Page 61 of Storm in a D Cup

Warren shrugged. ‘That I had serious doubts it was even mine. There have been some rumors and frankly I believe she’s capable of scamming me into marriage. When I asked her for the truth she broke down and told me she was seeing someone else but that he doesn’t want to know about the baby. So her mom had told her to pin it on me because we have more money.’

Julian slapped him on the back. ‘Well done, lad,’ he said, beaming.

‘Good for you!’ I hurrahed, clapping my hands, relieved my son’s brain and backbone weren’t on his private parts’ payroll and that Melania and I would never be related after all. But, I had to admit, I was sad that Stefania had felt the need to turn to someone who wasn’t the father of her child.

It turned out that she was pregnant with Leonardo Cortini’s baby. But Leonardo had brushed them off saying he’d never pay a euro cent to a bastard.

No girl – not even Stefania – deserved to be treated like that. Had Stefania been two years younger the law would have slapped Leonardo into the slammersenza complimenti, aka, unceremoniously and gladly. The authorities, I imagined, were looking to catch him out on anything – even littering – just to throw the book at him, like getting Al Capone (or Ira Lowenstein) for tax evasion. People like that had it coming. But so did Melania.

As for Warren, he’d acted irresponsibly despite Julian’s constant warnings about staying safe (and free). But in the end he’d been mature and wise enough to see through her.

God, I missed the eleven-year-old who’d given Billy Blackmoore eight stitches.

15

Agony Aunt

A few days later, while Julian was away as usual, the home phone rang over and over and I let it go to voicemail lest Melania had already bounced back with another scheme to wriggle her way into our family.

‘Awh, come on, Erica, answer me.’ I’d recognize that low growl anywhere. Terry, Julian’s agent. He was like a grizzly bear, thick-necked and barrel-chested. And as bossy as they come. What did he want with me, though?

I picked up. ‘Terry?’

‘Hey, Erica. I knew you were home. Listen, there’s a couple of newspapers that want you to write for them.’

‘What?’ Had he misdialed the number after all? Maybe he was looking for some other Erica, a writer?

‘On a regular basis, Erica.’

I didn’t get it.

‘Each week you get questions sent to an email account we set up for you, and you answer them.’

‘You want me to be an agony aunt?’

‘Only without the agony. Be flippant. Irreverent. Funny.’

‘Ah. Then it’s a dead duck. I don’t do funny.’

‘Of course you do. Julian’s told me all about your dry humor.’

I wondered what else Julian had told him. Terry had been his agent for quite a while. Did Julian confide in him about our personal life as well? I’d heard somewhere that Terry was also Genie Stacie’s agent. Did he know about the wedding? Or, gulp, was it all his idea in the first place? Like a PR strategy?

‘Why me, Terry? I’m not a writer.’

‘No, but you’re Julian Foxham’s wife.’

Of course. ‘And I’m supposed to write about being Julian’swife?’ That alone was a year’s worth of reading.

‘Julian’s a big celebrity, you know – especially with his last few novels, he’s bigger than big.’

‘So?’

‘So women will want to ask you for guidance. You know, marital problems. You two have a good marriage. Who better to answer their questions?’

Good marriage,I thought. Good-ish. But it needed a lot of my attention if we were going to stick together. ‘Uh, thanks Terry, but no thanks.’

‘Erica, don’t turn this opportunity down.’