by Teri Wilson
For the first time in his life, he was happy.
He was head over heels in love, and he was going to be a father. He didn’t need a paternity test to tell him what he already knew. The irony of the whole thing was that he would have loved Evangeline and her baby, regardless of genetics. They belonged together.
Now he could only hope that once this surreal night was over, Evangeline would listen.
He took a ragged inhale, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Zander. His cousin answered on the third ring.
Ryan didn’t mince words. “Carlo Bocci is here. He’s got a nine o’clock reservation.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll meet you upstairs at Bennington 8.” Zander hung up without saying goodbye.
It was showtime.
Ryan checked the inside pocket of his jacket, adjusted his cuff links and smoothed his tie before he headed out. He strode down the hall on his way to the elevator and cast a quick glance at the sitting area in the lobby. It was empty, just as it had been for nearly a week. Once Evangeline had moved into his apartment, he’d issued a new mandate—the hotel lobby was for guests only.
No more bachelorettes.
They were free to hang out in the jazz bar if they wanted, but after a few days without a Ryan Wilde sighting, they’d given up. At least he’d gotten something right.
He seized on to this thought as he stepped onto the elevator, clung to it as he climbed closer to the restaurant. With each passing second, the night was coming closer to an end. But when the elevator doors swished open and he made his way to the snow-swept atrium that was Bennington 8, a chill came over him. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what had happened, because he sensed her absence. He already knew.
Evangeline had left the building.
Chapter Fifteen
“I thought you said she was all in.” Zander’s panicked gaze shot back and forth across the elegant restaurant, searching for Evangeline.
He could look all he wanted. She wasn’t there. Ryan had checked. “I did say that.”
All in.
She’d promised to stay and make the night with Carlo Bocci a success. She’d given him her word.
He’d hurt her. He knew that. God, how he knew it. But he couldn’t believe she’d gone. Minutes ago, she’d been in his office, talking about selecting wine for Bocci’s meal. What had happened?
No one at Bennington 8 had seen her. Not the maître d’. Not the bartender. None of the servers. Which meant she hadn’t ever gone to the restaurant floor at all. She’d simply walked out of his office and left.
“Then where is she?” Zander said through gritted teeth.
Ryan cut his cousin a sideways glance. “Not now.”
Zander did a double take. “Not now? Seriously? Carlo Bocci has about an inch left of his gin and tonic. In less than ten minutes, he’ll be seated at the best table we’ve got, waiting for a sommelier who just went AWOL. If not now, then when?”
At first, Ryan didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to speak without saying something he’d later regret. Zander wasn’t just his cousin. He was his oldest friend, the brother he never had. In some ways, he’d even become a father figure. The paternity test had been his way of protecting Ryan.
“She found it,” he finally said in a voice as calm as he could manage.
“What are you talking about?” Zander was still standing with his arms crossed, looking out over the restaurant floor, shooting surreptitious glances toward the bar whenever possible. But a few seconds later, his face fell.
He turned his back to the restaurant and faced Ryan. “Wait a minute. Do you mean the test I gave you a few days ago?”
Ryan nodded wordlessly.
“When?”
“About a minute before Carlo Bocci checked in for his reservation. It fell out of one of my jacket pockets. She has no idea where it came from.”
Zander sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her. I’ll explain everything.”
“That’s going to be difficult, considering we have no idea where she is.” He didn’t allow himself to consider the possibility that she’d gone back to his apartment to collect her things and take Olive and Bee elsewhere. He was almost afraid to go home, in case he walked into an empty penthouse.
Damn it.
This was what he’d been worried about all along. She was so scared of ending up like her parents that she’d been looking for a reason to run. And he’d given her one.
“I was going to ask her to marry me tonight.”
He hadn’t planned on saying those words out loud, but there they were, hanging between him and Zander like a breath of cold winter air.
Zander cleared his throat, but Ryan couldn’t look at him. He’d bared enough of his soul already.
“Maybe you still can.” There was an unmistakable smile in Zander’s voice, which told Ryan that he had no idea how upset Evangeline had been. But then he added, “Your bride just walked through the door.”
Ryan spun around, and there she was—striding across the room with a bottle of wine in her hands. At first he thought he must have made a mistake. She’d been there all along, and somehow he hadn’t seen her. But that couldn’t be right, because no one else had seen her either.
Then he took a closer look at the bottle in her hands, and everything suddenly made sense.
* * *
Whatever you do, don’t drop it.
Evangeline tightened her grasp on the vintage bottle of red and willed her hands to stop shaking. If she dropped the bottle now, the madness of the past twenty minutes would have all been for nothing.
Tony had really pulled through. If everything turned out well tonight—if her extreme long shot managed to pay off—she was going to tell Ryan to give his driver a raise. A big one. He’d gotten her to Ryan’s penthouse even faster than she’d hoped. After she’d dashed upstairs to get the bottle of wine, she’d come back down to find the car idling at the curb, pointed in the direction of the Bennington. The return trip had taken less than half the time of their initial dash across Manhattan.
