by Carla Luna
“Isn’t tonight the big Robinson bash? When I saw Art Robinson at the club last week, he said Chip was going all out this year with a couple of live bands. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
She paused the movie. “Chip Robinson is one of Ben’s closest friends, so…”
“So? You and Ben are on good terms now. For God’s sake, you’re coordinating his wedding. There’s no reason you can’t co-exist at the same party. You need to get back out there and socialize.”
And find someone else worthy to marry? She shrugged. “I’m good.”
“You’re not. If you avoid too many of these events, people will think there’s something wrong. They’ll pity you. And you don’t want that.”
Heaven forbid a Blackwood would ever be the object of someone’s pity.
She glanced around, wishing her mother would appear and whisk her father away. When he made no move to leave, she gave a lengthy sigh. “Dad, I wasn’t invited.”
“What?”
The shocked look on his face almost made her smile. “Chip didn’t invite me.”
Not like last year, when she’d gone as Ben’s date, resplendent in a stunning black dress that he’d admired openly as he whisked her around the dance floor. As she basked in the glow of his attention, she felt like a fairy-tale princess who’d gotten her happy ending. Not only was she marrying a senator’s son, but she was back in her father’s good graces.
But this year? She had no desire to subject herself to the whispers and pitying looks of her so-called friends.
“Oh. Well…I’m sure it was just an oversight,” her father said.
She caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Sympathy? Compassion? She rarely showed him her vulnerable side, but she couldn’t help herself. “I don’t think he wanted me there. I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard being excluded.”
“You just have to power through. If anything, this whole ordeal will make you stronger.”
Victoria swallowed. There had been a time when her father had admired her strength. Her determination to be the best in school, the fastest runner on the track team, the girl who didn’t cry, even when she broke her ankle a week before the regional meet. But after she screwed up—after the Paris incident—all her father could see was weakness. If she hadn’t been so weak, she wouldn’t have fallen prey to a suave Frenchman looking for an easy mark.
She shook off the memories. Paris was five years in the past. The only part that remained was her massive debt to her father.
“Honestly? I wish I could leave town until after the wedding,” she said.
He frowned. “Nonsense. Running away never solves anything. You’d have to deal with Ben eventually. Just get through this and—”
“And you’ll clear my debt?” He’d said as much before, but she still wanted to be sure.
He perched on the edge of the sofa. “You know it’s not about the money, right? It’s about learning from your mistakes and being accountable. You made a terrible judgment call in France, then doubled down on your foolishness by making a mess of things with Ben. But I’m a fair man, so I’m giving you another chance. Pull off a spectacular wedding. No missteps. Then I can consider putting all that debt behind us.”
Even if the situation was grossly unfair, she wasn’t about to argue, not when he was in such a “generous” mood. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You still have three weeks to go, and you haven’t landed a new caterer.” He peeked at his watch. “I should see what’s keeping your mother.”
She nodded, grateful for an end to the painful conversation. After he left, she cued the movie back up. She didn’t want to think about Ben or Chip, or any of them. She wanted to lose herself in a predictable love story with a guaranteed happy ending.
When her parents came back down, they bid her good night and left. But try as she might, Victoria couldn’t concentrate on the movie. Not with her father’s words lodged in her brain. No missteps. That meant she couldn’t drown her sorrows in a holiday sap-fest. She needed to take action. Even if Ben was out for the evening, she could leave him a message and remind him he needed to choose a caterer as soon as humanly possible.
With a shudder, she pulled up his number, only to recoil when he answered on the first ring. “Victoria. What is it?”
Shit. She wasn’t prepared to talk to him. “I…um…didn’t think I’d catch you.”
“I’m on my way to pick up Missy for Chip’s party. So, make it quick.”
His dismissive tone made her flare up in anger. “Nice attitude. You don’t have to treat me like I’m one of your employees.”
“Right now, you are one of my employees. In fact, I’m your most important client, which means I don’t appreciate you wasting my time. If this is one of your pathetic attempts to win me back, it’s not going to work.”
