Winter Wedding Bells: The KissThe WishThe Promise

by Karen Rock

  “Just give me a minute to catch my breath and then I’ll limp out of here.” It was so embarrassing. One minute she’d been ready to discuss business and then she’d landed against a surprisingly wide chest and into a pair of extremely muscular arms.

  Must be all that chopping and whipping and stirring, she decided. Cooking was not for wimps.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Chef?” An intern pushed an empty chair closer. Nico positioned it in front of Grace and sat down, then carefully removed her shoe. Grace held her breath until he was finished. “Joan, check to make sure there are no more hazards on the floor. Check the dining room, too. Where’s Brian?”

  “Here, Chef.” The young man looked at Grace and gulped. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Clarke. They must have fallen when—”

  But his boss interrupted. “Yes, yes, it was an accident, Brian. Now, get some ice. And a towel.”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “It’s all right, really.” She smiled when Brian returned. “I’ve tripped over all sorts of things in this job. Fallen, too. Don’t worry. This is nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing,” Nico said, forming an ice pack with the towel. He placed it near the top of her foot. “It’s swelling. You may need X-rays.”

  “Ow.” She made a move to pull her foot back, but Nico held her calf to keep her still. She smoothed her dress and made sure no one could see her matching red panties. She was sure Nico was the type to appreciate such things. And she wasn’t going to give him any more reasons to flirt with her.

  “Definitely X-rays,” he said.

  “It’s just a little sprain,” Grace countered. “I’ll take the ice and go back to my office—”

  “Don’t we have doctors staying here for Thursday’s wedding?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll see if Noelle or Patsy can track one down, give us an opinion. Brian? Go ask at the desk. Otherwise, we’ll head to town.”

  “Patsy can take me. You’re busy with ravioli and sauce and dinner and the twenty-six sightseers.”

  “Patsy can’t carry you. And my staff is perfectly capable of making ravioli.” He arched a brow in their direction and a chorus of “Yes, Chef!” followed.

  Grace didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want her toes to tingle every time his fingers shifted the ice pack. She didn’t want to believe he was actually pleased to be taking care of her.

  There were rumors he’d dated three actresses at the same time. His picture had been on the cover of In Touch magazine, along with his glamorous raven-haired producer and the caption hinting at a surprise pregnancy. He’d cooked for George Clooney and been featured in Oprah’s magazine along with his recipe for eggplant Parmesan.

  “You must salt the eggplant and let it rest,” he’d been quoted as saying, as if that information unlocked the secrets of the universe, eternal life and the cure for cancer.

  “Why do you let eggplant rest?” she said suddenly.

  He beckoned one of the interns over. “More ice, please.”

  “Yes, Chef.” The college student hurried to do Nico’s bidding.

  “Okay,” he said, looking at her with those dark blue eyes of his. “Why do you let eggplant rest?”

  It took her a moment to realize he thought she was making a joke. “No,” she said. “You told Oprah to let the eggplant rest.”

  There was that sexy smile again. She couldn’t stop herself from blushing, but she hoped he would assume the heat of the kitchen was to blame. The pain in her foot blossomed, burning toward her ankle and up her leg.

  “It must be salted to sweat—to release liquid—so it won’t be soggy.”

  “That’s interesting.” She was babbling about eggplant. Could this be any more embarrassing?

  “Would you like some? Dinner service doesn’t start until five, but I will put aside—”

  “Thank you, that’s very nice of you, but—”

  “You don’t like Italian food.”

  “I love Italian food. Who doesn’t?” She shivered as he ran his index finger along her ankle. His touch was so gentle she didn’t feel any pain. Or maybe her skin was frozen from the ice. She was just being silly. Grace gulped. Time to get back to business. “I came to tell you that the Barrett wedding has been canceled.”

  He frowned. “I heard. Why have you waited hours to tell me about it?”

  “You knew?”

  Nico smiled. “There are no secrets around here. One of the house cleaners heard the mother talking about it. Would you like a cup of tea, Grace? A glass of water?”

  “No, thank you. About the wedding, Julie and Mason have apologized for the inconvenience. And they know the refund policy.”

  “I’ll let some of the staff know they will have that night off, after all, but they were looking forward to making the extra money. And I will have beef Wellington specials on the menu for the next ten days.”

  “I know. We’ve all worked so hard getting ready.” She wondered why he was taking the news in stride. Maybe in Hollywood, canceled weddings happened all the time. “Well, I’d better get back to work. If you would help me stand up—”

  “Is there someone I can call to help you?”

  “No, I’ll manage.”

  “Give it another minute,” Nico advised. “Has anyone ever told you that you should always wear red?”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She wanted to roll her eyes, but caught herself. “You are such a flirt.”

  “Grace!” He pretended to look insulted. “It was merely an observation. You’ve made it clear you aren’t interested in going out with me, so I won’t ask you again. Think of me as an impartial observer. And a paramedic.”

  “Right.” She hid a smile.

