The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (26 page)

“I find that hard to believe. Dad treats you like a princess and he always has.”

She looked up at me. “Because I’m weak, Erica. I’m not like you. You are like my mom’s side of the family. You’re all strong. Fighters.”

Marcy admitting her weaknesses? Had I somehow ended up on
The Twilight Zone
? This was getting weirder and weirder. And better.

She groaned softly, as if in pain, and I suddenly realized how painful it still was for her too. Knowing you were never someone’s first choice hurt. I knew what that was like.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Marcy asked, reaching out to rub my back. Although I was getting spooked, I let her. It was a rare moment of contact between us. It felt nice.

But on the other hand, the only feeling I could muster was relief. Relief that my mom didn’t love me like other mothers love their children simply because she
wasn’t
my mom—and not because I was unlovable or that there was something very wrong with me, as I’d believed my whole life. All those years of begrudging me a single ounce of affection and now I finally knew why. I represented Marcy’s failures and weaknesses. Just like I represented Ira’s failures. A part of both of them would always resent me for being stronger, more capable.

I tried to feel anger, as was my second nature, but still relief flooded my heart, over and over, like fresh spring rain washing over me, cleansing me inside and out. All the times when she didn’t praise me or encourage me or cheer me on—all those moments I couldn’t justify or explain now made sense, in a Marcy-logic sort of way. Any other woman would’ve been moved by her dead sister’s newborn, taken it in (especially after having married my dad) and loved it twice as much. But not Marcy. In Marcy’s heart there was no room for anything but her grief and herself. Because she was weak and had no choice but to cover herself with lies, which she also told others every day.

Like all those stories about him choosing her because she was the prettiest. Marcy had been heartbroken surely when Dad had chosen my real mother. But when all that ended, Marcy had foisted herself upon him, and he’d agreed, with the proviso that everyone else would stick around to help take care of me.

And now I was no longer trapped in a relationship with an unloving mother. I thought of Emanuela—Manu. She would have been exactly like Marcy on the outside, only loving. Undoubtedly she’d be running
Le Tre Donne
with her sisters while Marcy skulked around some other guy’s apartment in her shiny kimonos and sleepy eyes.

“All these years I’ve had to stay on my toes to keep up with Emanuela’s memory,” Marcy whispered. “It was a lost race from the start. There was no way I could ever be as important to your father as you were. So I simply gave up.”

I searched her face, understanding her for the first time in my life.

“I gave up because I knew whatever I did wouldn’t change the facts. But your father is a good man. He dedicated extra attention to me so I wouldn’t feel left out. But no matter how many flowers and gifts I got, we both knew it was to fill a great big gap that could never be filled.”

My eyes blurred. “It must have been difficult looking me in the face every day. I wondered why you didn’t love me...”

At that, Marcy sat up. “Oh, no, Erica! Never think that I didn’t
love
you. I do. But you understand you represented for me the greatest hurdle for a woman’s pride.”

Boy, did I know a little something about hurdles. But I had evolved, moved on, while Marcy was forever stuck in this rut if she didn’t get over it once and for all.

And to think how many times during my childhood I had found my mother standing, or rather slumped, her red eyes lost on the expanse of the back lawn, and for many years I couldn’t figure out why she was so afflicted, and what dark acid was consuming her. While growing up, I always thought that if I’d had Marcy’s looks, her clothes, her husband and her home, that I would’ve been happy and managed to love myself.

And now I knew. I didn’t need anything but my loved ones and my own inner strength. And that would always be my starting point in life, no matter what happened to me.

“Can you forgive me?” Marcy whispered, big tears plopping down onto her purple and black kimono. I looked into her face, slowly riddling with wrinkles. I saw the vacuity of her eyes, the decent person she was trying to be despite her fragility. She would never be my mother. But maybe we could bury the hatchet now that I knew I was the stronger one. Now it was my turn to act the grownup.

“Silly Marcy,” I said, and she smiled up at me. “There’s nothing to forgive. Now get up, have a shower, and let’s go out to lunch. My treat—okay?”

