The Italian Castle

by Catherine Mangan

Genres: Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

One summer escape could change your life . . .

After a devastating break-up, budding artist Emma escapes to the sun-drenched Italian island of Giglio with her two best friends, determined to not let her own heartbreak get in the way of the ultimate hen weekend.

With sprawling sandy beaches, glistening turquoise seas and delicious food, Emma finally feels like she can leave her troubles behind - until her best friend reveals a jaw-dropping secret that shakes Emma to her core. Unable to continue with her girls weekend, Emma goes off on her own and finds solace deep within Giglio's castle walls, where she meets Jack, an Irish artist in Italy for the art festival, and sparks an instant connection.

As the pair grow closer over their shared passion for art, Jack instils in Emma the confidence to finally follow her dreams. But Jack has secrets of his own, and under the heat of the Italian sun, will those secrets come to light?

Escape to an Italian island with this perfect escapist summer romance, and fall in love with this irresistible holiday read, perfect for fans of Rosanna Ley, Nicky Pellegrino and Rebecca Raisin.

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 90000

Sample

The buzzer on Emma’s apartment door rang shortly after six o’clock. She placed the knife next to the onion on the chopping board and padded barefoot through the kitchen to the intercom system.

Who shows up unannounced on a Monday evening? she thought, as she hit the speaker button.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me. Who else would it be?’

‘What are you doing here on a Monday night?’

‘I was just passing.’

Emma laughed. ‘Liar. You don’t live anywhere near here.’

‘Okay, so I lied. I wasn’t just passing. Consider this an intervention. Hurry up and let me in. It’s pouring with rain.’

‘Did you bring wine?’

‘Of course I brought wine. When do I ever show up without wine? I brought food, too. I stopped at the new Thai place.’

Emma buzzed her in and unlocked the door to her apartment. She tossed the onion back in the fridge drawer, along with the defrosted salmon fillet, and pulled out a previously chilled bottle of white wine. The bag of spinach leaves would remain unopened in the fridge for another day.

Another bag of spinach brought home to die in the bin, she thought.

Jo burst through the door, rain dripping from her umbrella and from the two plastic carrier bags in her hands.

‘You wouldn’t put a dog out in that tonight. This weather is brutal. Summer in Dublin is a joke.’ She pulled a bottle of wine from her oversized handbag. ‘This isn’t cold. Please tell me you have wine chilled.’

Emma smiled and twisted the corkscrew down into the cork. ‘When do I ever not have wine in the fridge? I was just opening a bottle. And what are you doing bringing Thai food? I’m on a diet for the wedding.’

Jo removed her coat and tossed it in the bathroom, pulled a hair clip from her bag and whipped her fiery red hair into a messy knot on her head. ‘Emma, it’s Thai food. Do you know any fat Thai people? No. And I told them to hold the rice, so it’s practically health food.’ She kicked off her shoes. ‘I’m soaked. Did you just get home?’

‘Yep, ten minutes ago. I thought I’d have to cook.’

‘You cook on Mondays? It’s bad enough having to contend with a Monday in its own right, but having to make my own dinner, too? Not a chance. I have to stare into people’s mouths all day. That’s enough torture in a day.’

‘Yeah, but dentists make a fortune so I’ve no sympathy for you. I, on the other hand, work in a financial planning office and get paid to track and record the savings and investment plans of actual rich people: people on six-figure salaries. Do you have any idea how depressing that is on a daily basis? My salary barely covers my life here in Dublin. I’m not investing anything anytime soon.’

Emma poured the Pinot Grigio into two glasses.

‘What’s that?’ Jo asked.

‘Pinot Grigio,’ Emma replied, confused.

‘No, I’m referring to the amount you just poured into my glass. Top it up, lady. I’m gonna need a heavy pour to loosen the knot in my brain.’

Emma smiled and topped up both glasses while Jo pulled three small and two large plastic containers from the bag.

‘I hate that they use all that plastic. Why hasn’t someone figured out a compostable alternative to plastic takeaway containers?’

Jo picked up her glass. ‘Easy there, Greta, you can put away your placard for the night. We’ll sign a petition tomorrow if it’ll make you feel better. Just be grateful that we don’t have to cook. Cheers.’

‘That’s why I live in a city. Imagine if you had to cook your own dinner every night. No thanks. Cheers.’ She raised her glass to Jo’s. ‘How was work? How’s your new assistant?’

