She returned to the living room to switch off the lamp. That was when she noticed the room service tray on the table. Her stomach growled suddenly and she remembered that she'd had nothing to eat since the wedding. Even there, she hadn't eaten much. She and Daryle had been too busy mingling and dispensing with the formalities of a wedding—the receiving line, the first dance, the champagne toast, the cutting of the cake. She lifted the silver dome off the plate to see what was underneath. A chicken breast in some sort of sauce, rice and string beans. The chicken was cold and the beans were limp, but Suzanne dug into the meal with gusto anyway, washing it down with the last glass of wine left in the bottle.
Afterward, her stomach full and her eyelids growing heavier, she curled up on the sofa and watched the last of the embers in the fireplace glow and fade away until she fell asleep.
The next morning, Suzanne stood at the bathroom sink, vainly trying to cover up the dark circles beneath her eyes with concealer. She looked as though she hadn't slept a wink last night, and in truth she hadn't—but not for the usual newlywed reasons. She was just about to give up when Daryle poked his head around the corner, looking annoyingly well-rested.
"Breakfast is on the way," he said. He frowned at the concealer stick in her hand. "You look fine, you know. More than fine, really."
Suzanne stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirror. "I look like hell."
"Nothing a Belgian waffle, some chocolate-covered strawberries and a Mimosa won't fix," Daryle replied.
"That's what you ordered for breakfast?"
"For you. Me, I ordered the western omelette and bacon. I thought you'd need a drink and some sugar."
"Why? What's on the agenda for today?" Suzanne asked warily.
Daryle hesitated just a second too long. "Um, my mother called a few minutes ago. While you were in the shower. She's invited you to lunch today."
"Just me? Not you too?"
"Just you. Don't worry, she doesn't bite."
No, Suzanne thought, she doesn't have to bite to get what she wants.
A knock sounded at the door. "That would be breakfast." Daryle retreated from the bathroom.
Suzanne returned to the concealer. She was going to need more help than this to get through a lunch with Iris Catterton.
Daryle escorted her into his mother's living quarters at the winery. He kissed Mrs. Catterton lightly on the cheek "How are you feeling this morning, mother?" he asked. "I hope yesterday wasn't too much of a drain on your energy."
Mrs. Catterton smiled thinly at him, adjusting the Hermés scarf that hid her chemo baldness. "I'll survive." Suzanne recognized a dismissal when she heard one. She'd only met Daryle's mother once before this "arrangement," but she was one intimidating lady. Suzanne's stomach had been doing flip flops ever since Daryle told her she'd be lunching with her.
"Well then, I have work to do," Daryle said. He leaned in toward Suzanne and kissed her, longer and deeper than was strictly necessary for a goodbye kiss. They both heard his mother exhale impatiently. "We're newlyweds, mother, remember?" he said as he released Suzanne and headed for the suite's door.
"Sit down, dear," Mrs. Catterton gestured toward the big upholstered chair across from her. "We have a few minutes before Anna brings in lunch."
Suzanne sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, partly out of sheer nervousness and partly because she was afraid to touch anything in this lovely room. It looked like a photo shoot from a glossy magazine, one of those everything-in-its-place rooms that look as though no one actually lives there. The furniture was upholstered in white, silk drapes framed the windows, fresh flowers sprouted from crystal vases.
Mrs. Catterton waved a pale, papery hand at her. "Relax, dear. I don't bite."
Suzanne moved a few more inches back on the chair. "Yesterday was lovely. Thank you," she said. Even though the wedding was a sham, a lot of money had been spent on it. She felt she needed to acknowledge that.
Mrs. Catterton waved her hand in the air again. "No, dear, I should be thanking you. This wedding takes a huge weight off my shoulders. I am trying to get everything in order before I am gone."
Mrs. Catterton laughed at the shocked look on her face. "Oh come now. I took you for a sterner disposition than that. I am dying. Everyone knows this. You know this. I feel it every day, I'm a little closer to death's door. And that's okay. Death comes for everyone."
