Page 25 of Storm in a D Cup

He looked up at me, surprised, not sure whether I was joking or not. So I put on my‘I’m just kidding’face and rolled my eyes, but he still watched me. Damn, he knew me better than I thought.

‘First of all, I was never in love with her. Not really,’ he said, leaning in to kiss me on the lips. What the heck did that mean? How can younot reallylove someone? Either you do or you don’t. Right?

‘You promise?’

‘I promise. Now let’s go upstairs. Unless you want me to take you on the kitchen floor?’

I batted my lashes like they do in the movies. ‘Maddy and Warren’ll be gone for hours.’

‘Hours it is, then,’ said my tantric husband with a grin as he took the dishcloth from my shoulder and pulled me upstairs. Not that I was complaining.

By midnight we were cuddling, just about to doze off, when Julian whispered to me, ‘Happy Spider Anniversary, Mrs. Foxham.’

‘Happy Spider Anniversary to you, husband,’ I whispered back.

But an hour later, I was still wide awake and no closer to falling asleep. So I got up and went downstairs to make myself some warm milk.

On the kitchen table, there was a copy ofVogue. I had never boughtVoguein all my life, so it was safe to say that it belonged to Maddy. I really needed to push her more toward some quality books.

I leafed through the glossy pages, looking for anything that would hold my interest, but found nothing. Until I found her. Genie Stacie Grant. Model slash actress, typical clichéd blonde bombshell, all legs and no brain.

I looked closer at her butt in the magazine ads. As much as it was perfect, it didn’tquitehave that Brazilian edge I’d imagined. Maybe because of the lack of a tan. But when I flipped the page there she was again, only this time her skin was the color of leather and sand had been strewn down her back, almost a continuation of her long blonde hair that reached her waist, and a bikini thong was shoved between her butt cheeks.Nowthey looked very Brazilian.

All this time. All this time Julian had known her, had cherished the memories of sex with her lithe, lean form while my ripples of fat threatened to bury him like a tsunami wave. Some trade-in.

God Almighty, after all I’d been through, was I here again? Hadn’t I flushed out all my self-doubting, my uneasiness? Hadn’t I worked really hard to be who (I thought) I now was? Apparently this was something I still had to work on. It was like painting the Forth Bridge. Or being Sisyphus rolling that damn boulder up the mountain again, only to see it topple over the other side for the umpteenth time.

8

The Home-wrecker Cometh

‘Genie Stacie? Here in our house? Oh myGod!’ Maddy squealed, jumping up and down. Sookie looked up at her and yapped, happy to see Maddy excited about something for a change. ‘I have to get my hair done! And I need a new dress and—’

‘Hold your horses there, missy,’ I cautioned as I dished up lunch. Four hours to Genie Stacie’s arrival and I was already a wreck. But, like almost always,nowherenear showing it.

‘And Maddy – remember to act your age. She’s not your best friend.’Or mine,I added mentally.

‘But Mo-om! Genie Stacie isthesex icon! She is like, theitgirl! She is sooo—’

Didn’t I know it. Not happy enough withVogue, I’d Googled her, too. And boy was I sorry. For a couple that had only dated briefly, there were way too many pictures of her and Julian as a couple. Parties, award ceremonies, luncheons, dinners, holidays abroad – the works.

And he was all over her; his arm around her non-existent waist, his face in a constant smile. The same smile that had kept me sane all these years. The smile I’d thought had had no past and was just for me. How naïve could I have been?

And then there were just as many photos of her on her own or with the other rogues she’d dated. She was always in the tabloids for her party-going and her men. Tom Jackson had been half decent but even that hadn’t lasted. And now this man-eater was coming to our home, back into Julian’s life.

A shiver ran up my arms and over my neck, making the little hairs on my skin stand up. Whatever it was she needed to see him for, it would not be good. Sure, very often we had writers, actors and actresses staying with us when they wanted total privacy, but this one shared a history with my husband, thus hitting much too close to home.Ourhome.

My absolute favorite romance writer, Elizabeth Jennings, had come to stay with us this week. She was one of the organizers of the Matera Brainstormers writing group.

Originally from a small town in Oregon, she moved to Florence when she was a teenager. Love had sent her to southern Italy where she literally carved out of the rocks what is known today as the Women’s Fiction Festival – an event you have to see to believe.

Writers, publishers, agents and all kinds of media experts from around the world meet in Matera every September to join in the feast of writing, eating, drinking and talking shop.

But it hadn’t always been like that for Elizabeth. After years and years spent traveling and living out of her suitcase as an interpreter and making enormous sacrifices, she was now finally where she wanted to be, free to write from her heart and enjoying every word of it.

I was glad to spend time with her. The first thing she always said when she got through the door was, ‘Ah,Tuscany…’

Drinking a delicious bottle of Pratile IGT Bianco di Toscano from my buddy Rolando Bettarini’s vineyard called Fattoria di Piazzano, we gazed out over the hills to the golden, melting sun.

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