Italian for Beginners
The Art of
F
RENCH
K
ISSING
“Overflowing with bubbly fun, filled with delicious romance and madcap adventures, and, toujours, intoxicating with the magic
of Paris… Like a bottle of champagne… You’ll drink it down in one glamorous gulp.”
—Julia Holden, author of
One Dance in Paris
“A sweet, funny tale about losing love and finding yourself. Set against the backdrop of the most romantic city on earth,
The Art of French Kissing
takes us on an exciting whirlwind of glitz, glamour, and celebrity scandals—with a side order of reinvention.”
—Johanna Edwards, author of
The Next Big Thing
“I’m a big fan of Kristin Harmel, and
The Art of French Kissing
is my favorite of her novels.”
—Melissa Senate, author of
See Jane Date
and
Love You to Death
“Très magnifique! I loved this book and you will, too!… A sweet and adorable page-turner that will make you long for the City
of Light.” —Brenda Janowitz, author of
Scot on the Rocks
“A fun, lively story that made me fall in love with Paris all over again.” —Lynda Curyn, author of
Bombshell
“Harmel’s novel is a fun, high-spirited piece of chick lit.”
—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“A sweet, surprisingly gentle story… I enjoyed it.”
—MrMedia.com
THE BLONDE THEORY
“Entertaining.” —
London Free Press
“Rush out and pick this one up. You’ll be glad you did. So entertaining that I won’t be surprised if this one ends up on the
big screen.” —NightsandWeekends.com
“With a smart heroine willing to date as a bona fide ditz, there are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments… the true joy comes
when Harper drops the silly blonde act and gives the shallow men she meets a piece of her mind.”
—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazin
e
HOW TO SLEEP WITH A MOVIE STAR
“Hilarious.” —
Cosmopolitan
“We recommend
How to Sleep with a Movie Star
.”
—
New York Daily News
“Hilarious… deliciously entertaining.”
—Sarah Mlynowski, author of
Milkrun
and
Monkey Business
“Kristin Harmel dishes with disarming honesty and delivers a sparkling, delightful story about the push and pull between being
average and being a celebrity.”
—Laura Caldwell, author of
The Year of Living Famously
and
The Night I Got Lucky
“Forget the movie star! For a really good time, take this hilarious book to bed instead.”
—Jennifer O’Connell, author of
Dress Rehearsal
and
Insider Dating
The events and characters in this book are fictitious. Certain real locations and public figures are mentioned, but all other
characters and events described in the book are totally imaginary.
Copyright © 2009 by Kristin Harmel
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
5 Spot
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
.
www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub
5 Spot is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing.
The 5 Spot name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: August 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-55066-6
Contents
Praise for Kristin Harmel’s books!
5 Recipes Inspired by Italian for Beginners
To all my wonderful friends, who have taught me volumes about love, trust, and faith just by being yourselves. Words can’t
express how much you all mean to me or how lucky I feel to have you in my life.
LSO BY
K
RISTIN
H
ARMEL
How to Sleep with a Movie Star
The Blonde Theory
The Art of French Kissing
I
feel like my life gets better and better each year because of all of the wonderful people in it. I’m so lucky to have so
many great friends and loved ones.
A special thank-you to Amy Tangerine, whose creativity and kindness inspire me; Gillian Zucker, who keeps me grounded; Lauren
Elkin, who broadens my world; Kara Brown, for all the smiles (and for being my Rome traveling partner); and Kristen Milan
Bost, who can complete my sentences and whose wedding I was so honored to be a part of (congratulations!). Thanks also to
my amazing mother, who gave me a solid foundation and continues to surround me with love; to my sister, Karen, and brother,
David, who are two of my favorite people in the world; and to my dad, who I am glad to be getting to know better. I’m also
fortunate to have a great extended family—especially my wonderful grandparents, Donna, Steve, Anne, Pat, Fred, Merri, Derek,
Jessica, Gregory, and Janet.
Thanks to all those whom I have the pleasure of working with, especially my talented, insightful editor, Karen Kosztolnyik;
my wonderful agent, Jenny Bent; the publicity team of Elly Weisenberg and Melissa Bullock; and the 360 Media team of Tara
Murphy and Ashley Hesseltine. Thanks also to Michelle Rowell of Piper-Heidsieck, Katarina Maloney of Pierce Mattie, and Jessica
Eule, Shauna Maher, and Mara Piazza of Mediabistro.com. Thanks to my film manager, Andy Cohen, who becomes a better and better
friend each year (I owe you a burger at Barney’s!); my
People
magazine editors Nancy Jeffrey and Moira Bailey; my UK editors Cat Cobain and Sara Porter; and of course Caryn Karmatz Rudy,
Celia Johnson, and Mari Okuda at Grand Central. And a huge thanks to the writers who have become my dear friends, especially
Megan Crane, Liza Palmer, Jane Porter, Alison Pace, Sarah Mlynowski, Lynda Curnyn, Melissa Senate, Brenda Janowitz, Laura
Caldwell, Lauren Myracle, E. Lockhart, Robin Palmer, William McKeen, and Lisa Daily.
