Page 27 of Storm in a D Cup

‘Absolutely! It pushes my stock up!’

‘Oh, get over yourself, you pig,’ Maddy hissed. ‘You think someone like supermodel Genie Stacie is even going to look at a slob like you?’

Julian grinned at me, then turned to Maddy. ‘Language, my little lady,’ he whispered and Maddy turned pink. ‘Sorry, Dad. It’s just that Mom drives me crazy.’

‘Likewise. Now go get ready for your ballet class. And you two, go wash up. We don’t want a diva to see the real us,’ I said, pushing her and the boys out of the kitchen like a good old Italian mamma. Although I knew Genie Stacie had seen the real Julian – all of him.

Ten minutes later, I grabbed my bag, flew down the stairs and opened the car door as Maddy plunked herself next to me in a huff and we took off down our squiggly private road that led to Castellino, my mind still on bloody Genie Stacie.

Just when I thought I’d managed to be what I wanted to be – a mother and a housewife who had time to cook and didn’t have to worry about wearing a suit to work. And just when I had started to get comfortable in my own skin in my new life, I was expected to compare with bloody Genie Stacie.

The hours dragged by. Deciding what to wear hadn’t been a problem for me in the last seven years. It was pretty simple – sundresses from the market and flip-flops when it was warm, jeans when it was cold. Oh, and tracksuits around the house, for when I’m cleaning or cooking (which is practically always). So what could I wear now in the presence of my daughter’s teen idol and my husband’s former lover that wouldn’t melt me right into the background?

When I got home I thumbed through my unutilized wardrobe, having thrown all my old American stuff away – business suits and post-diet outfits, but still considered as plus sizes made in Italy.

My beautiful green Krizia jersey dress looked like my best option, but it was too pretty, making me look like I was trying too hard. How about my black dress? For God’s sake, could I do any worse? It hadI don’t know what else to wearall over it, like I had no imagination. Truth be told, all the imagination on earth wouldn’t find me the right dress. Because there wasnothingI could wear that wouldn’t make me look like a complete nobody next to her. I sighed. In one afternoon I’d morphed from a happy-ish, satisfied and confident woman into an insecure teenager all over again. There went years and years of killing every single one of my demons. And now they were back, in the flesh of Genie Stacie, a model I hardly knew existed, like all those dolls inhabiting fashion magazines.

So at a quarter to six, I put on a brave smile, or at least I tried to, but I ended up baring my teeth like I used to in my pre-Julian, pre-Tuscany days. Luckily, in a few hours’ time this would be over and Genie Stacie out of our lives once and for all. Or so I’d thought…

*

Of course she arrived in a Lamborghini sports car wearing a pink-colored mini-dress that looked like a baby doll nightie. She wore no bra and I suspect not even any panties, so seamless was her perfect butt. I noticed because she had her back to me as she threw herself at Julian, the skimpy dress riding high up her thighs, her nonexistent belly against his. Boy, she was a tall thing. Even taller than me.

‘Oh, my God, Julian, I missed yousoooo muuuch!’ she cried, her shrill voice piercing my eardrums from where I was standing – I couldn’t imagine what it did to Julian’s. But he smiled and released himself from her grip, holding his arm out to me.

She looked just like the blonde in Julian’s novel, or at least the image I’d formed in my mind.Bloody hell.This was Chastity’s reincarnation. The image that Julian had worked around, all this time. The taut, Brazilian butt.

‘Genie Stacie, this is Erica.’

‘Oh, Julian, it’s so typical of you to hire local help! Does she speak English?’

Julian glanced at me and I managed, in the end, to close my mouth that had dropped open in shock. ‘Uh, actually, Erica is my wife.’

She turned to look at me and then laughed. ‘Very funny, Julian!’

Thirty seconds and she had already managed to piss me off royally. After I’d mentally torn her face to shreds, I mustered something next to a smile and said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Genie Stacie. Welcome to our home.’

She put her hand to her mouth and said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought—’

‘Never mind. Come in,’ I said, and turned back into the house, Julian and Genie Stacie behind me.

‘Oh, what a beautiful kitchen!’ she exclaimed, running her hands over the black granite counter.

Julian smiled. ‘All Erica’s doing. And this here is the hearth – it’s really old but it works perfectly.’

‘Look at it! It’shuge,’ Genie purred, batting her eyes at him to make sure he’d got herdouble entendre. I think even the hearth got it, along with every other inanimate object in there.

Julian coughed. ‘Well, er – Erica likes to cook and we often have guests. You could fit an entire cow in there, actually.’

‘Yes, you could fitherin there, too!’ she pseudo-whispered to him with a giggle and pranced off. My jaw dropped again. I couldn’t have heard correctly. There was no way an educated (?) woman would purposely offend her host. Right? I eyed the knife block on the counter, then her departing back and wondered if it wasn’t too late to take up knife-throwing as a new hobby, using her narrow back as a target.

Julian cleared his throat and moved on into the living room, standing near the open fireplace. As I followed, I glared at him, then at her, crossing my arms in front of my bovine udders, daring her to continue with her cow comments.

And Julian – how dare he not eventryto defend me! He continued his tour of the house so I had no choice but to follow them stonily around to the dining room where an old picture of a cow grazing in the Tuscan countryside hung above the sideboard. I could only wait to see what kind of comment she’d come up with, but Julian steered her away from it as if it bore some horrific truths he couldn’t deal with.

The fact that pissed me off most was that Genie Stacie in person was just as gorgeous as in the magazines. And just as glamorous. She was indeed a knockout. As in,I’dgladly knock her out, teeth and all. This was going to be a very, very long dinner.

*

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