She nodded and smiled, like a little girl who’d been promised a lollipop if she stopped crying over her scratched knee.

I smiled back and silently slid to my feet, holding on briefly to her hand before I slipped from the room. Now no longer trapped by false ties, maybe one day we would be friends.

* * *

Once back in the security of my own home, I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could and opened Warren’s door. He was fast asleep, lying on his back. As I watched, he rolled over and mumbled something about baseball. I kissed his soft cheek and tiptoed out the door to Maddy’s room.

Her fairy light was on, projecting images of gossamer wings around the walls. Pink reigned everywhere, from her coverlet to her rug, to her curtains. Hanging on her door were the angel wings I’d made for her (with
Zia
Martina’s help, of course) out of tulle on a thin wire frame. Oodles of starch kept it in shape. Maddy. My little fairy. My little angel.

And then, inevitably, I was in front of my own bedroom. I pushed it open and smiled down at my spider killer, more gorgeous than ever and fast asleep. I slowly undressed and sank into the space next to him as he murmured and pulled me into the circle of his arms. I breathed in his familiar manly scent and let him hold me. Tomorrow I’d share my news with him. But tonight, all I wanted was to be held. To belong.

Chapter 38:

A Woman’s Wait

F
or Warren’s birthday on the eighth of May (and no, I still hadn’t told Julian about Tuscany, but I did receive some more info on a couple of houses that would’ve made a short list had I had enough money), we planned a picnic on the beach. Before we left home, Julian gave Warren his very own first professional baseball glove that still bore his initials, J.N.F. And it was personally autographed.

“Julian—no. It’s too much,” I protested.

“Mo-om!” Warren pleaded.

“Warren—please go out and play for a minute.”

He knew much better than to object.

“Julian, that glove is worth a fortune—much too much for a twelve-year-old. You are too generous.”

Julian waited until the back door closed and stood to his feet, holding out his hand to me.

“Erica, sweetheart. It’s time you and I had a talk. A serious one.”

Uh-oh
. “Look, Julian. You’re great. But if you want the kids to love you, just be yourself.”

“And what do I have to do to make
you
love me?” he whispered, pushing back a strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt my cheeks redden. “Mmh? Am I that unlovable, Erica?”

I looked up. “Of course you are—lovable, I mean,” I assured him.

“I want to be your man, Erica.”

Yes, that was obvious. But for how long? I was afraid to let my kids look up to another man. What would happen to their feelings if Julian and I didn’t work out? It would only devastate them when Julian decided he’d had enough of playing Superman and wanted a woman with no history. That was the only wrench in the system. And of course, asking him to come to Tuscany with us.

“Come on, lazybones,” Julian sighed, pulling me out the door. “Warren’s waiting for his picnic.”

The Harbor Islands were visible in the distance. Julian and I were sitting on a picnic blanket as the kids chased the waves. Getting away for even a couple of hours was pure bliss.

I bit into a peach and looked at my rolled-up trousers, wondering if I would get them wet. Sure, it would be nice to stroll hand in hand along the shore and look like characters out of a Rosamunde Pilcher book. But in the end I’d be stuck with sopping pant legs sticky with sand. Not so romantic, especially if after the romantic moment you’re planning a sexy one.

He pulled me up and dragged me down the beach, then up into his arms in a face-to-face piggy back. I gasped in surprise, enjoying the feeling of my legs around his hips, his hands under my thighs. Those hands, so well-meaning yet intimate, burned into my skin.

I’d let him be with me in a heartbeat if I thought that he would be happy with me. Did he just think he was? Had Julian only been guided by the sufferings of a family in distress? He had seen the signs early on. Only he shouldn’t have allowed himself to get personal. With all our baggage, my family could only weigh a single, optimistic man like Julian down. And then he would start to resent me like Ira had. Even if he was a gentleman
extraordinaire
with a heart of gold and the patience of Job.