Suzanne struggled to know what to say next. "But ..."
"I know you're wondering why I chose to inflict this marriage on you."
"Didn't Daryle have a girlfriend ...?"
"Pfooh. That girl. A world-class gold-digger. A young man with money brings them out of the woodwork like termites. But you. You were different. Oh at first, I pegged you as just another one like all the rest. But clearly then, you weren't. You dumped Daryle, as well you should have."
She laughed again at the expression on Suzanne's face. "Oh Suzanne. I am a loving mother but I harbor no illusions about my children. Daryle has been a wastrel most of his life. We can be honest about that, right? In retrospect, I should have pushed him a little harder to find himself. But I thought he would come around to that eventually on his own. I just didn't realize eventually was going to take so long."
Suzanne couldn't help it. A laugh escaped as she thought of how her relationship with Daryle might have been different if his mother had pushed him harder.
Mrs. Catterton smiled. "That's better, dear. I am clear-eyed about Daryle. I also know that he cared for you more than he cares for these other women who come and go. No, no—I see the look of skepticism on your face—your leaving threw him for a loop. No woman has ever left him, before or since."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Catterton, Daryle didn't come across to me as being all that upset when we split. He was constantly in the party pages of all the local magazines."
"He did a good job pretending not to be upset, yes. But during the week, he would come up here and spend hours just walking through the fields, alone. And that's where he finally found his direction. In trying to get over you, he fell in love with the vines."
Suzanne wasn't sure she believed this. Mrs. Catterton was very convincing, but Suzanne wasn't immune to the idea that she was being "sold."
"Well, certainly I think it's wonderful that Daryle has found some direction in life," Suzanne said. "But I don't see how that requires him to be married."
"This business can be rough. A lot of things can ruin an entire year's harvest. Moths. Hailstorms. A visitor can fall and sue. This can't be the only thing in your life or you'll be devastated in the bad years. And there will be bad years. I learned that the hard way. You need the support of loved ones to get through those years. You can't do it alone." A knock sounded, lightly, on the door to the suite. Then the double doors opened and a young woman in a white uniform entered, pushing a steel serving cart laden with serving dishes, glassware and a bottle of wine.
Suzanne followed Mrs. Catterton's wheelchair to a small dining table in front of a large bay window that looked out on the dark purplish mountains in the distance. Mrs. Catterton moved slowly but she waved off Anna's efforts to help push the wheelchair.
Anna quickly uncovered plates of salad, wild rice and salmon, then left. Suzanne dug into hers eagerly, all that sugar from breakfast hadn't exactly stuck to her ribs. Mrs. Catterton merely picked at hers.
"Suzanne," Mrs. Catterton said, "here is the reason why I need Daryle to be married. Iris Vineyards has always been a family business. And I don't just mean the 'Catterton' family." She made air quotes with her fingers. "It was always run by my husband and me, a loving married couple. That's how we're known, as a family. I don't want to see it run by a bachelor. When Daryle shows up in photos, he'll be identified as the owner of Iris Vineyards. That's just not the image I want this business to project."
"You don't think Daryle would curb his, um, activities?"
"Frankly, no. You know, there are fewer and fewer family-run companies around these days. No
t just in wine, but in every industry. Everything's getting bought up by big corporations. All they care about are profits. They don't care about the quality of the product or about the employees. We have employees who have worked here as long as I have. I know all of my employees, know their families. I make a point of knowing what's going on in their personal lives so I can help, if needed. If their child needs a tutor for school or their parents are sick back home or a daughter is getting married. You don't have to be married to understand those things, to have that empathy, but it helps. It would help Daryle."
"But when Daryle and I split up ..."
Mrs. Catterton cut her off. "I don't know what kind of marriage you and Daryle are planning to have—" Suzanne was surprised to see Mrs. Catterton's cheeks flush a pale pink—"that's none of my business, certainly. But I do wish to ask you to keep an open mind about the marriage. Maybe it will last. Probably it won't. But don't write it off just yet."
