The Italian Holiday

by Catherine Mangan

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Escape to Italy and fall in love with this perfect summer read...

Floundering junior travel writer Katie has just been given the opportunity of her career. Her boss can't make her trip to the idyllic but little-known Italian island of Ponza, and Katie must step into her luxurious designer shoes to write the piece for the magazine. Boarding the plane with her best friend Farrah, Katie waves goodbye to her unglamorous domestic trips and hello to a week of sun, sand and sparkling seas.

But then disaster strikes. Farrah is involved in an accident and Katie must stay by her side for a month while she recovers. Katie is in panic-mode, trying to appease both her micro-managing boss and her passive-aggressive boyfriend back in New York, while an intriguing local chef, Nico, tries to show her all that the island has to offer.

As she gets to know Nico and falls in love with the relaxed pace of the island, Katie begins to question her life back home and what she truly wants. But will she figure out what's truly important to her before it's too late?

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 23, 2024

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 90000

Sample

The cursor blinked repeatedly on the screen in front of her. Katie leaned back in her chair and stared out of the window at the sweeping view of downtown Manhattan, focusing on nothing in particular. The office was bustling with more activity than normal, as her colleagues scrambled to get their assignments completed, dashing from one office to another and speaking or shouting loudly, urgently. The elevated voices only added to Katie’s growing levels of anxiety. She had two hours to complete this week’s assignment – ‘The Revival of Flagstaff, Arizona’ – and was struggling to find anything remotely inspiring to write. She sat bemoaning the fact that she had once again left her submission to the last minute and swore that she would tackle next week’s piece in advance of the deadline.

‘You’ve got to get your shit together, Katie,’ she said quietly, her finger hovering over her mouse.

She picked up her yellow A4 pad, scanning the notes she had scrawled earlier in the week. ‘Absolutely nothing exciting about this assignment, so how am I supposed to pull together nine hundred words that anyone might want to read?’ she said, tossing the notepad back onto the desk. She sat quietly, absentmindedly tapping her pencil on the notepad. Images and words flashed through her mind as she started to scribble random thoughts. A villa in a foreign country, a terrace overlooking a lake, a crowd of elegantly dressed people gathering as the sun set on the horizon. She could imagine the bougainvillea bursting with colour, the sound of glasses clinking. Then a noise, a gunshot …

She tore out the page, crumpled it up and threw it in the wastepaper basket. ‘You’re not a novelist and you don’t get paid to write books,’ she muttered with a sigh. ‘And if you don’t come up with something for this article fast, you won’t be getting paid at all.’

She picked up her phone and texted her best friend, Farrah.

I’m screwed. I’m going to be fired by 5pm

She sat back and watched the ellipsis pulse as Farrah typed a response.

Why? What happened?

My piece is due in 2 hours and it’s RUBBISH!

Where’s this one about?

Flagstaff. Like, who wants to go to Flagstaff?

Katie added a slew of face palm Emojis to her message.

People who want to go to the Grand Canyon! Just make some shit up about Flagstaff and focus on access to the GC.

Seriously, you should have this job. I should have thought of that. OK. Tx. Talk later.

She leaned forward on her desk. ‘Make some shit up,’ she repeated, flipping through her pages of notes. ‘You’re an assistant editor at Intrepid Magazine, thirty-four years of age and still regularly asking Farrah for advice on how to do your job.’

She shook her head and circled a couple of bullet points.

If I had somewhere exciting to write about, it wouldn’t be a problem, she thought. All of the senior writers were sent on assignment to review the latest and greatest hotels, resorts or restaurants around the world, but two years in the job and she still hadn’t had an assignment outside of the United States. This is bullshit.

She sighed as she stood up, shoving back her chair and grabbing her monogrammed water bottle. It had been a gift from her boyfriend, Steve, to ensure that she wouldn’t mistake it for one of the other similar water bottles at the weekend spin classes. Spin class had been his idea, too. She had struggled through the first three classes, Steve assuring her that it would get easier, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of mild nausea each time she stepped off the bike. He had been less than impressed when she quit, and now even the water bottle made her feel pangs of guilt.

‘I need to lose this damn thing,’ she muttered, walking to the staff kitchen. ‘Even my water bottle is giving me anxiety.’

She pulled open the fridge door and took out her tub of hummus and bag of baby carrots.