She winced as she remembered the shameful way she’d called him a few days after he left her. Having consumed far too many cocktails, she’d drunk-dialed him and begged him to reconsider his decision. But she’d only done it once.
“I’m just doing my job,” she said. “In the meantime, you could be less of an asshole. Considering I spent almost a year as your fiancée, you’ve got no right to act like I’m beneath you.”
For a moment, he said nothing. But when he spoke again, his voice was more weary than hostile. “Sorry. I’m under a lot of stress. This…pregnancy hasn’t been easy for either of us.”
Not for the first time, she wondered how he felt about impending fatherhood. He’d once told her, back when they were engaged, that he wanted to wait to have children—at least until he got his political career off the ground.
If he was going to be civil, then she could respond in kind. “Sorry it’s been so hard. I won’t keep you. I wanted to know if you picked a caterer. If you haven’t decided yet, then—”
“Missy wants to use Tres Hermanos.”
His answer caught her by surprise. Why hadn’t they chosen Artful Parties? Even if they’d been underwhelmed by the food, it was more in keeping with Ben’s tastes.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “She threw up at the tasting.”
“She does that a lot. Morning sickness or whatever. But she loved the food. She wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
“But you thought it was too spicy.”
“It’s what she wants, so I’m not about to disappoint her.”
Unusual, given that he liked being in charge. When Victoria was with him, she’d found it easier to go along with his decisions than challenge him. But maybe he was so smitten with Missy that he didn’t feel the need to control every aspect of their relationship.
“Can you call that Ramón guy and let him know we’re going with his company?” Ben asked. “And tell him to tone down the spice.”
Great. She could only imagine how he’d react. “Rafael. His name is Rafael.”
“Right. Whatever. So, can you call him? Then it’ll be settled.” He gave a smug laugh. “I mean, it’s not like you have anything else going on tonight, right?”
She tightened her grip on the phone. How so like Ben to weaken her defenses, then dig the knife in when she least expected it. She could have lied and told him she had other plans—something to rival Chip’s party—but she didn’t want to spend another second talking to him.
“Will do. Have a good night.” She hung up quickly.
Before doing anything else, she finished all the popcorn, dredging the last few pieces in melted butter. She licked her lips, enjoying the salty, buttery goodness. She’d need to run an extra mile tomorrow, but popcorn was always worth it. One of her few guilty pleasures.
Girding herself for the task ahead, she set the empty bowl aside. She could easily call the catering company’s main number and leave a message, but she’d only be postponing the inevitable. She wiped her hands on her leggings and scrolled through her phone until she found Rafael’s number. Maybe she’d luck out and get his voicemail. Then she’d be spared the agony of speaking t
o him in person.
A perky female voice answered. “Hello, you’ve reached the offices of Señor Rafael Sanchez, celebrity chef extraordinaire. How may I help you?”
Victoria stared at the phone. Rafael couldn’t possibly have a personal assistant. If anything, the voice belonged to a friend. Or—more likely—a girlfriend. Someone as hot as him wouldn’t lack for female companionship. The thought annoyed her more than it should have.
“Hello?” the woman said. “Is anyone there?”
“I…I’m looking for Rafael. This is Victoria Blackwood.”
“Oh. Hang on.”
She heard a giggle, followed by a muffled aside. “It’s her.”
Victoria rubbed her forehead. She needed a drink, stat. The one good thing about being a Blackwood was that she never ran out of wine.
“Hello, Victoria.” Rafael’s voice was smooth, betraying none of the anger he’d shown earlier.
Maybe because he was chilling with his girlfriend. Unlike Victoria, he was probably getting laid tonight.
A flash of memory coursed through her as she recalled straddling him in bed, looking down at his firm, muscular body as they made love in her suite. When she’d been with him, all her inhibitions had flown out the window.
Don’t even go there.
She cleared the image from her mind. “Sorry to interrupt your night, but I wanted to tell you Ben and Missy are going with Tres Hermanos.” When he didn’t respond, she plowed on ahead. “Are you okay with that? I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be great publicity for your business.”
