The Seven Month Itch by Allison Rushby Read Free Book Online Page A

on granite – one with four cheeses and another with mozzarella and fresh basil; fish with sweet Italian sausage and rosemary potatoes; clams sautéed withlots of garlic, a touch of white wine and served over linguini; large hexagon-shaped ravioli with Maine lobster, topped with a white wine cream sauce; a salad with shaved onions, dried cranberries, sliced almonds, gorgonzola cheese and a honey-balsamic dressing …’ I get more and more elaborate as I go on, until I can’t remember any more of the menu. ‘Oh, and tiramisu and this really yummy flourless chocolate torte. And the cupcakes, of course.’
    Vera nods. ‘Yes. Cupcakes. They very good cupcakes.’
    I nod back. They are very good cupcakes. And I’ll have to tell the City Bakery people they’ve got the Vera seal of approval. It’s a pretty big deal. One of the highest awards in tasty cookery. ‘And that’s why I shouldn’t eat too much this morning,’ I finish up. ‘I have to save myself for Nico’s.’ My stomach churns again and I try not to look at my pancakes. ‘I’d better get going, Vera. He’s expecting me by about eleven. Before the lunch rush.’

    Within fifteen minutes, I’m out of the apartment, having managed to dodge Susannah and my dad on the way out.The first thing I do when I get out onto the street (apart from breathing a sigh of relief) is to turn left and head for the florist who’s doing the wedding flowers. It takes a good ten minutes to walk to her shop and, when I get there, I learn nothing’s changed since last week. Everything’s right on track. The flowers are ordered, the wholesaler has confirmed the order and time of delivery, she’s written down exactly what I want perfectly, and … well, that’s it really.
    Next stop is the Mercer, in Soho, the hotel where all the guests will be staying. But everything’s fine there, too. I turn once more and start the walk back to Tribeca. It’s getting hot now. Really hot. And by the time I make it onto the block that Nico’s is on, the sweat is dripping off me. NYC truly is foul in the summer, and it’s no wonder so many people try to escape the heat, heading out to the Hamptons and Fire Island and anywhere else even slightly cooler on the weekends. I find a bit of energy to walk the last few steps through the restaurant’s iron gates and inside.
    Ahhhhh.
    Air-conditioning. Who said the greatest, most important invention was the wheel? Obviously somebody whohad four of the things attached to the bottom of their very fast sports car and a beach house they could escape to on the weekends.
    Even without the AC pumped up, it would still be lovely and cool in here. The wide expanse of terracotta tiles, thick red brick walls, cool white starched tablecloths set with rustic earthenware and the fountain tinkling away in the courtyard out the back, all make sure of that. I make my way over to the equally cool, long marble-topped bar and resist the urge to climb on top of it and have a lie down.
    ‘Bella!’ Nico spots me in a second.
    ‘Hey, Nico!’ I reply, as he comes over to kiss me first on one cheek, then the other. You’ve got to love those Italian stallions.
    ‘We have not seen you for years.’
    Um, it’s been less than a week. But still, he’s right. We usually eat here a lot. ‘Holly’s away in LA.’
    ‘Ah, but then you must eat here more, with nobody to cook for you.’
    I laugh at this. I mean, I love Holly, but about the only thing she can cook is Lean Cuisine and, for dessert,microwave popcorn. ‘Don’t worry. Vera’s been looking after us,’ I assure him.
    ‘Ah, Vera. She is a good woman.’
    Now I do laugh. Nico and Vera. I don’t think they’ve ever even met, but they completely understand each other anyway. They both have the same mission in life: watching out that Dad, Holly, Marc and I don’t starve to death (which is hardly likely with both of them on the case).
    ‘Now, sit down. Sit down,’ he tells me. ‘You must be starving.’
    I