But whichever way you put it, Maddy and Warren would never be his kids, and he could never love them the way… I was going to say
the way a biological parent could.
Hah. Served me right. I think Julian loved Warren and Maddy already much more than Ira ever had. I could see that. But still, I was afraid to mention Tuscany and scare him away.

* * *

When we got home, Julian put on a pot of coffee. We had dropped the kids off at Paul’s for a couple of hours; they loved spending time with him and it gave Julian and I time to be alone together. It had been a warm day but I still welcomed the feeling of hot coffee trickling inside me.

I sipped and murmured with pleasure. Julian took my face in his hands and sucked the drops of coffee that clung to my lips, lingering, tasting, tantalizing.

I would have fallen over, had it not been for his hands on my hips, lifting me onto the kitchen counter behind me, my feet dangling—which was just as well because I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. As if in a trance, my eyes remained wide open, taking in the sight of his long, long lashes, the stubble on his lean cheeks, the way his eyes finally opened and found mine in a soul-searching smile. I had literally forgotten to breathe and fanned myself with my hand.

“Oh, wow,” I managed and swallowed before he enfolded me in his arms and sucked on my lips.
Oh, God.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” he whispered excitedly, like a young boy. “I’ve finished my new novel. And it’s all thanks to you.”

I gasped and covered my mouth, my heart bursting with joy. “Julian, that’s amazing! Oh, my God, we have to celebrate, this is fantastic!”

“There’s only one way I want to celebrate,” he whispered with a grin, reaching for my zipper.

“Done,” I agreed.

“Now you’re in trouble…” he growled softly between our kisses, bringing our bodies closer until my breasts were flat against his chest and I felt his arousal. And a very big arousal at that. This hunk of a man wanted me. “I’m going to flatten you out on this counter and feast on every delicious inch of you…”

Which is precisely what he did.

Chapter 39:

While You See a Chance…

“W
hat is this?” I asked, eyeing the small velvet box in Julian’s hand as he came in through the front door and kissed me.

I was a stone’s throw away from a coronary. It was too big to be a ring. Unless it was a big ring. I had big fingers. Maybe a can opener?

“Open it,” he answered simply.
Duh
.

I did so with one eye closed, ready to shut the box again if it was something that scared me. I couldn’t believe it. A tennis bracelet. With—gulp—real diamonds?

“It’s to thank you for getting me off my ass and writing again. Man, you don’t know how good it feels.”

“I’m glad, but are you crazy or something? This kind of stuff is expensive!”

“I can afford it,” he smiled.

Was this thank-you gift just a thank-you gift? It looked more like a commitment gift. And if so, shouldn’t I have told him about Italy by now? I was being
beyond
dishonest. It was unfair and cruel to all of us. I had been dishonest with Julian, the man that had single-handedly changed the way I saw life and myself. I owed him way more than I’d given him.

I burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t accept it.”

Julian pulled away to look into my eyes. “Why not?”

“Because… I’ve been dreaming of moving to Tuscany...” I blurted out.

“I know.”

Of course he knew. All I ever did was talk about Italy. But talking was one thing. I swallowed. “And I always wanted to buy a farmhouse and rent out accommodation so I could give up my job and stay home with the kids.” I watched his face as he watched me back, wondering what could be so terrible. The fact was that it wasn’t terrible for me. It was what I’d always wanted. If I could have him, too, my whole life would be made.

“I’ve been looking for years. At first Ira was okay with it. Then he changed his mind.”

“Go on.”

I let it out in one breath. “I want to sell my home and move to Tuscany and get a mortgage. I want to move there and start my own bed-and-breakfast business.”

I’d said it all in one go, unable to look into his eyes, and now he was silent. Did he care for me that much, that the thought of losing me did this to him?
Please, God, let it be so.

“Wow,” was all he could say. “That’s one hell of a life-changing decision.”

“So is divorcing and starting all over again. But I love Tuscany, and my children. I believe I’m making the right decision for my family. I’m sorry.”

He sighed loudly and said, “No. I’m sorry. Enough of this bullshit.” And without another word, he strode out the door, leaving the bracelet there. Just like that.