“It’s fine.”
She let out a breath. “Okay. Cool. Super. We should meet. Soon. At the estate. You’ll need to get the lay of the land, that sort of thing.”
Dear God, why had she used the word lay?
“Would Monday morning be all right?” he asked. “The restaurant’s slammed on Sunday, but we’re closed on Monday, so I have the day free.”
“Perfect. How about at ten? Why don’t you meet me in the Blackwood Manor boardroom? Once you sign the paperwork, we’ll go from there.”
“Sounds good. See you on Monday.”
That was it. Done. It wasn’t as hard as she’d expected.
Even so, she definitely needed a glass of wine.
Or two.
Rafael set down the phone. “I’m in. Monday morning at the Blackwood Cellars Estate.” He didn’t know whether to feel excited or apprehensive, given what he’d be dealing with. A rich, demanding couple. A huge society wedding. And the woman who’d broken his heart.
“You don’t sound too thrilled about it,” Araceli said. “Come on—think how pumped Martin’s going to be.”
“True. It’s a huge coup for Tres Hermanos.” He allowed himself a small smile. Even if he couldn’t undo the mistakes he’d made in the past, this job would prove he could handle a serious, important gig.
“Can I come with you to the meeting?” Araceli asked. “Please? Since I’ll be serving at the wedding?”
He laughed. “Don’t you have to be at work on Monday morning?”
She blew out a huffy breath. “Right. Work. How boring. But you’re bringing me on the job. I hope the tips are awesome.”
By now, his dish was almost done, and the aroma of sizzling pork and onions made his stomach growl. “Want to stay and help me eat this?”
“Yes, please. All I had for dinner was half a leftover wrap from the lunch cart. And a bowl of ice cream. But the carton had freezer burn, so the ice cream wasn’t the best. Not that butter pecan is all that exciting to begin with.”
He tuned her out as he retrieved a container of homemade chipotle sauce from the fridge. She got out the plates, cutlery, and napkins and set them on the round wooden table where everyone ate when they were together.
“Beer or water?” she asked.
“Just water for me.” Another beer might lead to another and then another after that. He’d been down that road too many times in the past.
She filled a pitcher with ice water and snagged a couple of glasses. He placed the pan with the pork and onions on a trivet, next to the bowls holding the chopped cilantro and the chipotle sauce. As he surveyed the table, he realized what was missing—the Middle Eastern garlic-yogurt sauce he’d made the night before to accompany the dish. He grabbed it out of the fridge and set it next to the cilantro.
Araceli grabbed the tortilla warmer from the counter. “Flour or corn?”
“Neither.” He passed her a bag of pita bread. “You can heat up a couple of these in the microwave.”
“Pita bread? Really?”
“Trust me. You’re supposed to serve them like shawarma.”
She warmed a couple of pieces and put them on the table. “It smells incredible.”
The first bite confirmed his suspicions. The hint of lime and the mix of herbs and spices—cumin, garlic, oregano, and thyme—gave the meat a delicious flavor. Though the dish resembled shawarma, his homemade chipotle sauce boosted the heat level considerably. A small sense of pride washed over him—the feeling he always got when he successfully pulled off a new recipe.
Araceli liked it enough to pile a second helping on her plate. “These are so good. You should see if you can add them to the menu at the restaurant.”
“Thanks, but that menu’s set in stone.”
His uncles had full control of the menu and only changed it on rare occasions. But he could see if his brothers might consider it for one of their catering gigs. Though they weren’t as inventive as he was, they were more open to suggestions than his uncles.
At some point, he’d love to create his own menus rather than work from their templates. To take risks with clients who were open to it. But he had yet to convince his brothers his ideas were solid. Maybe after this wedding, they’d take him more seriously.
Halfway through dinner, Ernesto strode into the apartment, a basketball under his arm. He was the tallest of the three cousins—lean and muscular, with a curly mop of hair and a cultivated three-day stubble. Araceli wrinkled her nose. “Eww. You stink.”
