Message received: he was avoiding her. If only her heart would take a clue and stop wanting him. But try as hard as she might, she couldn’t convince herself she was wrong, that Evan didn’t love her. She knew what she’d seen in his eyes that night in the library. But he wouldn’t admit it, for whatever reason.
She was on track to repairing her family’s legacy, but legacies did not keep her warm at night. Or make her laugh. Or challenge her. Or push her to be her best.
She’d read and reread his note, until the paper was in danger of falling apart where it was creased. She wanted to tell him that she no longer doubted herself. She yearned to tell him that she didn’t doubt him or his love, either. If he would only give her the opportunity...
But that was something he had to realize by himself, for himself. She couldn’t do it for him. In the meantime, there was delicious food to eat, exclusive wines to uncork and business to conduct. Evan had taught her about that, too. She geared herself up to go into the crowd—
And frowned. Aracely was running toward her. But Aracely didn’t run. She ordinarily floated. “What’s wrong?”
Aracely said something into the headset she wore, then turned to Marguerite. “Ted has to leave. He thinks something he ate at home did not agree with him.”
“Oh, no.” As director of operations, Ted was in charge of several key aspects of the harvest dinner. “Is he okay?”
Aracely nodded. “He will be fine. He tried to muscle through, but right now he’s...” She wrinkled her nose. “Not something to discuss at a black-tie dinner people paid hundreds of dollars to attend.”
“Poor Ted.” Marguerite screwed her eyes shut to think. “Okay, I can take over—”
“But,” Aracely interjected, “before he left, he called a friend and asked him to help out. Since we are short-staffed.”
“We don’t have time to train—”
“Ted gave him a quick quiz before he left, and he said his friend is well versed in St. Isadore’s wines. But if you would like to talk to the friend, to make sure he is knowledgeable, Ted asked him to wait in the library.”
“The library? Why not the winery office?”
“The winery is being used for VIP tours. This way, no one would see Ted...” Aracely mimed holding her stomach and groaning.
Marguerite narrowed her gaze. “I’m not going to find Nico visiting from college, am I? This isn’t some surprise you and he cooked up?”
Aracely’s eyes widened. “Marguerite. I am shocked you would think that. The harvest dinner is the most important event of the year for St. Isadore. Would I pull you, the owner and winemaker, away from guests if this were not an emergency?” She folded her arms across her chest, the perfect picture of injured indignation.
Marguerite ran her gaze over the terrace. It was still early. The dinner itself wouldn’t be served for another two hours. And if Ted was actually sick...and this mystery person could take on his duties...it would be a big assist. “Okay. I’ll be back soon, with or without this person, depending on what he says.”
But when Marguerite arrived in the library, it was empty. “Great,” she muttered. Now she had someone she didn’t know roaming the halls of the owner’s residence while she needed to be with her guests. She huffed and turned to leave the room—
And stopped. The life-size portrait of Linus was slightly askew, revealing darkness behind him. Someone had found the secret passage.
Her pulse quickened. Few people knew about the hidden hallways, and most of them weren’t presently in residence at St. Isadore. Maybe someone from the cleaning staff had unlatched the door the last time they were in the library.
Then the floor rumbled below her feet. Surprised, she put out a hand to brace herself against the wall. What the—?
Of course. The elevator. The one that led to the owner’s wine cellar.
She smiled. Was the room brighter, or was that only her vision, the dark filter that had hung over her since late July beginning to disappear as hope began to flood her senses? This could be a coincidence, she reminded herself, a simple malfunction of the elevator’s wiring. It could be a real thief, using the cover of the party to steal the valuable rare wines. Or it could really be a friend of Ted’s, doing some exploring while he waited.
There was one way to find out. She slipped into the secret passage. But instead of following it to the elevator, she found the stairs. Kicking off her stiletto heels, she gathered the full skirt of her long, cobalt blue gown and descended to the cellar.
With a slight push, the door noiselessly glided open. She peeked around the edge.
The cellar lights were on, sconces of bronze and yellowed, frosted glass in an Art Deco fan shape that cast a diffuse, golden glow over the stone walls covered with racks of wine bottles. But her attention was caught by the man at the other end of the room, his black-clad back to her as he removed—
Wait. That was where she stored her experiments. She pushed the door all the way open. “Hey. That’s my wine.”
The man jumped. He almost dropped the bottle he was holding but managed to hold on to it. Then he slowly turned around.
Her breath caught. She knew who it would be, but she didn’t know how glorious it would feel to be right. Evan. In a tuxedo. His smile slightly crooked, happy to see her but also a bit unsure.
“Aracely was supposed to give me fifteen more minutes,” he said. “I’m not ready.”
Her vision blurred and she blinked her eyes rapidly. She advanced into the room, barely noticing the cold stone floor against her bare feet. “Ready for what?”
