One Italian Summer

by Catherine Mangan

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Escape to Italy this summer and fall in love with the perfect holiday romance!

When Lily's long-term relationship ends, she flees her life in New York to travel to her best friend's wedding on the sun-drenched Italian island of Ischia - but could there be more to the secluded island than she ever imagined?

Ten days with nothing but sparkling seas, breath-taking beaches and delicious food sounds like the perfect cure for a broken heart. And Lily can hardly believe she'd never heard of Ischia before now. But Lily's blissful break is short-lived as she discovers not only has she lost her boyfriend, she's also lost her job.

As Lily searches for inspiration, she connects with local Matt, who shows her the magic the beautiful Italian island has to offer, and quickly inspiration strikes: Ischia needs more tourists and Lily knows just how to help.

As Ischia slowly heals Lily's heart, will she in turn inject new life into the island? And will local Matt offer the possibility of a future she'd never dreamed of?

A glorious and uplifting escapist novel set against the stunning backdrop of the Italian coast. The perfect holiday read for fans of Rosanna Ley, Jo Thomas and Karen Swan

Release date: May 12, 2022

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 100000

Sample

Lily Ryan weaved her way through the glamorous, post-work crowd, waving excitedly when she spotted her best friend Dee already seated on a high stool at the bar.

‘You really need to work on your entry, you know. That wave was far too energetic,’ Dee said with a sarcastic eye roll.

‘I know, sorry. I’m just glad it’s Friday,’ Lily said, wrapping her friend in a big hug. ‘My boss caught me on the phone to my sister in Dublin at lunchtime and was totally passive-aggressive with me all afternoon, and she said I’m short one vacation day for the Italian trip so she’s docking my wages. I swear to God she’s on a personal crusade to ruin my life. She’s such a miserable cow.’

Lily sat heavily on the stool alongside Dee, hanging her bag on a hook directly underneath the bar. They had arranged to meet at the Monkey Bar, a retro-chic cocktail bar and restaurant in the high-profile East 54th Street neighbourhood of Manhattan. The Monkey Bar had long been a favourite of publishing and entertainment executives, but a feature in the hugely successful Sex and the City sitcom brought it to the attention of the younger, up-and-coming executive crowd.

‘You’re looking very glam,’ Dee said, raising her glass of wine to her lips. ‘What’s that all about?’

‘Are you joking? I have to make an effort when you pick a place like this, and unlike you I’m not dressed in a power suit with sharp edges and fancy jewellery all day. God, it’s so swanky, isn’t it? Look at these people,’ Lily said, turning to scan the well-heeled crowd.

‘Yep, you can smell the money. All these powerful midtown types. Honestly, these chicks spend more on their outfits than I do on my monthly mortgage payment,’ Dee said, glancing around the crowded, dimly lit bar. ‘It’s not really my thing,’ she shrugged, ‘but it’s close to the office, so it takes less time to get to my first post-work drink.’

‘I think it’s fabulous! I can pretend to be glamorous and sophisticated for a couple of hours, before I head home, put on my PJs and order Thai food online.’ Lily grinned. ‘But not tonight – I’m meeting Peter for dinner after this at Marea.’

Dee raised an eyebrow in mock disdain. ‘Swankier still!’

The bartender placed a monogrammed coaster on the bar in front of Lily.

‘What will it be, ma’am?’ he asked, with a friendly smile.

‘I’ll have a vodka Martini, please.’

‘How would you like it?’

‘Sorry? Oh right, yeah. Um … dry, please, and um … with a twist. Thanks,’ she replied, feeling her cheeks flush.

‘Coming right up.’

Jesus, Lily … Vodka Martini, dry with a twist. How hard is it to say that all in one go? she said to herself with a loud sigh.

‘Since when do you drink Martinis?’

‘I’ve been practising.’

‘How do you practise drinking a Martini? I mean, what is there to practise?’

‘I had to get out of my pink drink phase,’ Lily said, nudging her stool closer to the bar. ‘It just reeks of girly drinks. Peter drinks Martinis, so I thought I’d see if I could like them.’