Tony was a miracle worker. The unicorn of chauffeurs.
Evangeline would miss him after tonight. She’d miss a lot of things.
But she couldn’t think about that now. If she did, she’d never get through the next few hours without breaking down. She was having enough difficulty keeping the tears at bay already.
Ryan’s presence certainly wasn’t helping. He and Zander were standing in the far corner of the dining room, just outside the door to the restaurant’s kitchen. Did they honestly think they were being discreet?
Actually, they were. Carlo Bocci probably wouldn’t even notice them. Evangeline, however, was consciously aware of their presence. Ryan’s, especially. He’d honed in on her with his gaze mere seconds after she’d crossed the threshold. The look on his face was so bewildered, so full of raw hope that she’d had to look away.
If he thought she was doing this for him, he was only partially right. She was also doing it for herself. And for her unborn baby. It was time to say goodbye to the past, once and for all.
“Mr. Bocci has been seated at table twenty-five. He’s using the alias Mark Spencer,” the maître d’ said as he met her halfway across the room.
“Perfect. I have his selection ready.”
The maître d’ cast a wary glance at the bottle. “You’re not going to ask him what kind of wine he’d prefer? Or give him a chance to go over the list you’ve been working on for weeks?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s this one.”
It was one of a kind—the only vintage like it in existence. What more could he possibly want?
“All right, then. You’re the expert. I think he’s ready.”
Evangeline took a deep breath. “Here we go.”
Bocci sat with his back to her
as she approached. Unfortunately, Ryan and Zander were situated on the exact opposite side of the room, making them impossible to ignore. She dropped her gaze to the floor and tried her best to focus on the elegant pattern of the black-and-white marble tile beneath her feet, but it was no use. She couldn’t help but look at Ryan. After this evening, she wouldn’t get to see him like this again.
She’d never keep his baby from him. If he had any interest in seeing the child or being involved in the baby’s life, they’d work something out. She’d see him on alternating weekends when they traded diaper bags and strollers and she pretended that she’d never once believed that the three of them could live happily-ever-after.
But she’d never see him look at her the way he was regarding her now—as if she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. It didn’t matter if he thought she was beautiful. Nor did it matter if he thought he loved her. She knew the truth now. He didn’t trust her. Grandpa Bob insisted she’d know love when she saw it, and while she still wasn’t altogether convinced that she would, she knew that love and trust were intertwined. You couldn’t have one without the other.
As she slowed to a stop beside Bocci’s table, Ryan mouthed something to her.
You don’t have to do this.
But she did. She wanted to.
“Mr. Spencer, welcome to Bennington 8.” She gave herself a mental pat on the back for remembering to use Bocci’s fake name. After all, they weren’t supposed to know it was him.
“Thank you.” He glanced up from the menu in his hands, and his gaze snagged on the wine bottle. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Maybe this was a crazy idea, after all.
Too late.
“My name is Evangeline Holly, and I’m the hotel’s sommelier.” She presented the bottle on his right side, as proper wine etiquette dictated. “I’d like to recommend a very special vintage tonight, a rare and unique opportunity to experience a one-of-a-kind wine.”
He lifted a dubious brow. “One of a kind? How so?”
“This wine is a cabernet franc from Chateau Holly in New York’s Finger Lakes region. The vineyard ceased operations more than twenty years ago, and this is its last remaining bottle. It’s a rich wine, aged to perfection, with notes of tart berries, cedar and warm toast.” She smiled, and from some forgotten place deep inside, a tiny spark of pride flickered to life.
The bottle in her hands represented her heritage. Her parents had given her more than brokenness. They’d gifted her with a passion for wine and its history—her life’s work. Someday she’d pass it along to her own child. Her baby wouldn’t know what it was like to grow up and eat grapes fresh from the vine, but she’d teach her child other things—how to identify a fine Bordeaux, how sipping a good wine was the best way to slow down and experience a moment, how loving wine was an exercise in appreciation.
“I see.” Bocci scanned the label. His face was a blank slate, but at least his frown had disappeared. “This is highly unusual.”
“As I said...” Her smile widened. “This is a rare and special opportunity. If you’d prefer something else, I’d be happy to show you our house wine list.”
She held her breath while he took another look at the label.
“I usually prefer old-world wines.” He looked up, and she thought she spied a trace of a smile in his eyes. “But you’ve won me over with your confidence. I’ll give it a try.”
“Excellent.” She pulled her sommelier knife from the pocket of her fitted blazer and used it to score the foil around the top of the bottle, being careful not to let the bottle come in contact with the table.
During a proper wine presentation, nothing in the sommelier’s hands should touch the tabletop. Not even the wine itself. It could be something of a juggling act. Evangeline preferred to think of it as a dance.
She removed the loosened foil top and slipped it into her pocket, along with the knife. Then she pulled out her corkscrew and inserted it into the center of the cork.
Please don’t be rotten.