Her colleague Marge was pouring green juice into a glass.

‘You’re addicted to that stuff. What is it exactly?’ Katie asked.

‘Kale, spinach, ginger, celery and avocado for a little sweetness.’

‘That’s where I’m going wrong, then, if you think avocado is sweet. You don’t add any fruit to it?’

‘Hell no, fruit has way too much sugar.’

Katie scooped some hummus from the plastic tub. ‘But fruit is natural sugar. I buy a green juice from Starbucks that’s got apple and lemon in it. Is that bad?’

Marge turned to face her directly. ‘Katie, you can’t drink that stuff. Those drinks are loaded with sugar. Have you ever read the labels on the bottles? Seriously, loaded with sugar!’

‘Well, that makes a lot of sense because, I swear, I thought my digital scales at home were broken this weekend. I’ve been really good for the last two weeks and I’ve seen no change. Not a shred of difference.’

Marge put her bottle back into the fridge and picked up her glass. ‘You’ve gotta go more than two weeks. That’s like the magic tipping point. Stick with it beyond two weeks and you’ll see a shift, but you’ve got to stay away from those fake health drinks. Just start making your own juice. Here,’ she said, handing Katie her glass. ‘Take a sip of this and if you like it, I’ll send you the recipe.’

‘Marge, that’s vile,’ Katie said with a grimace. ‘That makes me want to scrape my tongue. How do you drink it?’

Marge laughed. ‘I just don’t have a sweet tooth. How’s your piece on Flagstaff coming along? Did you finish it?’

‘No.’ Katie sighed. ‘It was arguably the most boring two days of my life, and that’s saying something given the number of lame and uninspiring destinations Mari has sent me to. I think I’m just gonna have to lie. If I tell the truth, no one will ever go to Flagstaff.’

Marge laughed. ‘I thought we were at the forefront of journalistic integrity?’

Katie filled her water bottle from the dispenser. ‘You might be. I’m not at the forefront of anything right now. Where’s your next assignment?’

‘Madagascar. I fly Sunday.’

‘Of course, you’re going to Madagascar.’ Katie sighed again. ‘You go off to Madagascar and report back on how life-changing and amazing it was. I’ll still be at my desk trying to say something about the Inn and Suites and the over-cooked broccoli back in Flagstaff.’

‘Well, at least you don’t have to worry about malaria on any of your domestic trips. I’ve been taking those pills for two weeks now. Who knows what kind of side-effects they could have?’

‘Honestly, Marge, I’d love to take my chances with a vampiric scourge of malaria-infested mosquitoes in the Indian Ocean rather than go to another po-dunk town in America.’

‘I’ve worked here four years, Katie. How long have you been here? Not even two? That’s still relatively new in Mari’s book. Give it a little more time and she’ll come round,’ Marge said. ‘And it’s not all sweetness and light, you know. I get five days in Madagascar and the jetlag is brutal. I’m not complaining, just saying that it’s not exactly a vacation. Plus, Mari is all over your ass when you’re out of the country on assignment because she feels like no one can do the job as well as she can.’

‘I know. I’m just bored, that’s all. I moved here from Dublin five years ago and thought I’d be living this super-sophisticated New York life by now. The reality is totally frustrating.’

Marge tipped back the end of her green juice. ‘This is exactly the moment most people quit. When they are “totally frustrated”. And it’s usually right before things change. Hang in there. Your time will come and, in the meantime, enjoy flying below Mari’s radar, because once you get on there you might just miss the easy days of domestic assignments. I gotta run. I’ll come see you before I leave.’

Katie wandered back to her desk, tapping her trackpad to bring her screen back to life, the cursor blinking in the same hopeless spot she had left it.

‘There you are,’ Mari said impatiently. ‘Honestly, Katie, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for hours.’

Katie turned to look up at her boss. She couldn’t believe her bad timing: she’d been sitting at her computer the entire day apart from the past ten minutes. At five foot nine inches, Mari’s presence loomed tall over Katie’s desk. ‘Oh, sorry, Mari, I was just in the kitchen. Can I help with something?’

‘Enough excuses. We’re up against a deadline,’ Mari said dismissively. ‘Come with me,’ she added sharply before turning in the direction of her glass-walled office.

