The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (22 page)

I turned to face her and blinked. I was so surprised I didn’t even think to not say, “Is that what he told you? That we weren’t working out?”

At this she looked uncomfortable. “I just want to say no hard feelings. We can still be friends.”

I sighed. The bitch in me was back. “Maxine, little one, this is the fifth time I’ve ever seen you.”

Her face red, she stepped back. “I’m sorry you feel that way. In any case, compliments for your friend last night. Ira told me he’s the principal at Clinton and a former baseball star. He’s very handsome.”

Alarm bells went off. Julian was
my
find. My man. And no one was taking him away from me. Not even Horny Stilettos here. With my hands still full of groceries I managed to point my finger at her. “You stay away from us. I mean it.”

She took another step back, her pretty doe eyes huge. “Wait, Mrs. Cantelli. I came to warn you.”

Warn me? The nerve of this kid! Was she actually that insecure? If so, their relationship couldn’t be much better than ours had been.

My brow shot up and I snorted. “Oh, you won’t be getting any trouble from me. You can keep him.”

She stared at me, a strange expression on her face. Almost earnest. “Mrs. Cantelli, please listen to me. Ira’s decided to go for full custody of Maddy and Warren.”

Down went my potatoes, my detergent, my popcorn and chocolate, one by one, plop, plop, plop, onto the floor, along with my heart. She instantly bent on her thin haunches to retrieve them for me, and I watched the top of her head without really seeing it. Maybe if I could strike out and punch her, she would disintegrate like a mist or fog or something. Maybe I could even send her back to another time, before she was born. Before I was born, and push the
stop
button.

But no, we were both there, the clanging of her charm bracelets enough to make my head explode.

No court on
earth
would award him full custody, not after what he’d done to us. Impossible.

“Mrs. Cantelli, Ira’s determined to keep the kids. I’ve tried to dissuade him. I think you’re a good mother.”

“I’m sure,” I snapped, taking my items from her as if she’d stolen them. “You just don’t want them in your life. Well, that’s one thing we agree on.”

“No, that’s not true. I’m looking forward to spending time with Maddy and Warren and getting to know them...”

My blood pressure must have suddenly hit the roof because I was seeing spots.

“But I also think kids should stay with their parents, particularly with their mothers.” Here was another one of Marcy’s acolytes, God help us.

“My advice is you get a lawyer fast. I won’t tell Ira I told you. I’ll try to stall him in the meantime and convince him to reason.”

And then I think I passed out, because when I opened my eyes there were shelf-loads of hair spray on the ceiling, with Julian under them, his face hovering close to mine.

“Erica? Sweetheart, talk to me—are you okay?”

I scrambled to my feet. “I’ll kill him! He wants my children!”

Julian nodded to Maxine and said, “She’s fine.”

He helped me up. It seemed he was always picking me up, as if I were too heavy to pick myself up. But I wasn’t. Not anymore.

Julian guided me through the throng of people that had cordoned around me and were starting to disperse once the drama was over. For them, at least. For me it was just unfurling.

“Maxine has no interest whatsoever in taking the children away from you.”

“No shit,” I mumbled. “It would ruin her weekends of sex.”

Once outside in the parking lot I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my lawyer. Julian waited quietly as I calmly explained the situation and made an appointment to see him. Then I clicked the phone shut.

“Let me drive you home, then I’ll come back and get my car,” he said softly. I had to admit the guy thought of everything. And that I was still feeling a bit woozy.

“Thanks. Who called you anyway?”

Julian grinned. “Maxine. Ira must have told her where I worked. Seeing that it was an emergency, the school gave her my cell phone number.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope that homewrecker loses your number and stays away from you,” I blurted out without thinking, and he grinned again, taking my arm. I knew we were both surprised at my reaction. Jealous? Protective? After a brief fainting spell, you got to give a girl a break. I didn’t know what I was saying. Or maybe I knew exactly what I was saying…

Chapter 31:

Separate Lives

T
onight I was having my first tango lesson with Julian.

“Hey, look at you,” Julian whistled as I hung my coat on a peg in the dance hall, revealing my Elaine Richman tango dress—with cleavage—and hesitantly faced him on the dance floor. I’d been to Lucy’s Hair Salon too, for one of her special blow-drys that always made me feel pretty and I felt good.

“You look like a million pounds!”

I stared at him and after a moment, probably because of the horrified look on my face, he corrected himself. “I mean dollars. Sorry, I’m still a Brit at heart.” And then he gave me his arm, like a perfect Latin lover, and added, “You’re so sexy, Erica…”

That was enough to make me recover. “I am not,” I laughed, slapping his arm playfully, embarrassed—yet glad he’d noticed—and desperate for more.