  He was heart-stoppingly attractive, disarmingly kind. And charming, too, with that eyebrow lift that sent his staff scurrying to do his bidding. But she was going to resist, just as she had since he’d joined the staff. It was a matter of self-preservation. There were lots of reasons to avoid this man. It was a “father thing,” Patsy had informed her after Tom bailed. Patsy had just read a biography of Jacqueline Kennedy and was up to date on “father things.” Daughters with playboy fathers tended to repeat the past in an effort to change it, Patsy had declared.

  Grace hadn’t argued. She’d read plenty of articles on topics like How to Tell a Keeper From a Loser, and she’d come to the conclusion that a little more self-awareness couldn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “EVERYTHING GOOD HAPPENS in the kitchen,” his grandmother used to say. She was a large woman, almost as wide as she was tall. Nico had adored her. And now, with the beautiful Grace Clarke immobilized in his very own kitchen, Adalina di Prioli’s words had never been more true.

  “Someday I will have to tell you about my grandmother.” Nico replaced the ice pack with a colder one. The original was sufficient to help with the swelling, but he liked to keep the interns busy and, besides, he wanted to pamper this lovely woman in red.

  He’d noticed that no one else seemed to. After a few discreet inquiries, he’d discovered she had no family in town. She had been in a relationship with some guy who moved away, but apparently that had been over for a long time. She seemed to spend most of her time at the lodge; she didn’t party in town or spend her days off on the ski slopes. She drank red wine if she drank anything other than Diet Coke and she emceed the animal shelter’s annual dog fashion show.

  “Was she a cook, too?” Grace asked.

  “She certainly was.”

  “And she taught you everything she knew?”

  “Yes.” Nico had perfected Mama Lina’s meatball recipe by the time he was eight, her lasagna at nine, and he began inventing different kinds of ravioli fillings by the time he was ten. “Her lasagna and her meatb
alls are on the menu. Have you tried them?”

  “The lasagna. It was delicious.” He watched her try to wiggle her toes and wince. “We were here for Patsy’s birthday in October. You made tiramisu, and we had a cake.”

  “There was a lot of wine poured that night.” He remembered Grace’s short black dress. She’d worn pumpkin earrings that dangled to her shoulders and threatened to tangle in her blond curls. He’d asked her to go out with him—dinner and a movie—and she’d very politely refused. “Was that the first time I asked you out?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “No.” He pretended to think about it. “I believe I invited you for a drink the day I was hired. I should apologize for that.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.”

  “But I embarrassed you, I think. And gave you the wrong impression. I was ecstatic that day,” he admitted. “It took two months to talk the owners into hiring me.” At her incredulous expression, he added, “They didn’t want to risk hiring someone who wasn’t going to make a real commitment.”

  “I can certainly understand that,” she huffed. “But I would have expected them to jump at the chance to have you.”

  “Not exactly,” Nico drawled.

  “We heard you cost a fortune.” She smiled. “We thought you’d bring your movie-star girlfriends and illegitimate children with you.”

  Well, that was irritating. “Do you always believe everything you read at the grocery store? There was no pregnancy. I never even had a date with Scarlet, and the woman who was on the cover of that stupid magazine? She’s a friend of mine who happens to be gay.”

  “Lake Placid must seem very tame compared to LA.”

  “If you knew my family, and there are a lot of them, you wouldn’t say that.” He thought of his mother’s dismay over that particular magazine headline. Theresa Vitelli had not been pleased. And his sisters had been horrified. There had been so many texts and voice mails the day the magazine hit newsstands that Nico had ended up tossing his phone to the floor and stomping on it.

  Not one of his finer moments. Nico took a deep breath.

  “I shouldn’t have bothered you that evening,” he continued. “But you were walking by the bar just as I finished signing the contracts and you looked friendly. You had a clipboard, which seemed charmingly old-fashioned, and I saw you comforting a young girl, a Girl Scout, I think.” He didn’t tell her the weepy Girl Scout had been his niece. “You seemed nice. And I just wanted to celebrate.” He didn’t mention that she’d looked like a curvy golden goddess, and he was so nervous about talking to her that his tongue had dried up in his mouth.

  “I don’t have drinks with men I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was rude. The Girl Scouts had organized a dinner for their parents in Wildwood and I was really busy.”

  “You were perfectly polite, but you broke my heart.” No lie. He hadn’t been that disappointed since Sharon Winn turned down his invitation to the junior prom.

  “I’m sure it healed itself after a few minutes.”

  Nico chuckled. “You’re right. The bartender bought me a scotch and welcomed me back to Mirror Lake. We played basketball together in high school.”

  He lifted the makeshift ice pack and studied her swollen foot. It didn’t look good, but he didn’t want to worry her. “I think it’s time you got that ankle checked out.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Let’s get you back to your office and see if there’s a doctor in the house.” He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “You’re sure you can leave your ravioli? And your wine?”

  “They’ll keep,” he said. “We can always have supper later on, if you’re up to it.”

  “There’s an eightieth birthday party at seven and I have to make sure that the entertainment arrives. It’s a surprise.”