Katie grabbed a notepad and pen and followed obediently. Mari’s desk phone rang as they walked into the office, so Katie perched quietly on the edge of her seat, directly across the desk from her boss. Being summoned to Mari’s office was rarely a good thing and Katie ran through a mental list of the possible reasons for a reprimand. She had to admit that her last assignment had hardly been her best work and now she was perilously close to being late with her next submission. Berating herself silently, she decided that she would have to cancel her dinner plans with Steve tonight and stay home to work if she had any hope of getting ahead.

Her eyes roved across the sparse and meticulously organised desk. A silver pen holder held a dozen purple ink pens. Mari refused to write with anything else, and Katie, as a result, hated the sight of the colour, her submissions regularly slashed through with violent purple annotations. A set of coasters from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a metallic paper tray and two silver-framed photographs of Mari and her husband, the two of them all wide smiles and arm-in-arm poses on some unrecognisable, picture-postcard-perfect beach.

The Caribbean, no doubt, Katie thought.

As editor-in-chief of Intrepid Magazine, Mari was a regular traveller to the Caribbean for A-list events and openings. Katie, by comparison, an assistant editor, had to stay behind in the crowded office fielding Mari’s phone calls and dealing with her demands. In the early days she had been excited to go on any assignment, but after dozens of B-rate domestic trips, she was now hopelessly envious as she watched Mari and the senior editors enjoy overseas assignments, swanning back to the office with a fresh tan and a new cover story.

Katie turned to stare out of the window as Mari continued to berate a colleague, her voice monotone and cutting. The Intrepid Magazine headquarters were located on the thirtieth and thirty-first floors of the Freedom Tower, offering 180-degree views of Lower Manhattan and the harbour.

‘Katie?’

‘What? Sorry, yes,’ Katie said, snapping back to attention.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Mari said.

‘Sorry, Mari, I was just admiring your view.’

‘I don’t have all day, Katie, so, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate your full attention.’

Katie sat up straighter in her chair, smoothing down tiny wrinkles in her navy culottes. She had never managed to put her finger on what exactly it was about Mari that instilled such anxiety in her. It was the work equivalent of having a police car drive behind you, nervously waiting for the blue lights to start flashing even though you knew that you’d done nothing wrong.

‘Well, I hate to have to do this—’

Katie gasped audibly.

‘Honestly, Katie, have some composure and hear me out before you react.’

Katie nodded, twisting her fingers together.

‘As I was saying … I hate to have to do this, but I need to cancel my upcoming trip and that means I’m going to have to jumpstart you.’

Katie frowned slightly and stared at Mari in confusion. Jumpstart was an industry term for a step up or a promotion.

‘Instead of going to Minnesota next month to review the new Radisson Blu, I need you to take my place and go to Ponza.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Katie, honestly, how many times have I told you that you need to stop saying sorry? It’s a bad habit. It sounds like you are apologising all of the time.’

Mari herself had a habit of overusing the expression ‘honestly’, when she was displeased with a situation or conversation.

‘Yes, sorry. I mean, sorry for the bad habit of apologising,’ Katie mumbled. ‘I’ll work on that. But, where did you say you’re sending me?’

‘Ponza,’ Mari said with an exasperated sigh. ‘Please tell me that you’ve heard of Ponza.’

Katie stared at her boss, pondering her response, determined not to screw up the opportunity. She knew Ponza was an Italian island – she had seen it featured on the spring edition mood board – but she couldn’t point it out on a map to save her life. ‘Well, yes, it’s in Italy um … near the um … whatcha call it—’

Mari sighed. ‘Katie, you work at the top travel magazine in the United States, and you can’t tell me where Ponza is without stumbling your way through a sentence. It’s a small island in the Pontine Islands archipelago.’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Katie without blinking, another habit that none of her staff enjoyed. ‘You have no idea where that is, do you?’

‘No, sorry,’ Katie said, realising a second too late that she had apologised again. ‘Dammit! No, I’m not sorry. I take that back, Mari. I don’t know where the Pontine Islands are, but I know they’re somewhere off the coast of Italy.’

‘Wonderful, here we are at the forefront of international travel, and my staff clearly need geography lessons. Of course Ponza’s off the coast of Italy: it’s an island, Katie.’ Mari shook her head. ‘It’s off the Tuscan coast. You do know where Tuscany is, right?’