He took my hand and spun me before the mirror. “Of course you are. Look at yourself. How can you not know that?”

I did look at myself but got distracted by the beauty of the man holding me. Up close, he seemed bigger. I’m a tall girl but he was at least a head taller than me so my eyes came up to his throat, which was gorgeous, the Adam’s apple covered in just-shaven stubble, giving him that five o’clock shadow surrounding dark-fleshed, well-defined lips that were now curved up in a smile. Aquamarine eyes with golden flecks. Long dark lashes. Perfect nose. Square chin. Delicious.

“Shall we give it a go?” he said. I swallowed and nodded.

“Okay now, people, listen up!” our instructor called. “Gentlemen, put your right hand on the small of your lady’s back. Julian obeyed and I felt my whole spine tingle. “Take her hand in your left one.” Julian did as he was told without pushing up against me like a creep had done once when I’d made the mistake of coming without Paul.

“If your lady is in your height range, there will be a better physical understanding.” I glanced around and realized I was, as always, the tallest woman around.

“No shrimp for me,” Julian murmured with a wink. My whole body was shaking so badly just from having his eyes focused on mine—imagine when he’d have to pull me into a hot tango embrace.

“You there, the tall girl,” the instructor called out.

I turned. “Yes?”

“Don’t stand like you’re terrified of touching him. Your hips have to touch; it’s a love dance, not a soldier’s march. Meld the hips, communicate through your bodies! Tango dance is like sex,” he continued and above me I could feel Julian smile.

“Just pretend you’re alone with him in your bedroom (as if I hadn’t done that a gazillion times) and let yourself go.”

“Okay,” I whispered with a determined huff and a nod.

“And you—husband—”

Julian turned, grinning, enjoying every moment of my discomfort, the cad. “Yes?”

“Hold her a little closer; she won’t break, you know?”

Which was true. I’d passed the dummy crash-test against his headboard several times before.

“That’s more like it. Now ladies, point your toes and push your right leg out, rubbing it against the outside of his thigh—this is when being the same height comes in handy.”

I was nowhere near his height but I can guarantee you my legs found his thigh like it was second nature.

“Good... now gentlemen, when she does that, you tilt her back over your arm and bury your head into her breasts.”

What?

“Like this...” and with that he grabbed his own partner who was wearing a red dress like mine, only so much smaller that it looked like a mere splinter off mine. The girl threw her head back joyously as he lowered his head to her inexistent breasts. If Julian and I did that I’d knock him out with my knockers.

“Bend back, Erica,” Julian whispered as I grabbed his forearms instinctively.

“No—wait.”

He caught me, eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m... too heavy for you,” I said meekly.

“You must be joking,” he chuckled, trying to lean me over again but I resisted, my arms now around his neck. “Please.” It was so humiliating I wanted to cry.

“Sweetie, I’m not going to let you fall. Promise.”

I bit my lip. Could this man really catch me if I fell?

In response, he tilted his head to look into my eyes. “Let me show you something.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

How many tries did I get
, I wanted to ask him.

“Put your hands on my shoulders now, okay?” he said, placing his hands on my waist and I cringed inwardly, more than aware of the flab.

I nodded, cursing last night’s
Cannoli
.

“Look into my eyes,” he whispered and I obeyed as he slowly and delicately lifted me off the floor—at least three feet—until I was looking down at him, clutching at his shoulders for something solid to hold on to.

“See? Easy as pie. I could hold you like this forever.”

“Oh, Julian...” I moaned and reached down to kiss him and as I slid back down his body there was an enormous message for me on my way down. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and—

“Hey—Dirty Dancers,” came the instructor’s voice behind us. “Now put the girl down and save your libido for in-between the sheets, okay?”

Julian put me down with a wink and I could feel my face boiling. He had lifted me. Just like that. And he wasn’t even hyperventilating or anything.

“Trust me to hold you now?” he asked and I instinctively nodded.

“Okay now, ladies and gents, we’re doing this again on three!” the instructor hollered and soon we were learning more steps to string together and he was dipping me backwards, his soft black hair tickling my collarbone as he bent forward, his hand strong and firm as I curved my back backwards. When I came up, I giggled and he smiled at me and lifted me again.

“That’s not part of the steps,” I said and he grinned.

“I just like holding you,” he said with a shrug. “You feel good.”

“You mean I feel abundant.”

“I don’t like bony women. I want to touch as much woman as I can. And you’re the most feminine I’ve ever met.”

“Of course. I’m two for the price of one.”

“What?”

“Ira always said he should’ve traded me in for two size tens.”
Way to go, dummy. Now he knows you were once a size twenty.