‘About as useful as a chocolate teapot.’ Jo sat down on a kitchen stool. ‘I’m going to have to start interviewing again. There’s no way she’ll stay the course. She told me today that she’s going to need a standing desk and that hot coffee scares her.’ She sighed. ‘I miss the part of the pandemic that made it illegal for people to come anywhere near me. I think I’d do fine as a recluse.’

Emma laughed. ‘You’re the least reclusive person I know. You just hate your job.’

Jo sipped the wine. ‘Correction, I hate my career. And to think that I had the points for law.’ She shook her head. ‘The wine is good, though, and Monday nights are my favourite.’

‘You like Monday nights? What’s wrong with you?’

‘Monday night is the furthest possible point on the calendar from next Monday morning, when another tragic day looms just out of sight over the horizon.’

Emma began to pull the lids off the plastic containers and grabbed two plates. ‘You’re extra dramatic tonight. Is that why you bought all this food? I could call the neighbours in if I liked them, and we’d have enough to go around.’

‘Oh, is the woman next door still a psycho?’

‘Yes.’

‘How exciting; my neighbours are so vanilla by comparison. We should invite her over for a laugh. Talking to her is like turning on a loaded blender without a lid. She’s a mess. And yes, I know that I over-ordered and I’m okay with it. I comfort eat when I’m stressed. Hence the five different dishes. You’re welcome.’

‘Smells amazing,’ Emma said as she pulled the lids off a shrimp green curry and a chicken pad thai. She dipped a spring roll in orange sauce and took a bite. ‘God, these are good. I haven’t had real food in days. I’m sick of salads. What are you stressed over? Anything juicy? A man, maybe?’

‘Oh, God, no, just work drama.’

‘Jo, when was the last time you went on a date?’

Jo hesitated for a moment. ‘The nineties, maybe, and I still have PTSD, so don’t start. Did you know that dentists hold the highest suicide rate among white-collar professionals? Bleak.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about the wedding instead.’

Emma groaned. ‘Do we have to?’

‘Emma! Don’t be so mean. It’s her big day.’

‘I know, I know. I love her to death, but I just can’t cope with all the wedding talk. It’s non-stop, Jo. I mean, I’m sure all brides are the same, but normally you only have to deal with it in the run-up to the wedding. This has been constant for months now.’

‘Well, maybe that’s because those brides aren’t one of your best friends, so you only see them on random occasions. Emma, this is Eve we’re talking about, and the fact that the three of us get together two or three times a week means we’re going to have to listen to the wedding stuff. It’ll all be over in a couple of months and then she’ll go back to normal, sarcastic, mundane conversations. The fairy tale has a limited timeline and she’s just in her bliss phase.’

Emma sat down alongside her and sighed loudly. ‘Yeah, I know. God, I hate even hearing myself talk like this. It’s not her fault. It’s just hard to be all bubbly and happy right now after everything that’s happened.’

‘Well, so, don’t. Who said you have to be bubbly? When were you ever bubbly in the first place?’ Jo teased.

‘I know, I know. I’ve been second guessing the whole trip, to be honest. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but maybe I shouldn’t even go to Italy.’

Jo paused; a spring roll held aloft in the air. ‘Okay, I don’t want to hear another word of you even thinking about not going to Italy. First, that’s simply not an option. This is Eve’s hen party and we are her best friends, so it’s our obligation to go to a gorgeous Italian island and celebrate some of the last few days of single life with her. And second, well,’ Jo let out a slow exaggerated sigh, ‘Emma, it’s Italy! An Italian island.’ She gestured dramatically with both hands. ‘Sunshine, warm water, beaches, boats, Italian food, Italian wine. What’s not to love?’

Emma nodded. ‘I know … You’re right, and of course I’m going to go. I just need to forget about the past few months and put it all behind me.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Jo replied. ‘No offence, but you’ve done the sad self-pity bit for long enough. You’re just wasting time on someone who doesn’t deserve it. Paul’s a cheater. He proved that and you need to let it go.’

Emma grimaced. ‘No, I’ll take it to the grave, thanks. I’m fully qualified at holding massive grudges.’

‘Fair enough. You haven’t heard from him, have you?’

‘No, not a word. He gave up months ago.’

‘Good, well it seems like he’s accepted his fate. You’re well rid of him; he’s a stale ham sandwich of a man, and you need to accept your new reality. Quite frankly, I think you dodged a bullet. You were engaged, not married. Imagine, if you hadn’t found out about him cheating when you did, this could have been a whole lot worse. You’re single, Emma, not dead. Being single isn’t the worst thing in the world.’