‘Yes, of course I do,’ Katie replied, ignoring the sarcasm-laced comment.

‘You had better not disappoint me, Katie. I need you to take this seriously. Don’t make me regret giving you this assignment.’

‘No. Absolutely not!’ Katie gushed, her mind already flooding with a slideshow of images of Italian food, wine, beaches and bougainvillea-draped piazzas.

‘Very well,’ Mari said, adjusting her reading glasses on her nose.

For the next few minutes Mari explained what would be required of Katie and what she might expect as part of the overseas assignment. Katie’s mind began to spin as she tried to absorb what Mari was saying.

I’m finally getting a real assignment, she thought. The magazine is paying for me to go to Italy. She could feel her heart rate increase with a rush of adrenalin as she focused on Mari’s voice. Soundbites of the conversation reeled around in her head: an Italian island, flights to Rome, boat trip, restaurant reviews.

Oh my God, she thought in increasing excitement as Mari continued. The west coast; one of the last bastions of unexplored Italy. A five-night trip.

‘Five nights?’ Katie asked, interrupting Mari for the first time.

‘Yes, five nights on the island. You’ll be staying at Villa Leona.’

‘A villa!’

‘Honestly, Katie. Can you please resist the urge to repeat everything I say? You’re starting to sound like a parrot.’

Mari explained that the villa had recently undergone a multi-million-euro renovation, making it the island’s first five-star property. It was chic, but low-profile.

‘Ponza is one of the few spots in Italy as yet unfeatured in the magazine, and it has been shortlisted for the European Capital of Culture next year, so this piece is timely. I need you to understand that this is not a vacation, Katie, and that this article will be included in the “New Season, New Location” edition, so we’ve got zero room for error here.’

‘Got it,’ Katie said.

Mari pulled off her reading glasses and stared directly at Katie.

‘Katie, you do realise that this is a high-profile piece and one for which I’m not entirely sure you are qualified.’

‘Yes, I do.’ She nodded, suddenly aware of the clamminess of her hands. She rubbed them down along the sides of her trousers, wishing she had thought to take notes as Mari spoke.

‘Good. This needs all of your attention and more. Normally I’d have assigned it to Rachel, but she’s on honeymoon and everyone else is already fully committed for the next month, so I have no choice but to send you,’ Mari went on, her eyes not leaving Katie. ‘You’re it.’

‘How come you’re not going?’ Katie asked. ‘You normally love those European trips.’

‘My father-in-law is dying.’

Katie jolted. She stared at Mari, her jaw dropping open slightly. Mari’s face didn’t betray any emotion; in fact, she didn’t even look up from the papers she was now shuffling.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

Mari raised her hand to stop Katie in her tracks. ‘We’re here to do a job, Katie. There is no need to veer into the personal. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. You leave next week.’

‘Next week?’ Katie gasped.

‘Yes, next Monday is the first of the month. Why, do you have someplace else you need to be next week?’

‘Well, um, it’s my boyfriend’s birthday next week and I’m meeting his family for the first time, or, I mean, I was supposed to be meeting them. They’re coming to town for his birthday.’

Mari stared at her. ‘How nice,’ she said, pulling open a drawer and removing a Manila folder. ‘Your flight is booked, as is your accommodation and your transfers to and from Fiumicino airport,’ she continued. ‘I had pre-booked several excursions on the island, and you shall embark on those also. It’s all here in the dossier.’ Mari tapped her perfectly manicured fingers on the three-page document.

Katie hesitated.

Shit, she thought. Steve is going to freak out if I’m away when his mother arrives. Shit, shit, shit. Why can’t the universe ever line up to suit me?

She looked across the desk at Mari, who was staring at her, waiting for a response. ‘Sounds great,’ she said, pulling the dossier towards her.

Despite advances in digital technology, Mari insisted that all itineraries be in printed form, as well as the reviews and articles post-assignment, so that she could unleash the wrath of her purple editing pen in all its glory.

‘Sometimes we need to make sacrifices to get ahead, Katie. Now, you do have WhatsApp on your phone, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, because Italians use it exclusively and Intrepid won’t cover your phone bill if you call internationally.’

‘Okay,’ Katie said with a nod, getting more excited by the minute. Italy! A Tuscan Island! A villa!