He put the bottle down on the long wooden table in the middle of the cellar. “For my interview, of course.”
“Your interview?” She wanted to smile. She wanted to do a thousand things: hug him, shake him, yell at him for avoiding her. Kiss him, now and forever. Instead, she indicated the wine. “But you’re stealing my wine because...?”
He picked the bottle up again and regarded it, running the fingers of his other hand over the handwritten labeling. “I thought perhaps you might like a demonstration. Of my wine knowledge, that is.”
She could no longer keep her smile buttoned down. It burst forth, stretching the corners of her mouth, digging deep into her cheeks. It was a full exhibit of the hopeful joy she allowed to bubble up. “Of course. I can’t hire someone who doesn’t appreciate wine. But are you sure you want to open that one? It still has some aging to do.”
“Oh, I don’t have to open it.” He moved closer to her. “I already know it’s spectacular. Complex. Assertive. Unpredictable at times. Full of rich, vivid notes that only deepen with longer acquaintance. A presence that can’t be forgotten, even if you try. A wine worth fighting for.”
She started to laugh. “You know all this without even opening the bottle?”
He nodded. “I know the maker. She puts herself into everything she does.”
Her laughter died in her throat, replaced by a thick ball of emotion making it hard to swallow. Her nose burned, a sure sign more tears were on their way, but she forced them back. “There’s one problem. You already have a job. A big one.”
He shook his head. And then he came even closer. “I no longer work for Medevco. I turned over sole control to Luke. The board approved the change a few days ago.”
Was the cellar spinning around her? Or maybe it was the effect of losing herself in Evan’s kaleidoscopic gaze. “I don’t—What?”
He reached out, and now her hands were in his. “You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing her fingers, wrapping his hands around hers.
“I’m okay.” She did tremble but not from the temperature in the room.
Evan frowned. “Maybe we should leave the cellar.”
If they left, they would be surrounded by staff and guests. She would be swept up in the bustle of the dinner. Down here, they were alone, in their own world. “Tell
me now. Why did you sell to Luke?”
His gaze was focused on her feet. She pulled her bare toes under her gown but not before he noted them. He gave her a decisive nod. Then, with one sweeping motion he picked her up, pulling her onto his lap as he sat on the table.
“Evan.” She wriggled to get down, then realized that perhaps it wasn’t the most prudent movement. Not right now.
“You want to hear the story, I don’t want you to expire of cold before I’m done.”
“Fine. Speak.” Truth to tell, she didn’t want to be anywhere else but nestled against his warmth, surrounded by the Evan-scent she’d doubted she would ever experience again.
“You were right.” His words rumbled in her ear.
“About? Although I do love it when people admit that.”
Evan’s arms tightened around her. “Never doubt your talents. Or how perceptive you are.”
“Have you forgiven yourself for whatever it was?” she asked quietly.
He stilled, only his chest rising and falling against her. “How did you know there was something to forgive?”
“Nico said something, the morning you gave me St. Isadore. About how angry your grandparents were with you.”
He shifted, and she moved to leave his lap, thinking perhaps she was too heavy, but he kept her tight against him. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay,” she said.
Only the sounds of their breathing interrupted the stillness. “I never wanted a family,” he finally said. “I didn’t want to leave anyone behind like I was left. Like Nico was left.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, hurting for the young Evan. “I understand.”
“My dad—my dad and mom were coming home after dropping me at MIT for my sophomore year. He’d taken a second job. I don’t remember now what it was. Something that kept him up all night after a long day in the auto shop. The police thought...they thought he fell asleep. He drifted into another lane and never saw the oncoming truck.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.
“I kept thinking if he didn’t take that second job, they’d still be here. Nico would’ve grown up knowing them.”
“You drove yourself so no one else would have to worry about extra income,” she guessed. “That’s why you bought St. Isadore. That’s why you wanted Medevco to grow so fast. So Nico wouldn’t want for anything.”
“Told you you’re perceptive.”
“Did you give me St. Isadore for the same reason? So I’d be taken care of?”
He didn’t answer.
She slid out of his grasp, ignoring his muttered protest, and turned to face him. He remained seated on the table, which allowed their gazes to be level. “Evan. I’ll ask you the same question you asked me that night we first met. Why are you here?”
He shrugged, his half grin reappearing. “I have it on good authority my drive was hurting, not helping Medevco. So I left, which means I’m jobless. You’re the boss now, so I thought I’d throw myself on your mercy.”
Inside, she was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. But she managed to keep a straight expression. “Then, this is a job interview. What skills will you bring to St. Isadore? I run a lean operation, you know.”
He thought for a moment. “We discussed how I’m a hard worker. I’m punctual. And I’m a fast learner.”
She nodded. “Those are all admirable qualities. But I’m afraid we have no openings right now.”