She cringed inwardly as she heard the words come out of her mouth. The look of disapproval from Dee was instant and unmistakable.

‘Eh … since when do you drink what Peter drinks?’ Dee asked, frowning slightly.

‘I don’t!’ Lily said defensively. ‘I just like the glasses. Don’t go all “women’s rights” on me. I just needed a more grown-up drink to go with my new life as a successful copywriter. Cheers!’

‘Ah, that’s right. Cheers to that. New job, new man, new drink of choice. Got it. So, are you still madly in love?’ Dee asked, referring to Lily’s boyfriend of six months, Peter.

‘Yes, but it’s costing me a fortune in lingerie. I had to dump my entire underwear drawer. Nothing matched any more. So now I think I’m contributing significantly to Victoria Secret’s EBITDA this quarter.’

‘Okay, first of all, you do know you can wash and re-wear your knickers, right? You don’t have to don new undies every time you see the man. Second, since when do you know or care about EBITDA?’

‘Oh, I had to learn all this new financial language at work. I’m attending the senior team meetings now and I felt like a total dope when they started talking about finances. So, I paid one of the junior finance guys to teach me what I’d need to know in order to survive the senior team meetings. I paid for drinks a couple of nights a week for three weeks and now I sound smart!’ she said, proudly. ‘Man, this Martini is good!’

‘You’re sounding more American by the day,’ Dee laughed.

‘So, did you get your tux?’ Lily asked, her eyes not leaving her Martini glass as she raised it slowly to her lips.

Dee rolled her eyes. ‘No, they screwed up the order. I really don’t want to talk about it, I’ll just get into a rage in my head again. Anyway, they’re a bunch of imbeciles. I should have known better than go to a department store in the first place,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘What?’ Lily screeched. ‘So, what are you going to do now? You’re getting married in a few weeks.’

‘Yeah, don’t remind me. Why did I ever let Morgan talk me into a fancy wedding in Italy? We should have just gone to City Hall and buggered off afterwards to Bora Bora, or something like that … Hang on a second,’ she said, placing her right hand on Lily’s arm. ‘Excuse me!’ she said, signalling the waiter. ‘Can I have another one of these, please?’

‘Coming right up, ma’am,’ he said with a nod.

‘So, what are you going to do now?’

‘Oh, Morgan has stepped in.’

‘Uh-oh. Is she displeased with you?’ Lily asked, with a grin.

Morgan, Dee’s soon-to-be wife, had a notoriously short fuse and a wicked temper. She was used to the finer things in life and would stand for nothing short of exceptional service. Morgan was sophisticated, successful and loyal to a point, but incompetence and sloppiness were easy triggers for her rage.

‘No, she has just sworn off said department store for life. She took the matter in hand and went directly to her stylist at Tom Ford.’

‘Tom FORD?’ Lily shrieked. ‘Tom Ford is like, a thousand dollars for a pair of pants!’

‘It could be more actually, and yes, the tuxedo is costing four thousand dollars. But apparently that is okay because a) it is my wedding, and b) it’s a bargain because it’s off the rack.’

‘Sweet Jesus, that’s two months’ rent.’

‘Trust me, it’s easier to spend the money than listen to Morgan.’

‘I suppose so,’ Lily said, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. ‘Right, so what other details do we need to finalise? I haven’t had to do anything as your maid of honour yet.’

‘This is why people go to the registry office.’ Dee grimaced. ‘All this wedding crap. I never wanted any of it.’

‘Yeah, well we both know you don’t have a say in the matter.’ Lily laughed. ‘Should I get a second one of these, or would that be bad?’

‘Eh, sorry, excuse me? Since when do you question having a second drink? I hope this man isn’t changing you too much, Lily Ryan!’ Dee said in her thick Dublin accent. Turning to catch the barman’s eye, she motioned to the two glasses. ‘We’ll take another round when you have a chance, please.’

The barman gave a wink in their direction. ‘Sure thing, ladies. Settling in for the night?’