‘Katie! Are you listening to me?’

Katie realised she had been looking at Mari but hadn’t heard a word that she’d said. ‘Yep.’

‘You’ll have the international daily stipend, which is higher than the domestic allowance. Blow it and you’re on your own dime. The villa has Wi-Fi, so that’s when you will log in and report back.’ Mari paused momentarily, leaning her elbows on the desk and forming both hands into a steeple. Katie had seen this before. It was Mari’s ‘power move’ and was used with some regularity for dramatic effect.

‘Katie, this is not the average domestic assignment that you are used to. This is far more important and a much higher priority, so I will expect daily updates.’

‘Got it.’ Katie had learned the hard way that less was more when engaging in any sort of dialogue with Mari.

‘Review the dossier and sign it before you leave for the day. Any questions?’

‘Um, well, no, I don’t think so, but I’ll read the—’

‘Good.’ Mari stared directly across the desk at her. ‘Why are you still here?’

‘Oh right, sorry. I’m not,’ Katie said, jumping up to leave. ‘Thanks for the opportunity, Mari. I’m so excited!’

‘There’s no need to prattle – just don’t mess this up, Katie. If our biggest piece of the year tanks because I was forced to hand it to a junior, you might as well get comfy at your current desk.’

Standing up was Mari’s way of indicating that the meeting had reached its conclusion. Katie nodded and quietly slipped out of the door, but even Mari’s threats couldn’t dampen her spirit as she pulled the door shut behind her.

She whipped out her phone and texted Steve.

OMG. I got a big assignment. ITALY! Finally got a big girl assignment!!

What? Italy?

Yes! Ponza! An island off the coast of Tuscany!!!

Whoa! That’s awesome! Congrats! When?

Next week for 5 nights!

The ellipsis pulsed and paused, then pulsed again.

You’ll be away for my birthday.

Katie sighed. Her stomach dropped. She’d hoped he’d be a little happy for her at least. Birthdays were a big deal to Steve, and she’d never missed one before. This change of events was going to scupper all of the birthday plans. She smiled slowly as an idea began to formulate in her head.

She started to type again.

It’s just 5 nights, Steve. Why don’t you come with me?

I can’t, my mom is flying in.

Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry I’m going to miss her.

It’s cool. I’m excited for you.

She could feel the fake enthusiasm radiate from the phone. She’d been so excited just a few moments ago, but now all she could think about was the drama she’d have to deal with later. He had to know what a huge opportunity this was, right? She felt a pang of guilt as his mom was flying in from South Carolina for the weekend and his sister was driving from Vermont, and she was supposed to meet them both for the first time, but couldn’t he just enjoy the weekend with his family? Surely once they heard about the assignment, they would understand her predicament. Who wouldn’t jump at an opportunity like this?

I can meet them another time, she thought. This is a big deal for me.

She tapped again on her phone.

Maybe we could—

His response popped up before she had finished typing.

Ok sugar, gotta run. Talk later.

She deleted her half-typed response and pulled up the earlier text thread with Farrah.

Hey. Can you talk? I’ve got news.

Gimme 5

Exactly five minutes later, Farrah called. ‘What a day. Sometimes I hate my life, you know, like hate it enough to get on a budget flight to Thailand and go braid hair for tourists on a beach.’

‘You don’t like spicy food. You’d be dead in a week,’ Katie replied, making her way back to her desk. ‘Bad day?’

Farrah sighed loudly. ‘Just a client who doesn’t understand the fundamentals of the law. Nothing new. So, what’s the news?’

Farrah was a junior attorney at a prestigious law firm in Manhattan. She worked eighty hours a week on average and was determined to make partner in another two years.

‘How do you fancy five nights, six days, all expenses paid, on an Italian island?’

‘I fancy it very much. What’s the catch?’

‘It’s next week, but seriously, Farrah, it’s a five-star trip. All you’ve gotta do is book a flight. It’s shoulder season, so the prices should be pretty reasonable.’

‘What’s the story? What’s with the last-minute reveal?’

‘Mari was supposed to go but now she can’t, so she’s sending me. Steve can’t go because his mom’s coming to town. What do you say?’

‘God, I haven’t taken a vacation since I took this job two years ago. My boss will lose his mind … When do you leave? Do the six days run over th. . .