Thanks to my many wonderful, amazing, talented, kind friends, including: Scott Moore, Lisa Wilkes, Courtney Spanjers, Ryan
Newell, Kendra Williams, Wendy Jo Moyer, Elizabeth Rivera, Chris Loomis, Leonard Holman, Megan Combs, Amber Draus, Willow
Shambeck, Melixa Carbonell, Julie Walbroel, Sanjeev “Jeeves” Sirpal, Trish Stefonek, Krista Mettler, Don Clemence, Michelle
Tauber, Christina Sivrich, Zena Polin, Wendy Chioji, Courtney Jaye, Ryan Dean, Ben Bledsoe, Lana Cabrera, Pat Cash, Courtney
Harmel, Janine Harmel, Megan McDermott Lewis, Ryan Moore, the real Marco Cassan, Evan Lowenstein, Kate Atwood, Samantha Phillips,
Steve Tran, the Rock Boat Girls (Maite, Amanda, Gail, and Michelle), Barry Cleveland, Michael Ghegan, Denny Hamlin, Steve
Helling, Vanessa Parise, Amy Green, Ashley Tedder, and the Pearson family: Susan, Carleigh, Cole, and Luke.
To Amy, Courtney, and Gillian: May our TIC-TAC adventures continue as we raise a Harmtini, a Tangerinetini, a Courtini, and
a Gilli-tini to our friendship at Katsuya! And of course to the Kristin Convention.
A “woof” and “meow” to some of my favorite four-legged friends: Duke Harmel, Bailey Harmel, Ty Cleveland, Buster and Bamboo
Tan, Emma Carbonell, Tater Tot and Annie Shambeck, Chloe Ghegan, Josie Atwood, Carlie Pace, and Parker and Miles Newell.
And to all of you whose belief in love has been tested: hold tight to the belief that things work out the way they’re supposed
to in the long run, even when life gets in the way. So just be you, treat others the way you’d want to be treated, and enjoy
all the adventures along the way to your happily ever after.
I
t all began with a wedding.
My little sister, Becky, and I, along with a few cousins and friends, had been brushed, buffed, and polished to perfection
that morning at our favorite salon on the Upper East Side. Vows had been written and rehearsed, something blue had been borrowed,
and as I stood on the altar, watching my baby sister prepare to promise forever to a man she’d known for a year, I couldn’t
help feeling a bit like I was the something old to her something new.
“Rebecca, do you take Jay to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for
richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?” asked the priest, gazing down at my sister.
“I do,” she said softly.
Her fiancé, Jay, echoed her vows as he looked at my redheaded sister, whose pale, freckled skin looked perfect swathed in
the silk of her ivory Carolina Herrera dress.
Just as the priest was moving on to his next line, something serious about the vow of forever, I heard a low mumbling from
the front row of the church. I tried to tune it out, knowing full well what it was.
Not now
, I thought.
Please, not now.
But the mumbling got louder.
And then it took on the distinctively raspy Irish brogue of my grandmother.
“What’s this?” she asked loudly as my dad tried in vain to shush her. “Is that little Rebecca getting married?”
Another mumble ran through the church as my grandmother’s voice rose and floated through the congregation. Becky turned around,
glanced at Grandma, and then looked at me in horror. I shrugged, helpless. What could I do? I was standing at the altar, several
long yards away from the front row of pews. And clearly, Dad wasn’t having much luck shushing her.
“Mum!” I heard my father whisper desperately. “Shhhh! It’s Rebecca’s wedding!”
“Rebecca, you say?” demanded my grandmother loudly, her Irish brogue sharpened around the edges by a lifetime of smoking addiction.
She coughed to punctuate her question. “Rebecca? But Rebecca’s the younger one! What about Cat?”
I closed my eyes briefly, hoping that perhaps my father would have the good sense to drag his mother from the church. But
of course this was an Irish Catholic wedding—a wedding in our large Connelly clan, no less—and what good would it be without
a little disruption from my grandmother?
“Yes, Mum, Rebecca’s the younger one,” Dad whispered soothingly. “You know that. Let’s talk about it after the ceremony, okay?”
There was silence for a second, and I thought with a little slice of hope that Grandma had agreed to delay their little chat.
Slowly, I let out my breath, and I could hear a small
swoosh
of others throughout the church doing the same. Becky shot me a look of tentative relief and turned back to Jay.
The priest had just opened his mouth to speak when Grandma piped up again, her loud, raspy voice punctuating the still, musty
air of the church.
“But where’s Cat?” she asked. I glanced around nervously, wondering if I should respond. “Where’s
Cat
?” she repeated, more loudly this time.
“She’s just there, Mum,” my father said. I could hear the weariness in his voice.
“Where?” Grandma demanded. “Not the one in the white dress, then?”
“No, Mum, that’s Rebecca,” Dad said as Grandma continued to scan the church wildly.
I looked from side to side nervously. Perhaps if I ignored her, she’d just disappear. I held my breath and tried counting
backward from ten, a trick that had often worked to calm me down when I was a little girl.
Please God
, I prayed,
please make Grandma stop talking.
After all, this was a church. He had to listen to me here, didn’t He?
But instead of quieting down, Grandma began insistently repeating my name. “Cat?” she asked raspily, her voice rising. “Cat?
Where’s Cat? Cat, dear?”
Gradually, her words drowned out Dad’s protests. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for the deluge of words to stop. When I
cracked them open a few seconds later, Becky was staring down at me, her cheeks flushed with color.
“Do something!” she whispered urgently. “Please?”