Emma sighed. She knew that Jo was right, and she desperately wanted to put the entire debacle behind her and move on. But saying it was one thing, doing it was another. She had reeled from the betrayal and the sense of loss that it had unleashed. The future she had envisioned was no longer possible. It was the loss of the relationship, her partner, the loss of the life she had imagined with him, and a loss of confidence in herself, because how could she have been so blind? How could she have been such a fool, not seen it coming, not read the signs? Surely there were signs; weren’t there always signs in a situation like this? If there had been, she had missed them, and the consequences were abject shock and horror at how it had all gone so horribly wrong.

‘Just because you’ve been single your entire life doesn’t make you an Oprah-grade expert. It’s going to take me some time to get used to this and forget about him for real. It was four years, Jo. We were engaged and talking about moving in together. It’s not like I can just forget about it overnight and move on. I’m trying, but some days are harder than others, that’s all.’

‘Sorry, you’re right. I know. I just hate what he did to you, that’s all. You were in it for real. You gave it four years of your life and he threw it all away.’ Jo leaned across the table and squeezed Emma’s arm. ‘It’ll be okay. Look at it this way: you’re starting over, right? A fresh start, newly single and where are you going at the weekend? To an Italian island! Grab life by the arse, Emma! Pack fabulous dresses and skimpy bikinis and get ready to let loose in Italy.’

Emma sighed. ‘You’re right, you’re right. I’ll get it together.’

She stared out of the window, the rain running in rivulets down the glass. ‘This weather is tragic.’

‘All the more reason to run away from life to a gorgeous Italian island.’

Emma picked up her phone. ‘Is there going to be Wi-Fi in this place? What if we forget something? It’s not like we can just pop out to the shops. I mean, just how small and remote is this island?’

‘Dunno.’ Jo shrugged. ‘And don’t care. I don’t plan on contacting anyone while I’m away, and I’m sure they’ll have all the essentials.’

Emma tucked her blonde hair back behind her ears. She topped up their wine glasses, desperate to change the subject and talk about anything other than Paul. ‘Are we still meeting in Hugo’s for dinner tomorrow night?’

‘Totally. They do the best steak frites in Dublin. We need to talk about our packing lists because Eve is planning to travel like Grace Kelly, and I have no intention of looking like the poor relation. We all need to look fabulous. Channel Amal Clooney. And we need to talk about the itinerary. Eve is freaking out. All she wants is beach and chill.’

Emma frowned as she tossed the plastic lids into the recycling bin. ‘Well, Eve told me to take the lead because she wanted to be surprised, and I’ve spent weeks planning the perfect itinerary for her. So, sorry, but there’s a boat trip and a cooking class in her future. And what does Amal Clooney have to do with anything?’

‘Don’t you remember the week she got married in Venice? All the outfits? I mean, she had Anna Wintour giving sartorial advice and consulting on outfits, but still, she looked amazing. That’s the level of fabulousness I’m striving for here.’

‘Are you being serious right now? I’ve shopped at Penneys and ASOS for this trip, Jo. Don’t give me outfit anxiety as well as everything else.’

Jo laughed. ‘Doesn’t matter what you wear. It’s all about attitude, love. You’ll look fabulous.’

The first bottle of wine disappeared along with the appetisers. As Jo stood to pull a second bottle from the fridge, Emma rooted in her bag for her phone, opened her fitness app and added the calorie count for the spring rolls and first two glasses of wine. The app advised that she had five hundred calories left for the day. She mentally deducted the two hundred and twenty calories for the next two glasses of wine she would have with Jo, which left two hundred and eighty calories for her Thai main course.

‘Bleak,’ she muttered at the phone.

‘Go on, send her a text message. Throw her a bone,’ Jo said, screwing the corkscrew into the cork. ‘She’s all excited about getting together tomorrow night.’

Emma sighed as she opened her iMessages and typed a message to Eve, who was notoriously unpunctual. She turned to Jo. ‘What time are we meeting?’

‘Six.’

Eve was still unaware that both Emma and Jo gave her fake, earlier meet-up times to ensure they wouldn’t have to endure endless waits.

See you at Hugo’s at 5:30. We’ll order without you if you’re late.