And I watched him go, without saying a word, like those tragedies that you see happening on film in slow motion, where you don’t miss a moment but you can’t move or react. Like when my grandma was teaching me to flip an omelet with the use of a lid. On my first try I had let it slip into the sink from beneath the lid, while she was exclaiming, “Hurry—don’t let it slide!” And I just stood there, unable to move. My life was the omelet that I didn’t know how to flip.

So I called, “Julian! Come back! Please, don’t be offended!” But it was too late. He had already driven off—tires screeching—officially out of my life.

I was a fool. There he’d gone, a beautiful, beautiful man, inside and out, who had claimed to love me, although I just couldn’t see how he could, in only a short space of time, when for years I had tried to win my husband’s love and never managed.

In another time, way back in the depths of my past, I’d have clung to someone like Julian, and never let him go. Hunky, interested in my well-being
and
hot for me? What was the
matter
with me?

Luckily Warren and Madeleine were having sleepovers so neither had had to witness their pathetic mom being dumped once again.

So I did what I do best. I baked myself a cake and ate it. Who says you can’t do that? And I ate
all
of it, licking the icing off my fingers, tasting the sweet chocolate and my salty tears at the same time. It’s a combination I’m very familiar with but don’t recommend.

When I was done, I spread myself on the couch, remote in hand, and, would you believe it,
The War of the Roses
was showing. I sat there and watched with growing trepidation as husband and wife offended each other, broke each other’s most prized porcelains, and killed what was left of their love and their lives. I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the end.

No, I couldn’t go through that again—see in the eyes of a man who had once loved me a newfound hatred because I didn’t correspond to his ideal of beauty, simply because I was
me
, and refused to be someone else.

And while I was thinking about it, my stomach began to give me huge jolts, as if there were angry sharks swimming in there, threatening to find their way back up through my throat. I managed to drag myself to the toilet bowl just in time as I heaved out the cake, the icing, my last meal and all my misery.

I threw up Ira, my life with him and the countless nights I had snuggled up to him only to be refused and rebuked. I brought up my childhood, my mom’s depression, my grandma’s death, Maddy’s abduction and, finally, Julian’s hasty retreat. Talk about undigested issues.

I could feel the veins in my temples bulging as I hung onto the toilet bowl, pressing the side of my head into the coolness of the ceramic surface. Oh, God, never again. Please let me survive this night and I’ll never touch chocolate or refuse happiness again…

If you want to cleanse your mind and soul, I highly recommend chocolate cake (minus the tears). It took me a whole one to put me on the path of soul-searching and assertiveness. And although I was done for now, I knew this was only the beginning.

Emptied and limp like an old fading hot-water bottle, I lay on my stomach on the bathroom floor. Maybe I would stay there all night, and they’d find me dead in the morning. Anything was better than this.

The sound of a car in the drive did nothing to stir me. I was already dead, only waiting for them to come and bury me. I was dead in my body and dead in my heart. And half unconscious as well, I think.

Then a car door slammed and the doorbell rang.

I felt like I had two heads. “I’m not in,” one called, while the other felt like a bell was clanging inside it, right between my ears.

“Erica, open up.”

Julian’s voice. I opened an eye and my body jerked as if I had been touched with a live wire. Or at least I thought it had, but I was still plastered to the floor.

“I know you’re in there.”

Come in!
I wanted to shout, but no sound came out.
I do see you as my man! Please forgive me but I’m really crap at this!

“I’m sorry,” I managed to yell as I peeled myself off the floor. “I’m so sorry, Julian!”

I flung the door open and threw myself at him, babbling about what an idiot I was but could he be patient with me because I did love him even if I’d never understand what he saw in me and—

He took both my heads in his hands, and I found myself staring into his green-blue eyes. “Now you listen to me, you nutcase.” He was serious.

I swallowed, not knowing what to think or say, so I just listened.

“You gave me the encouragement I needed. Without you I’d still be feeling sorry for myself.”