‘Could be.’ Dee nodded. ‘Do you have any nuts or anything?’

‘I’ve got popcorn. I’ll get some right over to you.’

‘Awesome, thanks.’

‘And you say that I’m the one sounding more American?’

‘Listen, I’ve been here twenty years. That’s one year longer than I lived in Dublin, so I’m allowed say “awesome”.’ Dee laughed. ‘Christ, do we have to talk about this wedding? It’s all we talk about at home.’

‘Well, if you want me to help, then yes, we do.’

‘Okay, so I have to finalise the ceremony details. Morgan wants nothing to do with that part. She’s taking care of the resort, music, food, all that stuff. I’m doing the wine – there’s no way I was letting her choose the wine. We’d be flying in some reserve bottles from France if she had her way.’

‘God, yes, she’d lose her mind altogether with that,’ Lily said, as the barman placed another round of drinks and a bowl of warm popcorn in front of them.

‘No, we’re going Italian and we’re going local. I put my foot down.’

‘Wow, how did that feel?’ Lily asked with a frown, as she carefully lifted her second Martini glass.

‘Terrifying,’ Dee said, throwing her had back with her signature raucous laugh. ‘Anyway, I have to do the ceremony and I don’t actually know what’s involved. I googled foreign weddings but all I get is all this soppy crap and hymns. I’m looking for the basic requirements here to actually get out the other side of this.’

‘Um, I’m not sure if I’m allowed ask this question, but why is this the first time I’m hearing about this? Have you done anything for the ceremony yet?’

‘Don’t start. We just had a disastrous quarter and I had to claw back forty million dollars from our budget, so I’m really unpopular at work and given the state of the economy, fintech in general is screwed right now. My life’s a mess.’ She shook her head. ‘I really don’t have the head space for any of this ceremony shit so yes, I need your help.’

Dee was chief financial officer for Paratee Financial, a publicly traded financial technology platform, and so was ultimately responsible for the finances of the 200 million-dollar company.

‘Funny, I always think of shark costumes when I hear “fintech”,’ Lily said, grinning.

‘Not helping, Lily!’

‘No, I know, sorry. Okay, so what can I do? I could find some not-too-soppy readings or verses, or whatever they’re called. Ooh, what about music? I could google some songs for the violinist to play. You booked a violinist, didn’t you?’

‘No, she has since been replaced with a string quartet, and that’s Morgan’s remit so I’m not messing with that. Can you just find some readings that are not too vomit-inducing? I don’t want any of that perfect love stuff. Just some normal love stuff.’

‘Normal love stuff. Got it.’ Lily nodded in support.

‘Right. I’ve got to head. I’m meeting Morgan at Nobu.’

‘Okay, me too. I’m meeting Peter in twenty minutes,’ Lily said, her face brightening into a wide smile.

Peter was older than her by twelve years and divorced with two sons whom he rarely saw. He ran his own headhunting company, which was massively successful, and was very well connected in the New York social scene, as connections were imperative for his business. While Lily wasn’t easily impressed by money, she had to admit that the past few months had been a fun rollercoaster ride of great restaurants, fine wines and some lovely pieces of jewellery.

‘So, are you wearing new underwear for your date?’

‘Yep! Teal green. He says it brings out my eyes.’

‘But you don’t have green eyes.’ Dee frowned.

‘Yeah, I know, I think he might be colour-blind, but I don’t want to ask. I like the compliments, even if they’re for eyes of a different colour. I don’t want to put him off!’ Lily giggled.

‘That’s not weird at all … Okay, so do you want to meet for brunch tomorrow or are you fleeing to the Hamptons?’ Dee asked, signalling for the bill.

‘Can’t, I have that goddamn baby shower tomorrow.’

‘Christ, do people still have those? I thought they went out with the nineties?’

‘I wish. Nothing worse than sitting in a room full of new mothers all congratulating each other on how clever their babies are, and my favourite part is when they give me a sympathetic smile and tell me that my time will come too,’ Lily said, rolling her eyes. ‘I think I’ve caught your eye-roll habit.’