Can’t wait! Gonna talk you out of at least half the adventures you’ve planned. This is a HOLIDAY! Beach, food, wine!

She added a smiley emoji and three bride emojis.

Emma stuck her phone back into her bag and turned to Jo. ‘How many years ago did we graduate?’

Jo thought for a moment. ‘Fifteen?’

‘This is the happiest I’ve seen Eve in fifteen years. I’m not sure if all the years of disastrous dates were like a training programme that led her to this happy place, or if suddenly they just don’t count. Either way, I’ve never seen her so happy.’

She pulled the pad thai dish closer to her. ‘Okay, I promise I’ll change my attitude. I’ll be positive and this will be fun. Maybe if I pretend that my life is great, and the bad thing didn’t happen to me at all, I can manifest myself into a better place. What do you think?’

Jo poured the wine. ‘Gotta keep these glasses topped up. I think wine is the adult equivalent of armbands. Like, it’s absolutely an essential survival tool. Seriously, though, I know your personal life sucks right now, but we’re going to Italy, Emma, not jail.’

‘You’re right. I just need to change the conversation in my head. As in right now,’ she agreed as they clinked glasses and toasted their Italian trip.

Jo twirled her chopsticks in the noodles as Emma read out their itinerary, and the carefully laid plans that took them from Dublin to Rome and onwards to the island of Giglio. As the conversation ran to boat trips and beaches, she couldn’t help but feel a little excitement about the promise of a real holiday with the girls and the magical feeling of touching down in Italy for the adventure to unfold.

The three girls hauled their carry-on cases down the narrow, windowless, interior staircase of the ferry, bumping from one wall to the other as the ship listed and swayed on its approach to the dock. The intercom played a recorded announcement advising in Italian and English that they were arriving at Isola del Giglio. Standing among the throng of people impatiently awaiting their turn to disembark from the sweltering airless hull, the girls were giddy in anticipation of the fresh sea air and afternoon sunshine. As the crowd inched its way along, Emma shuffled behind Jo, her eyes peeled on the narrow metal exit door ahead and her first glimpse of Giglio.

She stepped onto the stone marina and gazed around, taking in the assault of colour and the cacophony of Italian sounds. She tipped her face up to the sun, a smile spreading slowly across her face. Jo had been right. How could she have even for a moment considered missing this? She moved to one side, backing up to the port wall next to Jo as the ferry continued to disgorge its remaining passengers.

‘Sorry, I got stuck in the crowd,’ Eve said, eventually catching up with her two friends. She twisted her long blonde hair into a knot and secured it on the top of her head. ‘I hate being stuck inside like that with no windows. I think I might be a bit claustrophobic.’

‘You’re always a bit something,’ Emma mocked. ‘Today’s malaise is claustrophobia. I’ll add it to the list of things you think you might suffer from.’

‘I’m serious!’ Eve exclaimed. ‘I get the same weird feeling if I’m stuck in a lift for too long. Okay, where do we go now?’

‘Yes, where’s the hotel, Emma?’ Jo asked, turning to look left and right.

‘Why are you asking me? You’re the one who booked it, Jo!’

‘Only because you gave me that job, and that was months ago. I haven’t looked at it since. I haven’t had a minute! I do know my room has a sea view, though.’

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Helpful. A sea view. Yep, that really narrows the search seeing as we’re practically standing in the bay right now.’

‘Sorry, can’t help,’ Eve added. ‘I’m just here to be surprised and astonished.’

Jo sat her shoulder bag on top of her case. ‘This is why we made you our Chief Planner years ago, Emma. You do such great work! All we’ve gotta do is show up. I can look it up on my phone. What’s it called again?’

Emma lifted her sunglasses off her face. ‘Oh my God, you two are killing me. You don’t even know the name of the place, do you?’ She sighed. ‘The website said it was literally a five-minute walk from the boat towards the end of the marina. It’s called Hotel La Guardia. The address said Giglio Porto. Look! There it is,’ she said, pointing straight ahead. ‘That’s it. I recognise it from the photos I saw online.’

The building, the last on the marina, stood four storeys tall and jutted out over the harbour and the small beach directly below, its open-air deck facing the wider bay beyond.

Emma adjusted her hat on her head. ‘And to think I almost didn’t come.’ She strode off in the direction of the hotel, the other two scrambling to keep pace.

The marina stretched the length of the village, beginning at the central piazza and continuing down as far as Hotel La Guardia. The girls . . .