This wine was old. She’d done her best to store it properly, but it wasn’t as if the bottle had been sitting in a climate-controlled cellar for two decades. Recommending a wine she’d never actually sampled as an adult was risky enough without the added chance of a crumbly, dried-out cork. If the cork fell apart into the bottle of wine before she could remove it, Bennington 8 could kiss its Michelin star goodbye.
For once in Evangeline’s life, fate was on her side. The cork slid out as smooth as butter.
She handed it to Bocci for his inspection. The underside of the cork was wet, just as it should be. He nodded his approval.
By some miracle, her hands didn’t shake as she poured a small amount into a wineglass. Nor did she recoil at the wine’s bouquet. She could smell the berries—plump red cherries and crushed raspberries, the kind just ripe enough for making jam. She could smell the cedar, too, balsamic and smoky.
She didn’t even need to taste the wine to know it would be good.
No, not good.
It would be perfect.
Bocci tasted the sample sip she poured for him, and she could tell the moment that the wine touched his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise and he lifted his gaze to hers.
“Miss Holly, I’m stunned to tell you that this is the best wine I’ve ever tasted.”
* * *
Three stars.
At the end of his meal, Carlo Bocci had walked right up to Ryan and Zander, revealed himself to be the Michelin reviewer and announced that he’d be awarding Bennington 8 the highest ranking possible—three coveted Michelin stars. There were only a dozen other three-starred restaurants in America. Bennington 8 would now go down in history as one of the best of the best.
It was more than they’d dared to hope for.
And all because of Evangeline.
Ryan wanted to sweep her off of her feet and twirl her around until she tossed her head back and laughed. He wanted to kiss her full on the lips right there in front of everyone who’d stayed for the impromptu victory party at the Bennington bar. Then he wanted to take her home and make love to her until the sun came up.
But he couldn’t do any of those things, because she was in the middle of packing up her things—her champagne saber, the port tongs she’d used during her interview, the now-empty wine bottle from Chateau Holly. They were all neatly tucked away in her bag. The message was clear.
She wasn’t coming back.
She’d kept her promise. She’d stayed until Bocci paid them a visit. She’d knocked it out of the park, and now she was done.
They were done.
Ryan took a deep breath. Not if I can help it.
“You’re not just going to stand here and let her leave without telling her how you feel, are you?” Zander said under his breath as he sipped his champagne. Dom Pérignon. They were in the big leagues now.
“Absolutely not.” He was going to do more than just tell her. He was also going to show her...in the best way he knew how.
“I didn’t think so.” Zander gave him a firm pat on the back. “Go get her.”
He set his champagne glass down on the bar and walked to the table by the wine cooler where she was slipping one last thing into her bag. A cork.
“Is that from tonight’s bottle?” he asked.
She looked up and smiled, but the glimmer in her eyes was bittersweet. “Yes.”
She toyed with the cork, rolling it back and forth with her fingertips. It took great effort on Ryan’s part not to stare. The thought of never kissing those hands, never seeing them cradle their newborn baby, was killing him.
His voice dropped an octave. “Why did you do it? That bottle of wine meant the world to you.”
“It was time to let it go. Not just the w
ine, but all of it. I don’t want to bring a baby into the world who I’m afraid to love. I want to be the best mother I can possibly be.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. “The other night, my grandpa told me that love looked a lot like sacrifice. I wanted to make that sacrifice—for you, and for our baby.”
She loved him.
She hadn’t said it, but she did. That knowledge should have made him happy, but the light in her eyes had dimmed on those last two words.
Our baby.
“The baby is yours, Ryan. I wish you believed me, but I understand why you don’t. If you want me to take the paternity test, I will.” Her eyes grew shiny with tears. Two bottomless pools of blue. “Either way, it’s over between us. I know you think you love me, but this isn’t love.”
“Yes, it is. Eve, I’ve loved you since the night I met you. You pulled me straight out of my past and into the present. You saved me. Can’t you see that? I hadn’t so much as looked at a woman in over a year until I saw you in that wine bar, wielding that butcher knife like some kind of ninja wine goddess. I wanted you then, but I want you more now. I want forever with you.” He blew out a breath. “And as for that test... I didn’t have anything to do with it. Zander gave it to me, because he thought I needed proof. I don’t. I’m ready to leave the past behind and start a new life with you and our baby. Our child. I told Zander I didn’t need proof almost a week ago. He’s standing right over there if you’d like to confirm it.”
She blinked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. The cork in her hands fell to the floor. Neither one of them bothered to pick it up. “Is that true?”
“Yes but, I’m not finished. I didn’t go to Chicago last night. I went somewhere else.” He wished he could have avoided lying, but he’d wanted to surprise her. It seemed insignificant at the time, back when the trust between them wasn’t so fragile.
But maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was the only way to move forward. As one.
“I don’t understand. Where did you go?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I went to the Finger Lakes region. To a little place near Cayuga Lake, where the soil is supposed to be perfect for growing grapes. The land hasn’t been tilled in years, but it seems like just the place for a new beginning...just the place to start a family.”