He stood over his sister and gave her a noogie. “What are you eating?”
She clutched her plate. “Don’t mess. Rafa made these delish Middle Eastern tacos, and you’re not getting any.”
Ernesto grabbed a beer from the fridge and pulled up a chair. “Hard pass. I already had a burger at In-N-Out.”
Rafael smiled. Ernesto might turn down his cooking now, but he’d probably end up stealing the leftovers from the fridge at midnight. Both he and Dario were notorious late-night snackers.
“Guess what?” Araceli asked. “Rafa got the Blackwood Cellars job. He’s catering their Christmas wedding extravaganza.”
“Nice.” Ernesto gave Rafael a fist bump. “That’s some big money, right there. Though it’s not gonna be easy.”
“Tell me about it,” Rafael muttered. “The couple are a pain. And Victoria Blackwood…” He wasn’t sure how much to reveal. Unlike Araceli, Ernesto was terrible at keeping secrets.
Ernesto snickered. “I feel sorry for her. That’s gotta suck, coordinating her ex’s wedding.”
“What?” Rafael sputtered, choking on a mouthful of pork.
“You didn’t know?” Ernesto grinned. “That’s some wacked-up shit.”
Araceli glared at her brother. “What are you talking about?”
“Gimme a taco, and I’ll tell you. That burger didn’t fill me up.”
Rafael was still coughing, trying to recover from the shock. As if it wasn’t enough of a surprise finding out Victoria was the mystery woman he’d slept with in Baja, now he had to deal with the knowledge that she’d also been with Ben.
Araceli grabbed a plate and another piece of pita bread, then passed them to Ernesto, who made himself a taco. After a few bites, he set down his food. “Do you remember last year, when I volunteered on John Aguilar’s campaign?”
“Wasn’t he the guy running against Senator Macalister?” Araceli asked.
“Yeah.
I was helping them dig deep for any dirt I could find on Macalister. Including stuff on his son, Ben, who’s a big-shot corporate lawyer.” He gave Rafael a pointed look. “The guy whose wedding you’re catering. Anyway, when Dad told me about the Blackwood Cellars job, I remembered reading a profile of Ben. I found the article again, along with a photo.” He brought out his phone and passed it to Rafael.
Rafael stared at the article. Most of it was boring bullshit about Ben being an up-and-coming player in the world of corporate law. But the sentence at the end hit him like a gut punch. “Ben Macalister is engaged to Victoria Leigh Blackwood, daughter of Brian Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Cellars.”
Jesus. She hadn’t just been with Ben. She’d planned to marry him.
He passed it to Araceli, who whistled. “Holy shit.”
Ernesto came over and took the phone, then pulled up another article. He showed it to Rafael. “Check this out. It’s their original engagement announcement, posted last January. From the society pages or whatever. They were supposed to get married this year at Blackwood Manor on December 22.”
Araceli slammed her hand on the table. “That’s the date of this wedding, right?” When Rafael nodded, she went on. “You’re telling me Ben not only dumped Victoria, he got engaged to someone else and picked the same date? Like, he couldn’t even wait a few more months?”
“His fiancée’s pregnant, remember?” Rafael said. “That’s why it’s so urgent.”
“But to have it at the same place?” Araceli said. “Who does that? And why is Victoria running the show? That’s gotta be excruciating.”
As Araceli and Ernesto discussed the wedding, Rafael recalled the way Ben and Victoria had sniped at each other. Why had she agreed to work with him? Couldn’t she have given someone else the job?
What a mess. The whole setup had the makings of a complete and utter shit show.
Ernesto waved his hand in front of Rafael’s face. “Yo. You okay?”
“I’m still processing. Ben and Victoria were bickering during the tasting. Now I get it.”
The more he thought about it, the more toxic it seemed. Why had Victoria gotten engaged to Ben Macalister in the first place? The guy was a complete dick. Clearly, she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was.