‘Condescending bitches. Just because they’ve got a sprog stuck to their hip they assume that every other woman on the planet wants the same thing.’

‘So, you don’t fancy coming with me then?’ Lily joked.

‘I’d rather shove chopsticks under my nails.’

‘So, that’s a “no”?’

They both laughed.

‘I’ve got this,’ Lily said, pushing Dee back and handing her card to the barman. ‘I think I’ve been a crap maid of honour so far, so at least let me pay for the drinks.’

‘Okay, just make sure you find some half-decent poems or whatever,’ Dee said, picking up her purse and making way for the four well-heeled women hustling to land on her bar stool first. ‘Try not to drop any babies tomorrow. Doesn’t look good on a résumé.’

‘I told you, I have my perfect job now!’ Lily said with a proud smile.

‘Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting that you are no longer my normal, scatty friend, but you are now successful, in love and on the path to true happiness. What’s that like?’ she said, grinning, as they reached the door of the Monkey Bar.

‘I’m living my best life!’ Lily joked, waving over her shoulder at her friend. She turned the corner and made her way down Madison Avenue.

Lily arrived at the front door of Marea, an elegant seafood restaurant on West 59th Street, just before seven o’clock. Summer in New York brought searing waves of humidity that sat like a heavy cloud between the tall skyscrapers flanking both sides of every street. It only took a few blocks to go from being perfectly made up to looking like a hot, sweaty mess. Pushing through the double doors, Lily made her way through the vast lobby, keeping to the right so she wouldn’t be seen from the bar – a firm favourite of the glamorous midtown set. Elegantly dressed women air-kissed each other as friends and colleagues met for pre-dinner drinks.

‘How come none of them have moisturiser rolling down their faces?’ Lily muttered as she pushed open the solid oak door of the bathroom.

‘You’re a shiny mess, Lily,’ she proclaimed, as she patted her face with a tissue, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror.

It was the kind of establishment that considered paper towels too commonplace and instead displayed baskets of neatly rolled, miniature cloth towels. Lily soaked one under the cold tap and, reaching under her dress, dabbed under her arms, and under her bra, letting out a sigh as the cold towel touched her skin. A click behind her alerted her to the fact that an older lady in a pinstripe skirt suit had stepped out from a cubicle. In horror, Lily realised that she was flashing her underwear in the mirror as she dabbed sweat from her underwired bra.

‘Oh God, sorry! So hot out, isn’t it?’ she said, faking a smile.

The lady dropped her gaze to the floor and raised an eyebrow as she quickly rinsed her hands and breezed past Lily without uttering a word.

‘Please don’t be sitting at the table next to me at dinner,’ Lily whispered, this time under her breath, as she flipped open her purse and pulled out several pieces of rescue make-up. ‘I can’t sit next to someone who has seen my knickers in public.’

She never used to carry so much make-up, or even wear it, but then she didn’t frequent such upscale restaurants, with such a stylish crowd. Leaning in towards the gilded mirror, she reapplied some foundation and finished with some Charlotte Tilbury magic powder.

‘Much better,’ she said, with a smile, as she snapped the gold compact shut.

Trying not to limp too obviously, she walked across the foyer in the direction of the main restaurant. Her new shoes were pinching her heels. Shouldn’t have worn leather in this heat, she thought, shaking her head. Fixing her posture – chin up, shoulders back – she reminded herself to slow her pace, just as she had observed other New York women do when they walked in high heels.

‘It looks like they’ve been in training to walk like that,’ she had observed one evening to Dee.

‘They are in training. Haven’t you heard? There are twice as many single women as there are single men in this city. That’s a tough landscape to navigate for those in pursuit of a husband.’

‘No, I mean to walk that precisely, like models on a catwalk.’

‘Well they are some pretty lethal heels. I think it’s a case of either slow down or fall down. You can’t charge across a marble floor in four-inch heels. It won’t end well,’ Dee had said as she sucked the end of her mojito through her straw.