Now
that
had come as a surprise. All this time he’d supported and cheered me on, when he had his own little traumas, which he hid very well.

Julian took my hand. “But besides that, I love you. Very much. And I want to make you and the kids happy. How could you—”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, tears coming into my eyes. “Especially because I love you, and I’ve been rehearsing ways to ask you to come but I know your life and career are here. I’m sorry to do this to you now.”

He sighed and pulled me onto his lap.

“Erica, please let me finish. How could you even think for a moment that I wouldn’t follow you if you wanted me to?”

I gaped at him, although you and I both know I was banking on him coming. “You want to come?”

“Do you
want
me to come?”

“Would you?”

He nodded. “Of course. You think I’m going to let someone else snatch you up? You must be crazy.”

I felt a smile coming on. Not a teeth-baring one, but a real smile. “Cool!” I breathed.

“Cool,” he agreed.

“But what about your job? You studied so hard to be principal after your injury.”

He shrugged. “I think it’s time for you to be happy with me, and for me to be happy with you.”

Which should have been more than enough, but you know good old practical me. “So while I run the B&B, you’re going to write your book?” I asked.

Again, he shrugged. “I’d also like to breed horses.”

I grinned. “Books and horses it is.”

“But first...” Julian said, pulling out a small velvet box this time.

“Uhm... what’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a goddamn ring. To spell it out to you.”

It
was
a goddamn ring. A big chunk of a rock, all shiny and pure. I looked at it and back at him, my eyes misty again.

“This is not a marriage proposal,” he warned me. I forgot my tears as my jaw dropped in disappointment.

“It’s not?”

“No. Because I know you’re not ready yet, and I understand. But I don’t want to lose you so I’m hoping you’ll wear this to scare other men off.”

“Oh, I’ve never needed a ring for
that
. They run the minute they see me,” I laughed as I dashed a hand over the new gush of tears running down my face.

He laughed and cupped my chin, delivering me a whoppingly delicious kiss on the lips.

“Chocolate?”

My one weakness. I nodded. “I ate the whole thing,” I giggled and bawled at the same time.

He chuckled and murmured, “Silly you…” as he tucked me into his arms. I rested my face against his warm chest, enjoying the feel of his lean body through his blue cotton polo shirt. It was almost summer now and I hadn’t realized it, so cold had I been inside.

Oh, how much easier my life would have been if I’d met Julian instead of Ira thirteen years ago. He took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto my finger, rolling my hands between his, his beautiful face flushed and excited like a young boy’s.

“Can I ask you something?” I blurted.

He tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled. “Shoot.”

“I know I’ve asked you this before, but I still don’t know the answer.” I took a deep breath and jumped. “Why, with all the tall, skinny-assed girls in the world with bodies to die for, and no kids or ex-husbands, would you be interested in
me
?”

At that, he took my face in his hands and kept me still so I was looking into his blue-green eyes. “Because you, Erica Cantelli, are a magnificent woman. I love everything about you—your sense of humor, your strength, your intelligence, your smile, these beautiful shoulders, your curves,” his hands slid down from my arms to my (ooh) butt, “your skin, the twinkle in your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way you play with your hair, the way you—”

“Okay, I think I get it,” I giggled. He really was smitten by me. “And you’re really willing to wait until I’m ready?”

“I swear. No pressure,” he promised.

Wow. Something in me had definitely changed if a guy like Julian was willing to
wait
for me
—
let alone
look
at me. So I decided to push my luck. Why the hell not? “And you won’t try to take over my life? You don’t mind me keeping my space?”

“I can handle that as well. As long as you don’t run off with some Italian lover.”

I snorted. “They’re not exactly banging on my door, you know. Which is why you should reconsider while you still can.”

“I want to be in your life, but if and when you don’t, I need to know.”

“Cool. But FYI, I am not easy to live with. I’m bossy, arrogant, and I can be a real pain in the ass.”

“Don’t I know it,” he grinned.

Things had really changed for me. A man like Julian was handing himself to me on a silver platter and I was no longer shocked about it.