Suzanne had no idea how to break it to Mrs. Catterton that there was no way on God's green earth that she was going to stay married to Daryle. Or that Daryle felt the same way, if not more so.
"Congratulations on your wedding," the girl behind the bar said as she handed Suzanne a glass of Iris Vineyard's chardonnay. "Your dress was stunning." Suzanne thanked her graciously and threaded her way through the clusters of people milling about the tasting room. She headed straight for a small café table in the corner, away from the hustle and bustle, a quiet spot where she could sit, drink her wine and gather her wits. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd been shaken by Iris Catterton's assertion that Daryle had been devastated by their breakup.
After all, she'd spent that whole first year rushing out to buy every issue of the local magazines to see if his picture was in it. Usually it was—with a different gorgeous woman on his arm every time. That had hurt. Even though she had been the one to end things, part of her wanted him to miss her. Just a little bit. It was an unreasonable expectation, she knew, but still. That was how she had felt at the time.
She wondered where Daryle was and whether he was aware that his mother hoped their marriage would last. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the wine spreading out into her veins, willing it to calm her nerves. It wasn't working. She watched as groups of people came and went on their vineyard tours and tastings. She wanted to go home. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Daryle's number. No answer. She sighed, aware again of how tired she was. She dialed The Cupcakery. At least she could get the weekend sales figures and be productive while she waited for Daryle to turn up.
"Suzanne! You devil!" Karen, her assistant manager, said when she answered the phone. "Congratulations! I didn't even know you knew Daryle Catterton. How did you keep that a secret?"
How—how did you know about the wedding?" Suzanne said, so flustered she nearly knocked over her glass of wine.
"It was in the Chronicle this morning, in the style section. Why all the secrecy?"
"Were ... were there any photos?"
"No. It was just one of those gossipy mentions. I always read that section first. Daryle Catterton! Suzanne, he's de-lish. I saw him once at a restaurant. I can't believe you've been dating him."
Suzanne tried to get her racing mind under control. "Well, we knew each other years ago and ..." She was scrambling to come up with a story. "And, uh, we rekindled our relationship recently."
"Why the secrecy? You could have told me you were getting married. Oh my gosh. You're on your honeymoon, aren't you? Why are you calling in on your honeymoon?"
"There's no honeymoon. Daryle's mother is very sick. That's why all the secrecy," Suzanne said, knowing that didn't make much sense but hoping it would be enough to satisfy Karen.
She felt a sudden surge of anger at Daryle. In the papers! She had assumed that wouldn't happen. Her call waiting buzzed. "I've got another call coming in. Look, I'll be back tomorrow. See you then."
She answered the incoming call. "You're pretty sly, Suzanne. Marrying Daryle Catterton. When did you two get back together? Last I remember, you wanted to string that man up by his you know what!"
And so it went. Call after call from her friends and former associates, asking about the marriage, asking why they hadn't been invited. So much for telling people privately. She hadn't even had time to concoct a plausible explanation. She couldn't very well tell people she had married him for money. Oh we fell back in love ... and well, he's changed ... we weren't planning to get married quite so soon but his mother is very ill ..."
At long last, her phone fell silent for a moment and she went online to look up the newspaper. Sure enough. There it was. "Yesterday in Napa, confirmed bachelor and wine heir Daryle Catterton wed everyone's favorite cupcake lady, Suzanne Austin, in an outdoor ceremony at Iris Vineyards."
Favorite cupcake lady. That made her sound like a cartoon. Great. Just lovely. Her day was getting better and better.
Her phone vibrated again. She looked at the number. Daryle.
"I've been trying to reach you," he said. "I stopped into my mother's but she was asleep and you were gone."
"She was tired. We had a lovely lunch, though."
"Where are you now?"
"In the tasting room, having a drink. I need one. My phone's been ringing off the hook with people congratulating me on the wedding."
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
"It was in the paper this morning. Thanks," she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I had nothing to do with that."