Lily smiled at the memory as she paused momentarily outside the door of the restaurant, adjusting her skirt before rounding the door in the direction of the hostess stand.

‘Welcome to Marea. How may I help you this evening?’ the hostess asked with a wide smile that displayed perfect white teeth.

‘Good evening. I’m meeting someone here. Mr Peter Allen,’ Lily replied, standing up a little taller as she looked up at the elegantly dressed woman.

‘Of course. Mr Allen is already here. Please follow me,’ she replied, with the same automatic wide smile.

The hostess turned and made her way slowly towards the back of the restaurant. Lily caught the unmistakable flash of red from the soles of the hostess’s shoes.

Louboutins! She’s wearing six-hundred-dollar shoes! she thought to herself with a pang of envy. I have got to up my shoe game.

Peter was seated at the table, speaking quietly into his phone. He winked at Lily and smiled as the hostess pulled out the chair for her to sit.

‘Enjoy your evening,’ she said, smiling her perfect smile and nodding to both of them before turning to return to her post.

‘Sorry, this will just take a second,’ Peter whispered in his soft London accent, covering his phone with his hand. ‘Get yourself a drink!’ he added, before returning to his phone call.

God! You look hot, Lily thought as she watched him gesture towards his phone.

He was immaculately dressed as always, this time in a lightweight, dark navy suit and a pale blue shirt. The tie had already been discarded and the top button opened. Lily had come to learn that this was his way of transitioning from the workday to dinner, unless of course the restaurant called for a jacket and tie, in which case he would loosen the tie just a smidge.

‘Sorry!’ he mouthed across the table.

‘No, no problem!’ Lily said, waving her hand in dismissal.

‘Can I get you something to drink perhaps ma’am?’ a waiter asked, having appeared to her right.

She recognised him but couldn’t remember his name. John … James … something like that, she thought, running through a list of names in her head.

Peter knew everyone’s name as this was one of his favourite restaurants.

‘Um … yes. Do you have a Prosecco by the glass?’

‘No ma’am, but we have several champagnes by the glass. Would you like to see the drinks list?’

‘Oh, sure, thanks,’ she said, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise up her cheeks. Of course they don’t have Prosecco, Lily, she admonished herself silently. This isn’t your friendly local. They don’t do Prosecco. They do real champagne.

The waiter returned and handed her a heavy, leatherbound drinks list, which he held open at the page listing champagne by the glass.

Sweet Jesus, the price of them! she thought in quiet horror. Normally, Peter did all the ordering as he was particular about what wines he did or didn’t want to drink, and as a result, Lily was blithely unaware of the prices.

The cheapest glass of champagne was twenty-seven dollars, the most expensive an alarming two hundred dollars.

‘Um … I’ll have a glass of this please,’ she said, pointing to the least offensive option.

‘Right away,’ he replied with a smile, as he snapped the leatherbound book closed.

She sat back into her chair, admiring the soft décor of the room. It was exceedingly elegant, but welcoming, and was already filled with well-dressed people, engaged in quiet conversations. Lily shifted in her chair and flicked her long, dark brown hair back over her shoulder. She glanced down at the buttons of her dress to make sure they were still firmly in place. The second button down had threatened to pop out before she left her apartment, so she had secured it with a safety pin. She tugged self-consciously at the fabric now, as she sat casually surveying her surroundings.

‘Thank God. I’m so sorry – I thought he’d never let up!’ Peter said, slipping his phone into his pocket and leaning across the table to squeeze her hand. ‘The guy is on the west coast so it’s still middle of the day for him. Either he can’t tell the time, or he doesn’t care that I’m in New York. Anyway,’ he said, grinning, ‘you look great! Wait – where’s your drink?’

‘Thanks. I just ordered one,’ she replied, beaming.

The barman returned at that precise moment, brandishing a bottle of Louis Roederer.

‘Jamie, what the hell is that?’ Peter asked, a look of mild amusement on his face.

Jamie! thought Lily. That’s his name!