He ducked until our foreheads were touching. “I wouldn’t change you for ten size
twos
.”

And with that, he brought me close and kissed the top of my head before letting me slide safely back to my feet, savoring every inch of the way down his body. I was so excited I saw spots. His hand lingered on my back. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

It turned out Julian knew how to tango. Why else would he have agreed if he was going to make a fool out of himself? After our instructor gave us some final pointers and the music began, Julian put one hand at the back of my waist, pulling me up against him but not in a blatant, rude way, and held my hand in position. And I was in his arms, with no place to go and no place to look except into his eyes.

My brain, or what was left of it, registered the familiar masculine scent of his lean body, the feel of his chest underneath his shirt, the whiteness of his teeth, the blue flecks in his green eyes and
all
the stuff we’d done in his bed. A slow flame of panic began to rise inside me. Yes, I was a free woman
now
, but what could happen from his moment on was a mystery to me.

Julian had a raw, primitive sexual pull on me. Forget tango, forget our manners. I wanted him there and then. Who cared if my classmates and instructor gasped at the sight of our writhing, naked and sweaty bodies on the wooden parquet, and at the sound of our pleasure-howls echoing in the dance studio, draining out the loud music? So much for keeping my distance.

But that was my alter ego talking, and not me, because as Julian’s hips gyrated expertly and neared mine, grinning a sexy grin, I feared I wouldn’t be able to cope, but then he whispered, “So far so good. I just hope I don’t step on your dainty little toes with my size twelve hind paws here,” and I giggled.

“You’ve got such a beautiful smile, Erica,” he said. Yep. I was toast, no doubt about it.

And later, under the sheets, or rather, on top of them, I proved it to him.

“Man,” he gritted his teeth, eyes flashing. “You’ve got me totally wrapped around your finger.”

“Have I now,” I drawled as my lips travelled down his chest to deeper darker seas.

“Absolutely. I’d do anything for you, Erica...”

I stopped. Was now the time to mention Tuscany? Hell no, why ruin a perfectly good evening?

To compensate, I passed the dummy crash-test against his headboard that night—several times.

* * *

“I have to show you something.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers as we were lounging around in bed an hour later.

“What’s this? A lawsuit?”

He laughed. “Are you ever serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

“It’s my new book.”

I jumped up. “You’re kidding me!”

“It’s just a rough draft, of course. I pounded it out over the holidays. I figured time without you shouldn’t be a total loss, so...”

“But that’s fantastic! Oh, my God, Julian!”

He let me hug him really tight and plant kisses all over him. “Wait until you read it,” he laughed.

“It’s amazing, I’m positive. Give me that. I’m not stopping until I finish it.”

I slid out of bed and he caught me around the waist. “You’re not planning any breaks?” he murmured into my ear.

“Are you kidding? But if it’s as good as I know it is,” I wrapped my arms around his neck, “you get an extra bonus.”

* * *

It didn’t take all night but man was it
good
. The book, you dirty mind! And it was beautiful. Poignant, funny, honest, sharp, insightful. Just like Julian. Where the hell had I found this man? What had made him what he was today? All I had was the end product, but why did he turn out to be so much better than the average men who burped and farted proudly and always left the toilet seat up? What made him so special?

We discussed his book, made love again, discussed it some more over a midnight snack of leftover lasagne (which he’d made while I was reading, constantly asking me, “What part are you at? Did you get to the darkest moment yet?”) and finally fell asleep around three a.m. At least
he
did. I was on a mission to satisfy my morbid curiosity, so while Julian slept, I logged on to Google and typed in Red Sox and Foxham. And there he was. Julian Nigel Foxham, alias The Red
Fox
, former baseball champion for the Red Sox, famous for having scored more outings than any other player his age. He’d been defined The English Gentleman of the Baseball Diamond.

What had been a promising career had been brutally interrupted due to an arm injury received during a game. After a total refusal of sports, he had thrown himself into dating practically every girl in a label—and especially out of it, from actresses to models to sports stars.

The list was endless. And it never lasted more than a week. I wonder how many notches he had on
his
bedpost? I hadn’t made a point to count them when I was last there. I read on:

After having suffered a major injury to his batting arm, Julian Foxham retired from the sports scene. He is currently writing his second book on his experience with the Red Sox, entitled, The Woman in Red Sox.

Woman in red socks? Who was she? A former lover? I rifled through Ira’s books and found Julian’s first book,
My Love Affair with the Red Sox
. This had been in my house for years and I’d never seen it? I turned it over to read the blurb, but was mesmerized by the picture above it.

A few years younger. Always those kind but sexy eyes. I held the book close like a key that would unlock many secrets to me. What could he possibly want from me that I hadn’t given him already?