I Wanna Be Eloisa James

One of my top-ten favorite romance authors is Eloisa James. I have adored and admired her since I read her debut book, Potent Pleasures. Not only is she a gifted writer, she is also a lovely woman, as I have written her fan letters and gotten advice on my own writing career from her. She is kind and down-to-earth and a role model.

She wrote an article for this month's issue of MORE magazine about Florence, Italy, a place I also adore. (See "Must Have Coffee" blog entry from yesterday.) It seems that Eloisa is married to a hunky Italian and journeys to Florence every year. What a life, huh?

What a bummer being dragged to one of the most beautiful cities in the world, a city so steeped in art and history and culture that you could probably live there your whole life and not absorb it all.

And the food? Get outta town. I got one word for you. Gelato.

Okay, maybe two words. Gelato and espresso. Pasta, too. (Someone stop me before I gain weight.)

Anyway, back to the article. She buys her lingerie there. What's that about? When I went to Florence, I bought a wallet. In retrospect, I can see what a ridiculous waste of money that was. First of all, the coin part never closed properly. Secondly, I just never considered wearing Italian underclothes. I think if I had a bra from Italy, I'd feel the urge to make homemade gnocchi or break out in a rendition of That's Amore. My only excuse is that I was young.

So, Eloisa's dresser is filled with frothy lace and satin and silk. What do I have in mine? No-nonsense Maidenform brassieres and all cotton Jockey underwear, some with polar bears on it. Jockey makes tighty-whities for men, for God's sake! (Note to self, go buy something sexy tomorrow if it kills you.)

The final aspect of Eloisa's life that I wouldn't mind having is, ahem, her Italian speaking husband. Okay, because when he speaks English, he must have that to-die-for accent. And when he speaks Italian...? Oh. My. God. I think my husband can still recite the Greek alphabet (a skill he learned while pledging Sigma Chi), but that's about it. (He has other talents, but murmuring sweet nothings in a foreign language ain't one of them.)

So, basically, like I said in the title, I wanna be bestselling author, jet-setting, lingerie collecting, married-to-an-Italian, Eloisa James. If I can't, then at the very least maybe the next time I see Ms. James at the Romance Writers of America Conference, her husband will be there and if I beg, he'll read my hotel bill for me in Italian.