“I thought you might say that, so I took the liberty of coming up with my own job description.”
“Really?” It was harder and harder to control her expression, so she stopped trying. Joy began to spill from every pore. “Part-time or full time?”
“Definitely full time.” He jumped off the table. Her gaze followed him as he went to the section of the cellar where sparkling wines were stored. He selected a bottle and came back.
She recognized the label. “That’s definitely the good stuff.”
“If I don’t get the job, I promise I’ll replace it.” He removed the foil, exposing the cork and the wire cage keeping it in place. “Did you know,” he said conversationally as he turned the key to loosen the cage, “that this always takes six twists?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“But do you know the legend why?” He removed the cage, twisting it into some shape she couldn’t see. Then he dropped to one knee.
She gasped. The tears that had been threatening all night breached the defenses and flowed, unchecked, down her cheeks. Her entire being trembled, and it definitely had nothing to do with being cold.
“Six is the number of extreme happiness, or so I was assured by my local wine-store owner. And while that may only be a tall tale when it comes to champagne, I know it is the absolute truth when I’m with you. You asked me why I’m here. I’m hoping you will forgive me and allow me to serve as your husband.” He held out the wire cage, twisted into the shape of a ring with the cork cap serving as the stone. “I love you, Daisy Marguerite Delacroix. You stole my heart from the moment we met.”
“Evan.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to speak, unable to move, unsure if this moment—so often dreamed of—was truly real.
His smile faltered. “I’d settle for committed boyfriend if you require a probationary period first?”
She shook her head and tugged him up, allowing him to slip the twisted wire onto the fourth finger of her left hand, her heart still too full for her brain to form words.
“This was supposed to happen in the library,” he said. “There’s a real ring in the desk drawer.”
Finally, she found words. Just a few. “This is perfect. Yes. A thousand times yes.”
Then he was kissing her and she was kissing him and the cellar spun around them until she was dizzy with love and happiness and hope. They might have stayed down there until the cleaning crew arrived the next day if Aracely hadn’t poked her head into the room.
“Why do I always find discarded articles of clothing when you two are together?” she asked, holding up Marguerite’s forgotten shoes. “I am so sorry to interrupt—”
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” said a grinning Nico, appearing from behind Aracely.
“But there is a dinner going on—” Aracely finished.
“Which I don’t want to miss since I’m only in town tonight to hang out with my brother. And you of course, Marguerite,” Nico interjected.
“And the presence of the owner is requested,” Aracely finished.
“That’s you,” Evan whispered against her lips. “I couldn’t be prouder of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“St. Isadore is a group effort.” She ran her fingers over his lightly stubbled cheeks, still amazed he was here, in her arms. “You’re a part of it. If you want to be.”
“All I want is you,” he said. “Today, tomorrow and to infinity. But I’d be thrilled to be on your team. Whatever you want. After all, you’re the boss now.” He grinned, that devilish, cocky grin that made her heart take flight and soar into the heavens.
“Whatever we want,” she corrected, and took his hand to lead him out of the cellar, following Aracely and Nico up to the terrace to join the festivities. There was more to celebrate than she had dreamed would be possible. “Together.”
* * *
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One More Second Chance
by Nicki Night
One
“Don’t become bridezilla, Savannah!” Phoenix Jones closed her eyes, took a deep, soothing breath. She massaged her temples with her fingertips. “It’s all going to work out just fine, sis. Don’t get worked up.” Phoenix spoke in a calming tone. “In less than forty-eight hours we will be on a plane to one of the most beautiful places on this globe. Let that sink in.” Her sister was like their mother, Nadine. Dramatic. Phoenix was more like their dad, not easily rattled.
“But she knew what day we were leaving. I told her several times.” Savannah’s voice was laced with frustration. Her pitch grew higher and higher. “What if it’s not ready by tomorrow night?” Her voice cracked. “What am I supposed to do about a veil at this point? I’m going to end up getting married without one! It should have been done a week ago.”
Phoenix realized her sister was on the verge of tears. “Honey,” she said softly, “it will be ready. I’ll call her myself and reiterate how important this is for you. And if it’s not ready, we’ll pick some of the most exotic flowers that Fiji has to offer and make a beautiful crown to place on that pretty little head of yours. You may be working yourself up for nothing. Let’s wait and see what happens. Okay?”
“Ugh!” Savannah huffed. “There’s still so much to do. I don’t see how I’m going to get it all done.”
“You’re a perfectionist. No matter what happens, your wedding will still be perfect because that’s just how you operate. It will be fine. I promise you. We’ve got a lot to do, so don’t let this stress you out too much,” Phoenix said.
“I’ll try.” Savannah sounded defeated.
“I’ll come by after work to help with anything you need. Cool?”
“Thanks.” Her tone was flat.
Who's the Boss Now? Page 16
