanhome? Why the hell had he given me his key, then? They both stared at me with enormous eyes and the silence was so thick, you could have cut through it with a knife.
‘Erica?’ he choked, then coughed politely. ‘I, um, this is my mother, Maggie Foxham.’
His mother? Hismother? Wanting to fall through the floorboards, I stuck my head out from behind the back of the chaise just long enough to show half my face and raised my hand. ‘Hello, Mrs. Foxham, it’s so…niceto meet you. Sorry about the… ah…’ And then I simply shut up. What would you have said?