  “In the ballroom, yes. It’s a seven-course dinner for fifty-one people. What’s the entertainment?” Nico handed the ice to an intern, preparing to carry Grace from the kitchen. He knew she would protest unless he kept her talking. She was trying to wiggle her toes again, but pain flickered across her face as she stretched out her leg.

  “A polka band. The guest of honor loves to polka, so his children organized a little dance. We’re having the party in the ballroom because, according to the kids, the polka takes up a lot of room and their father can be quite exuberant when he dances.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A fund-raiser in the bar, but I don’t have to do anything for that. The tour group is all set, I think. You’re offering hot buttered rum and dessert after the sleigh ride?”

  “Absolutely. They’ll be available in the lobby when the guests come staggering in, frozen from the cold and thrilled with the moonlight.” He bent over and lifted her into his arms. She let out a little squeak of protest, but her arms curved naturally around his neck as he headed toward the door.

  “Michael!” His second in command looked up from the pasta machine.

  “Yes, Chef?”

  “You’re in charge.”

  Michael winked at him and gave him a thumbs-up. “Absolutely, Chef. You take all the time you need.”

  Nico stifled a smile. He had no qualms about leaving the kitchen to the staff. He’d trained them well these past four months, had hired and fired until he was satisfied that he had the best team possible. He handed her the ice pack to take with her. She was going to need it in the next few hours because that foot sure as hell wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.

  “I’ve never done the polka,” he said. “Have you?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I was looking forward to it, too, if I got the chance. This is so embarrassing.”

  The handful of diners looked up curiously as Nico made his way through the dining room with Grace in his arms.

  “You’re enjoying this,” she said, her hair tickling his chin.

  “I am not,” he said, chuckling. “I hate having a beautiful woman in my arms. I would rather be rolling out pasta dough and scolding the interns. I would rather be scrubbing saucepans and cleaning ovens.”

  “You’re too important to wash pans yourself, and you certainly don’t clean the ovens. Hi, Mr. Stanford. Did you ski today?”

  “Sure did, Gracie,” the gray-haired gentleman replied. He had the remnants of a chocolate cake and half a cup of coffee in front of him. “What happened to you?”

  “I twisted my ankle a little.”

  “I hope you’re being well taken care of,” he said, giving Nico a warning look.

  “I’m going to get her to a doctor,” Nico assured him. “Right now.”

  “Good.” He smiled at Grace. “I’ll check with Noelle later and find out how you’re doing.”

  Nico managed to get out of the restaurant, down the stairs and to the front desk with only about nine more people asking Grace what happened. Three young women in ski gear had giggled, obviously thrilled to see such a romantic sight, two men had eyed him suspiciously and several children asked Grace if she was being kidnapped.

  Patsy met him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I just heard,” she said, peering at Grace’s foot. “It doesn’t look good, sweetie, but I love the red nail polish.”

  “I had it done yesterday,” she said. “You can put me down, Nico. Really. You can.”

  “All right.” He headed toward the sofa that fronted the fireplace. “Is this okay?”

  “My office—”

  “Doesn’t have a couch,” Nico said.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks, but it’s starting to hurt a little bit more,” she told the hovering Patsy. “Nico has kept ice on it and that really helped.”

  “What happened? Brian said you slipped and needed a doctor. I’ve called the two that I know are here, but they�
�re either still on the mountain or in town. I’ll take you over to the clinic. I called and they don’t close until seven.”

  “I’ll take her,” Nico said, reluctantly settling his dream woman on the couch. She’d felt good in his arms, all curves and soft skin, her yellow curls tickling his face. She smelled of vanilla. Hand lotion, maybe? Or perhaps she used the homemade soap from the fancy bath shop in town.

  “I think I just need to rest it a bit,” Grace said. “There’s no reason to make a big deal out of this.”

  Patsy exchanged a look with Nico.

  “One word, Grace,” he said. “X-ray.” He turned back to Patsy. “If you’d get her coat and purse and whatever else she’ll need, I’ll take her over to the clinic.” He hated the fact that she had hurt herself, hated that she was in pain. And since she’d hurt herself in his kitchen, he felt responsible. Getting to spend time with her was the silver lining on his guilt-filled cloud.

  Grace protested again. “I just need some Tylenol and the ice pack. I’ll go home and take care of it myself.”

  But Patsy wasn’t buying it. “And just how are you going to get up the stairs?”

  Nico ignored the crowd that had gathered around the sofa. Children held cookies, parents held coats and the most recent guests checking in stood next to their luggage and stared. He tucked another velvet pillow behind Grace’s back. “Stairs?”

  “She lives in a second-floor condo,” Patsy informed him. “Outside stairs. No elevator.”

  “Grace can come home with me,” Nico declared. “I have four bedrooms. And a ramp.”

  Patsy looked impressed. “Why do you have a ramp?”

  He shrugged. “Grace will find it easy to get around. I live right down the street.”

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Grace grumbled. “Are there any rooms available?”

  “I’ll check.” Patsy tried to hide her smile, but Nico saw a twinkle in her eyes when she turned back to him. “But I think Noelle already filled the rest of the rooms.”

  “That was fast,” Grace said. “I thought we’d have cancellations after the guests heard about the wedding.”