"With that many guests, it was bound to happen. I told you a smaller event would have been better."
The door to the tasting room burst open and Daryle strode across the room toward Suzanne, his phone still to his ear. When he was standing right in front of her, he snapped his phone shut. "Come with me," he said quietly but sternly. "We can't have this discussion here."
"Why not? Because then people will know we aren't the blissful newlyweds we're pretending to be?"
"You know that's exactly the reason why." He reached down and took her hand to help her stand up. To anyone else, it was a chivalrous gesture. To Suzanne, it was anything but. She tried to pull her hand away. He squeezed tighter. She had no choice but to follow him down the long corridor that led away from the tasting room.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To my office," he said tersely. Just then he stopped at a pair of rustic wooden doors. He unlocked one and pushed it open for her. "After you."
She stood just inside, not sure where to sit in the spacious, sunny room. Certainly not over there by the windows, on those big comfy-looking sofas. In front of his desk? She'd feel like she was in the principal's office.
He made the decision for her. He took her hand and led her over to the sofas. He sat down on the end of one and gestured for her to sit on the other one.
"I'm sorry there was an announcement in the paper, Suzanne," he began. "Honestly, I've been so busy with other things that I didn't even think of that. So I apologize. I would have preferred a small wedding, myself. Or no wedding, to be truthful. But that's not what my mother wanted. And in any case, we never promised you a secret marriage. You didn't think people were going to find out? That was a silly assumption on your part."
"I think I'd like to go home today," Suzanne said.
"I'll take you home in the morning."
"I'd rather go today. I can rent a car and drive myself. You don't need to leave."
"It will look better if you stay another night, Suzanne."
She leaned back into the plush upholstery of the sofa and closed her eyes. What have I done? She was beginning to have grave doubts about her ability to pull this sham marriage off. She felt the sofa cushion move beneath her shoulders. When her eyes flew open, Daryle's face was just inches away. And then his lips were on hers, hard and insistent. Suzanne struggled to turn her head away but Daryle leaned his weight in further, his tongue tasting her lips, then pushing inside. Just as abruptly, he pulled bac
k.
"We have to pretend this is real, Suzanne. And pretend it convincingly." When he saw the look of skepticism on her face, he leaned in and kissed her again. This time, the kiss was lighter, teasing, exploring first her top lip, then the bottom, then both together. Suzanne murmured, unable to resist the pleasure coursing through her veins. His tongue gently pushed open her lips and then wound around her own tongue. She couldn't decide which was worse: that she'd been deprived of Daryle's kisses for so long—or that her body remembered exactly what sensations lay ahead.
Daryle dropped hot, light kisses along her jaw line, dipping into the hollow of her neck. When he straightened up, he could see the heat of arousal in her eyes.
"I know it's a little distasteful to you. It's not entirely palatable to me, either. But we're each going to get what we want out of this arrangement. In the meantime, you need to put on a better face about it. I told you to invite some friends to the wedding, other than that insufferable Brent—"
Suzanne opened her mouth to defend Brent's honor but Daryle cut her off. "You're making this way more difficult than it has to be. We used to be together. We reconnected recently and fell back in love. We got married. End of story. That's what you need to tell people and you need to act as though it's true."
Chapter 5
"Time to roll these bad boys out of here," Suzanne said to Karen. "And hope we don't hit too much traffic on the way to the museum." She and Karen carried box after box of cupcakes out to the delivery truck double-parked on the street. They had 500 cupcakes to deliver for Alanna Catterton's opening night reception at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
Suzanne had been working her tail off all week, between getting ready for Alanna's event and making plans for her new Napa shop. She'd barely had time to think about Daryle, except when a customer congratulated her on the wedding. She graciously accepted their good wishes and smiles. All of her friends had learned about the wedding, as well, either through the paper or the grapevine. She gave everyone the Cliff's Notes version, just as Daryle had suggested. She didn't have time to worry about whether or not they believed her.
Cupcakes & Chardonnay Page 5
