Page 59 of Escape to Tuscany

‘It’s the truth. Who can write this better than you?’ He tilts my chin up and kisses me lightly on the lips. ‘Nobody,’ he says. ‘Nobody at all.’

He kisses me again, and I close my eyes and let pleasure take over.

*

I wake at half past two. Marco’s sleeping peacefully beside me, one arm flung across my stomach. For a while I lie there listening to his breathing, trying to breathe with him, trying to stop my heart thudding and the cold creeping nausea rising in my throat. But I’m restless and panicky and his arm is like a lead weight. I lift it off me as gently as I can and roll away from him, grabbing my tablet and headphones from the table at my side of the bed.

I’ll listen to some music, I tell myself. Or I’ll read one of theShopaholicbooks or watch an episode ofFriends. Something safe and bright and familiar. What I won’t do, what I absolutely won’t do, is look at my email. There’s going to be nothing in my email, at two-thirty in the morning, that’s going to make me feel any better.

I look at my email.

Well, it’s not too bad. There’s the usual bunch of newsletters I keep meaning to unsubscribe from and haven’t got around to yet. There’s an email from Richenda titled ‘Final redraft of Swithin contract’. I’ll read that tomorrow. And there’s an email from Rosa, Pierfrancesco Legni’s daughter. I’d written to her just the other day on the only email address I could find, which was her corporate one as head of the Legni publishing house, so I didn’t have any expectations about getting a personal reply – certainly not this quickly. I sit up and open the message.

Dear Ms MacNair,

Thank you for your email. I would be pleased to meet with you and will try to help you to the best of my ability. Kindly call my assistant Frida Gattolini at the number below to set up an appointment at our Florence office.

Cordiali saluti,

Rosa Legni

Presidente, Pierfrancesco Legni Editore

My mind’s already starting to race with questions I want to ask, things I need to check. I feel even more awake now, but it’s still better than that horrible anxiety. I resolve to call Frida Gattolini first thing in the morning and set up that interview, the sooner the better. And then, just as I go to close the app, I catch sight of an email from Charlie lurking among all the newsletters and other trivia. The subject line reads ‘Taking a break’.

Tori,

I’ve tried my best, but it’s becoming obvious to me that you don’t want to engage in an open and honest conversation about your issues.

‘No shit,’ I mutter.

I want to support you, but I no longer have the bandwidth to take on your emotional labour. Perhaps one day you’ll be ready to accept the help and advice you so desperately need. In the meantime, I have to disengage from your toxic drama for my own wellbeing. I know this may sound harsh, but I need to protect myself and honour my boundaries.

Duncan continues to be greatly distressed by your stubborn refusal to work on yourself and confront the ways in which your behaviour has affected him. However, for obvious reasons I am no longer prepared to act as go-between. I have told him to contact you directly from now on and have given him your Italian phone number and current address. No doubt you will hear from him in due course and, when you do, please at least try to listen to his concerns. He is deeply worried about you, as are we all.

My therapist recommended the following books to help me navigate the stress of your situation. Evidently she wants me to understand your perspective ‘from within’. While I’m not quite ready for that challenging task, I’m passing on this list in the hope that some of it might be useful.

Finding the Inner Mirror: Self-Reflection for Self-Centred Personalitiesby Sherry Amendola

What’s Yours is Yours: A Healthy Boundaries Workbookby Dr Carina Flowers

Wait, What if I’m the Asshole?by Marty Ferrara, PhD

Take care of yourself,

Charlie xxx

The cheek of it. The absolute fucking cheek. Not only does she constantly pester me, not only does she inform Duncan of my every move, but now she’s accusingmeof toxic drama. And she’s given him my number and my address, my actual physical address. It’s ridiculous, but that feels like a betrayal.

I mean, it’s not that I have anything to worry about. Right? Clearly Duncan’s not about to abandon his Cheviots and his fishing permits and whatever else and just show up at my door. The worst he can do is call me on the phone and, okay, that won’t be pleasant – but it won’t be the end of the world, will it? I lived with the man for years in the middle of nowhere, and I survived that. I’m going to be divorcing him, maybe even going to court, and I’ll survive that too. I can deal with a mardy phone call. And if he gets really arsey, then I can talk to Ambra. She already said I could route all communication through her once proceedings start. So as soon as the divorce is actually underway, I can just block his number and let her deal with him. She’ll know what to do. She must handle far worse exes than him, abusive exes, exes who hit and cheat and gamble and drink. Duncan’s notbad, not by those standards, is he? He’s not scary.

‘Hey.’

I flinch. The bedside lamp is on and Marco’s awake, propped up on his elbow, watching me. ‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Did the light from the tablet wake you? Sorry.’

‘No, that didn’t wake me.’ He gives me an odd look. ‘Tori, you’re shaking.’

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