Wish You Were Italian (34 page)
Read Wish You Were Italian Online
Authors: Kristin Rae
Get a makeover
See Pompeii
Swim in the Mediterranean Sea
Have a conversation with someone in only Italian-FAILED
Eat a whole pizza in one sitting
Fall in love with an Italian-FAILED
God, for filling my life with a variety of loving people and for this unshakable desire to create.
Josh, for your love, patience, support, and for dealing with my many whims. I love you more every day. Mom, for always encouraging my artsy side and all those trips to the library. Dad, for setting such a great example of hard work and generosity. To both parents for the insane amount of love and confidence. Grandma Rosie, for your eagerness to read more of my pages. You’ll never know just how much your excitement kept me going. My husband’s incredible family, Bill, Cindy, Jon, and Kelly, for welcoming and loving me. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better family to marry into. Seth and Angela, for traveling to Italy with us on the adventure that inspired so much of this book. We can make it through anything after sharing a room with four twin beds crammed together.
Marietta Zacker, my amazing agent, for picking me out of the slush. Your enthusiasm for Pippa and your faith in me mean the world. I’m so thankful for you and all that you do!
My editor, Caroline Abbey, for taking a chance on me. Thank you for every heart and smiley face alongside your spot-on suggestions. I will never stop telling you how awesome you are!
The wonderful team at Bloomsbury. I’m thrilled to be part of this new line, If Only!
Katie M. Stout, for the countless hours of brainstorming, critiques, friendship, and squees. SU SU! Kristi Chestnutt, who can talk anyone off the ledge, you are an invaluable critique partner, encourager, and friend. Get
out!
Amy Sonnichsen, for the inspiration, direction, and friendship. Mari Ferrer, for our brainstorming/writing cupcake outings. Joy Preble, for all the writing dates, advice, and encouragement. Maria Cari Soto, for your beta reading expertise and our bookstore/movie escapades. Kim Franklin, for the fangirl rainbows!
So many others have influenced where I am at this exact moment in my writing life: Lindsay Arrant, Tanner Jones (*waves to Holly*), Amy Rose Thomas, Heather Dettmers, Sarah Ahiers, Colene Murphy, Abby Minard, Deana Barnhart, J. R. Johansson, Karen Akins, Kiki Hamilton, Amy Fellner Dominy, Lydia Kang, and my debut buddies in the Class of 2k14 (*waves to Lauren Magaziner*).
My muses: Mindy Gledhill, for your perfect album,
Anchor
. I like to think your music is in Pippa’s head while she travels throughout Italy, as it was always in mine when I was writing
her. Darren Criss, for your voice and your crazy curly hair. Michael Giacchino, for composing such moving and inspirational film scores. Switchfoot, my favorite band of all time, whose music has been there for me no matter the circumstance. “Love is the movement.”
Kristin Rae
was born and raised in Texas, though her accent would suggest otherwise. She started writing her first novel during her graduation ceremony from Texas A&M and realized too late she may have studied the wrong thing. A former figure-skating coach, LEGO merchandiser, and photographer, she’s now happy to create stories while pretending to ignore the carton of gelato in the freezer. Kristin lives in Houston with her husband and their two boxers.
The
line
Wish You Were Italian
by Kristin Rae
Fool Me Twice
by Mandy Hubbard
Not in the Script
by Amy Finnegan
(coming soon)
WANT MORE OF WHAT YOU CAN’T HAVE?
Read on for a glimpse at another romance filled with
gorgeous cowboys, a touch of amnesia, and
an epic revenge plot against an ex-boyfriend!
“I pledge allegiance, to the flag …”
I stiffen, my grip on the pitchfork, tightening so hard the wood bites into the still-developing calluses on my palms. The voice behind me is the very one I’ve waited to hear for the last week.… But he’s
mocking me
.
I slice a glare in Landon’s direction. He’s standing in the entry to the empty stall, his lanky, all-too-muscular body a silhouette against the fluorescent fixture hanging behind him. The dust kicked up by my work swirls in the light hugging his body.
I wish I could make out his expression, to figure out if it’s the same sneer he gave me that first day back at school last fall. When he broke my heart.
I smirk, saying, “Ha, ha, ha. You must think you’re super clever.”
“Actually, I do.” He puts a hand to his heart. “You really wound my ego.”
I roll my eyes. “‘No tears, please. It’s a waste of good suffering.’”
He drops his hand back to his side. “Are you quoting
Hell-raiser?
”
I blink. “Um, no?” I turn back to the pitchfork, hoping he buys it, and toss another scoop into the overflowing wheelbarrow. I should have emptied it already, but this is the last stall.