‘The lady ordered a glass of Roederer,’ the waiter replied slowly.

‘Good God, man. You should know better than that. She must have been mistaken. Bring a bottle of Billy rosé please. Thank you, Jamie.’

‘Right away, sir,’ Jamie replied, without batting an eyelid.

‘You can’t drink that rubbish!’ Peter said, with a large laugh. ‘Either drink good champagne or none at all. Nothing worse than a cheap champagne headache, my love.’

‘Cheap? That was twenty-seven dollars a glass!’ Lily exclaimed.

‘Exactly!’ Peter laughed.

‘What did you order instead?’

‘Billy. The rosé. It’s excellent. You’ll like it.’

‘Billy? That’s the name of the champagne?’

‘Well, no, Billecart-Salmon is the proper name, but everyone calls it Billy.’

‘It sounds ridiculous, like a joke name.’

Peter shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose, but it’s no different than calling a bottle of Dom Perignon “Dom”, or calling guacamole “guac”.’

‘Are you serious? You call guacamole “guac”?’ she giggled. ‘Honestly, for someone so sophisticated, you can sound really ridiculous at times.’

‘Thanks. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far this evening,’ Peter joked.

Jamie returned and poured Lily a taste of the Billecart-Salmon champagne. Peter nodded in approval.

‘That’s lovely, thanks,’ she said, smiling across the table at Peter. ‘It is good, to be fair. Definitely not your average Prosecco.’

Peter rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking her glass. ‘You look great. Did I already say that? Well, in any case you do. How was your day?’

The conversation rolled along easily as they made their way through multiple courses, with the odd interruption of a buzz from Peter’s phone. He would remove it from his pocket, glance at the message or number, frown and tuck it back into his pocket, refusing to engage in a text-message conversation. ‘Never stops,’ he sighed, repeatedly. ‘When did people stop talking on the phone? All I get these days are these passive-aggressive text messages. Whatever happened to just picking up the phone and calling someone?’

Peter had started a headhunting firm in London eight years earlier that now employed almost sixty people globally. He relocated to New York three years later to open the US office, and the addition of an office in Tokyo last year meant that he was constantly juggling different time zones. He had an impeccable work ethic, as did most of the successful people that Lily had come across in her four years in New York, but he also seemed to thrive on being busy. Lily loved her job as senior copywriter at a hugely successful media company, but she also relished her slow, lazy weekends. Peter, on the other hand, managed his weekend as he did his weekday calendar, planning his personal training sessions, sailing, waterskiing and multiple social events that were not always entirely social, but merely another way of maintaining and enhancing his network in New York. He had bought a home in Sag Harbor in New York’s very affluent Hamptons the year he made his first million, so summer weekends were all about the Hamptons.

Lily had quickly learned that America’s seasonal rituals were written in stone. Her experience with New Yorkers had taught her that Thanksgiving was spent with family, spring break meant a trip to Florida, or preferably a Caribbean island, and once the first official weekend of summer (Memorial Day weekend) rolled around, there was a mass exodus to the Hamptons. Entire families decamped to their summer homes, some rambling mansions, others more modest versions of the American Dream. For the majority of these families, the man was the major breadwinner and so apart from his two-week vacation in July or August, he would commute to the Hamptons from his Manhattan home every Friday afternoon, returning late Sunday night or early Monday morning. The two-lane highway leading back to Manhattan was mostly filled with large, fancy cars and their sole male drivers on Sunday nights and Monday mornings.

Peter’s phone buzzed again as the waiter handed them the dessert menu.

‘Sorry, Lily, I have to take this,’ he said, shaking his head as he stood up from the table. ‘I swear to God if this guy had one single useful idea it would die of loneliness in his head,’ he ranted, placing his napkin on the table. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Lily sighed and slumped back into her chair, letting her shoulders sag. Her lower back muscles ached from having had to maintain perfect posture for the past hour and a half.

‘Famous last words,’ she mumbled, tipping back the last sip of wine in her glass.

Lily knew well enough by . . .